Looking for the man of your dreams? … Don’t!

Man of your dreams… or awakening?

I’ve found the man of my awakeness

by guest author Alys Titchener

My flatmate Kara-Leah and I were sitting on our lounge floor one afternoon doing some stretches before dinner. I was deep in thought and before I could censor myself, I blurted out; I feel like I’ve found the man of my awakeness.

I wasn’t quite sure what I meant by that, only that this statement arose because what I was experiencing was… not so familiar.

What has become familiar about those times I’ve fallen in love with the man of my dreams is the crescendo type momentum that propelled mine and his life together, and with that came a sense or “knowing” that we had a future together.

I remember the first time I saw my husband-to-be and I knew, I just knew he was the man of my dreams. And as I got to know him, I knew we would marry.

Yes, I married the man of my dreams; a sensitive, caring, open, communicative, gregarious, fun, creative and spiritual man.

As complementary as that sounded, it didn’t allow me to see him for who he truly was, nor did it allow him to be who he is. I had created a fictitious man and expected him to behave as the man of my dreams ought to behave.

Over time, the man of my dreams imploded, he contorted, he distorted, he became not the person I thought he was.

I used so much energy holding the man of my dreams up in that ideal shape I’d given him, and damn it; it was exhausting.

The marriage only lasted two years.

Waking up from that dream was a hard and brutal lesson and I grieve that we weren’t able to work through it. But that is my case history now and has set the stage for some deeper self-enquiry.

I had to question myself because everything I’d assumed was real, turned out not to be.

I made it my sadhana to find a way to recognise when I am projecting my ideals on to someone.

Thanks to a deepening meditation and yoga practice, I became more sensitive to when my life was feeling incongruent. I’d feel it viscerally in my body, like I was trying to walk straight on a rocky boat; it was a general disharmonious feeling.

And I longed for harmony.

So I made another practice; to orientate myself towards harmony.

As I gave this my attention, another big question came up; if falling in love was a projection of my ideals and what I wanted, then how can I trust falling in love again?

I know how blinding “falling in love” can be, and I even ‘get’ why this might be considered an evolutionary necessity for our soul as we attract in the “teacher” that we most need.

Yet this is the space that demands my most “awakeness”.

As I begin a new relationship, I am checking in with this question; what am I projecting on to this relationship, and on to this man? What can I know is real?

I don’t have an answer for this, but I have a couple of observations.

Firstly; this feels really unfamiliar, because I’m doing something different this time. And secondly, I have no sense or knowing about the future of this. I have no idea. Absolutely none. All I have is what presents itself between us in each moment.

In those moments, I feel open. I feel relaxed. I feel available.

I feel continually delighted by the getting-to-know-each-other phase. Since I have no idea or expectations of who this person is, or how he should be, there’s no avenue for disappointment.

It feels harmonious.

And it feels fragile; like I want to tend to it with an alert and open heart.

The fragility is uncomfortable; I’m use to feeling ‘sure’ about the flavour and magnitude of my relationships; but this, I can’t predict.

And to be honest, I don’t want to predict, because dreams are horrible deaths. And I can choose not to live in the dream.

Being awake to who I am and who he is, is alive and more intimate, and that’s the kindest place for me to inhabit.

Perhaps though, it’s not that I’ve found the man of my awakeness, but that I’ve met a man who can meet me in a space that allows me to fully wake up.

Now that’s something I honour and respect and love.

And want to commit to.