Falling into Place

(Me and Phil last week. He doesn't like this picture, but I think he looks cute... So maybe don't tell him that I put it on the blog, okay?)

Almost done. Can't believe it. Why do the good parts of life go by so much faster than the rotten parts?

There are so many things left to do in this city that I promised myself I'd get around to, but never did. Clearly, I'll have to come back.

I feel more myself here than I remember feeling.

The last 6 weeks have been incredible. Part of me wants to refer to this abroad experience as the best time of my life... but I won't.

The explanation for why I won't can be found in Shakespeare's Sonnet 115. For those of you who don't feel like trying to analyze a sonnet to understand my meaning, here it is: to say that this has been the best time of my life seems to somehow ignore (or even prevent) the possibility of greater times to come. And I would hate to limit my life with a premature superlative exclamation bounding forth from a sense of enveloping joy.

But it has been great.

Don't get me wrong, some things have been rough. One thing was quite rough, in fact...

A classmate that I have had problems with in the past -- the one who has been the monster in my nightmares -- caused more problems here. And after dealing with it to the best of our ability for weeks, it passed the tipping point. As a result, he was sent home from London. And we have heard that he has been released from our graduate program.

Although I expected to feel a sense of relief after the ordeal, that was only one ingredient in the stew of emotions that boiled in my stomach.

Mostly, I felt two kinds of guilt. The first was a guilt that I had contributed to something in this person's life being destroyed. The second guilt was for not taking action sooner and perhaps saving my classmates some of the anguish that we have suffered over the last two years.

Lastly, I felt fear. The fear has left me at the moment, as the person I'm afraid of is on a different continent, but I won't be surprised if it returns to me once my feet hit Floridian sands again. If he attempts to seek vengeance, I'm positive that I will be on the list of potential targets, and my name may be higher than most...

But he's gone now. It took a few days, but the relief I had expected did indeed wash over me. And our class seems... Complete. Fixed. Right. As though this is what we were meant to be all along. We are the ensemble now that we couldn't have been before. I didn't realize that, although I was a great target of his abuse, I was not the only one suffering from it. I didn't realize that his destructive presence was the reason that our class had developed antibodies. As soon as we had class without him, we found our peace.

We even started doing something that we have never done before: socializing in a group, instead of in sects of twos and threes. Last night, nine of the ten of us sat in my flat, having a marvelous time.

We're healed. Or at the very least, we're in remission. And it feels like a miracle.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In an unrelated story...

A couple of days ago, I was on my way to meet Phil. Because of some complications with Tube construction, I was going at a different time (and via different route) than originally intended.

And as I walked underground in a passage to transfer from the Central line to the Northern Line, I saw a familiar face.

Alessandro.

The Italian resident of London that I had gone on a few dates with... The one who happened to be out of town when I met Phil.

He stopped and took off his headphones, so I returned the gesture. He looked as surprised to see me as I felt seeing him. He looked different somehow. Maybe it was just because he was clean-shaven. Or maybe it was merely because he had become something different to me since the last time I'd seen him.

We made small-talk for about a minute. He remembered the date of my departure from town and asked about my schedule until then. I made myself sound busy (which, actually, I am). When he asked where I was going via Tube, I merely stated that I was switching lines, carefully avoiding mention of the man I was on my way to meet. I didn't want to hurt Alessandro any more than I already had.

I hugged him. And then we had an awkward moment of having to detangle our headphone cords from each other before we went on our separate ways.

There are millions of people in this city. And I couldn't help but suspect, as I always do, that God pulled some strings so that this encounter would happen.

As I walked away from Alessandro, I felt like I should have said more. Perhaps I should have acknowledged I saw he had changed his facebook status to a series of question marks moments after ending the phone call when I told him I was seeing someone else. Or perhaps I should have thanked him for showing me one of my favorite parts of the city (which I in turn showed to my classmate Wifey, and thanks to Alessandro's guidance and insights it became one of her favorites as well). Maybe I should have apologized.

Mostly, I wish I'd thanked him. I may not have written much about it here (nor do I plan to, at this point), but he did wonderful things for me. He gave me stories about my time in London, and they're a greater gift than I realized when they were being formed.

I don't regret ending things with Alessandro for Phil. Not in the least.

Nor do I regret never really starting things with Blake.

One night, a couple of weeks ago, I had a perfect opportunity to spend some unexpected one-on-one time with Blake, but missed it because I had tentative plans with Alessandro. I tried to rectify the situation, but it had passed. I was kicking myself over it, and ended up canceling with Alessandro (not wanting, of course, to be in a bad mood with one guy because I was disappointed about another). And then I felt like I'd screwed things up with both of them. I remember complaining to D-Train and Two-Shots-Up that night, lamenting that I am an awkward disaster in the realm of casual dating.

It's funny in retrospect. I remember trying to comfort myself at the time with my mantra that "everything happens for a reason", and being unable to find solace in it. As it turns out, I would've been right to trust it.

That night, I texted back and forth with Blake. He sent me a message saying that we could always arrange a one-on-one encounter at another time. He had already suggested that we go out for coffee weeks before that, although no plans were made. And then again last Thursday he offered the possibility of us going out to dinner together. And at that point, I was incredibly hopeful about it.

But Blake went out of town the same weekend that Alessandro did. Which was long enough for me to meet Phil and promptly forget all about any other possibilities.

I ran into Blake on Friday. It was the first time I'd seen him in over a week. The last I saw him, he said there was a nice restaurant he thought we should go to, where I would have an excuse to wear my new white dress.

"Hey, I feel like I haven't seen you in a long time," he said. He looked at me in a way that he hadn't before. More melancholy, perhaps.

"That's because you haven't", I responded.

I asked how he'd been. How his trip to Ireland had gone. And I invited him to go out dancing that night (I had plans to go with Phil, D-Train, and several people who ended up changing their minds). He declined.

"But we should hang out at some point before you leave," he submitted. I smiled and agreed before walking away, knowing that there was a good chance that it wouldn't come to fruition.



When I got back to my flat, I spoke with D-Train and Two-Shots-Up. They had seen Blake earlier in the day, and had shown him pictures on Facebook of us dancing at a bar called "Tiger Tiger". Blake had come across one of me with Phil, taken the day that he and I had met.

"Who's that," Blake asked them.

Two-Shots-Up exclaimed, "That's her MAN!"

She and D-Train both immediately realized that her statement may not have been the best thing to say in front of Blake. In my imagination, he looked crestfallen at the words, although I don't think either of them actually gave me verbal acknowledgement of that when telling the story.

"When did she meet him," Blake asked, downplaying his reaction.

"Really recently," D-Train attempted to state tactfully, attempting to soften the blow. "Just a few days ago, really."

"But you know how it is," Two-Shots-Up explained, "sometimes you meet someone and you just know."



I guess I'm glad that Blake didn't have to hear it from me. But I guess that explains why he seemed to be something slightly other than himself when I ran into him.

I do like Blake. He's a lovely person. And I suppose part of me wonders if anything would have happened between us had I not met Phil.

But honestly, I don't feel guilty about Blake the way I do with Alessandro. He could've taken me out, but never did. He could've done more than send me the occasional debatably-flirtatious text message. He didn't.

Blake had the right cards in his hand, but folded. Alessandro knew how to play, but he just didn't have the cards.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I talked with Phil a few days ago about the stuff in my last post. And by "stuff", I mean, "What are we doing, how do we handle this, and where do we go from here?"

He's done the long-distance thing in the past. He has dated two Americans before. And it sounds like those two girls were the most profound heartbreaks of his life. So he's understandably terrified.

He thinks he's falling in love with me.

(His words. Unprovoked. I promise.)

He said we could try to make a go of it, but it might be too hard to do it without fear. Or we could wait and see if our lives lead us to the same place (like L.A.), but it might ruin other things in the meanwhile.

Of course, being the obsessive/compulsive over-thinking, worrying, worst-case-scenario planner that I am, I had already pondered these situations, and had come up with the alternative a couple days before (and, in fact, had blogged it).

I suggested my plan...

No formal commitment.
Stay in good contact (in a commitment-less dating sort of way).
Hope that at some point it will become obvious that we should either become committed or break it off before commitment sets in.

After all, I know that the feelings we're having are intensified because of this pressure-cooker of a time limit. If the circumstances were different, I wouldn't lock someone I met a week and a half ago into an exclusive relationship. And to try to do that with a 5-hour time zone gap and an ocean separating us would be, in my mind, idealistic and foolhardy. I don't want to rush into anything. If we're going to do this, I want to do it right.

He says he's still in the same stage as I am, where he can't stop talking about me. His flatmate will be eating an apple, and Phil will say, "Angela likes apples." His roommate will say he's about to walk down the street, and Phil will reply, "The other day Angela and I were walking down a street..." (These exaggerations are his and not mine, in case you're curious.)

Phil said he wants to call up people he hasn't spoken with in months just to tell them the story of how we met. He said thinks he'll still be doing that six months from now. It gave me hope to hear that. In his imagination, I'm still important six months from now.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Today was my last day of classes in London. For the rest of grad school, really. It's mostly performing from here on out.

I'm going to try to meet P from *Insert My Blog Name Here* today, as she happens to be in town. I'm rather excited about that. :)

I was going to try to see a show tonight. Perhaps I still will. Or maybe go to karaoke, if the stars align. Or to a museum. To one of the many things I promised myself I'd do, but that took the back burner when I discovered other wonderful things.

I plan to see Phil tonight and tomorrow morning. And then to have a very unhappy goodbye.

I'm going on the glorified ferris wheel tourist trap known as the London Eye tomorrow with Two-Shots-Up. I'm hoping that my fear of heights stays in check.

I'll see Blake tomorrow. He's meeting Two-Shots-Up and I to give us the tickets. Maybe he'll end up on the Eye with us so that he and I can have that chat he asked for. Or maybe not. I have faith that things will work out exactly the way they that they are meant to.

Early Thursday morning, I'll leave for Greece with Two-Shots-Up, All-The-Way, and Killer. We're spending two nights in Delphi and two in Athens.

After that, Two-Shots-Up and I have more adventures planned. Santorini, Milan, and Cinque Terre. We don't have all the kinks worked out, but I'm starting to feel less terrified about the whole thing.

And then I come back to London on the evening on the 29th. And I leave on the morning of July 1st.

I don't know if that last sentence registered in your head, but to me, it's the most exciting of my travel plans.

I get to spend just a little more time with Phil.

And then I'll head back to Connecticut. And only God knows what will happen from there.



Maybe this is unwise...

but I have my hopes up.



May you conquer your fear of falling.
And when things start falling apart, may it be so that they can fall into place.

(And when falling... Mind the Gap.)


~A~

Afraid to Fall

Last night, I went to see the play All My Sons starring David Suchet and Zoë Wanamaker (one of my favorite plays, with two actors I greatly respect).

When I got to the theatre, I was on the top balcony (which is basically the 4th floor), in the very last row of the steepest stadium-seating I've ever seen. (It's apparently the highest seating in any theatre in London.) Before I even climbed the last set of stairs, I had to sit down, hyperventilating and freaking out. When I got to my seat, it was directly next to the very steep center aisle, and I had to look down to see the stage. There was a red bar in front of me (I don't know if I was supposed to hold onto it, lean on it, or just somehow be comforted by the illusion/delusion that it could save me), but open space below it. I was terrified and dizzy. I thought I was going to pass out and/or die.

D-Train had to get me out of my seat. With my eyes closed, I told him that I was too afraid to stand up. He wisely informed me that waiting wasn't going to make it better. As he lead me down the stairs, I started crying hysterically and hyperventilating again. It wasn't until he sat me down in an enclosed room that I could start breathing and begin to calm down.

You know what's funny about that? Last week, I stood at the summit of the Eiffel Tower, and I was just fine.

You see, I don't have a fear of heights...

I have a fear of falling.

An arresting, debilitating, irrational fear of falling.

So does Phil.

Just one more weird way that we match.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In case you were wondering, Phil is still great.



And I'm getting scared.

I have a week left in London, and he's super busy.

Two days ago, he met me for a picnic lunch between my classes (and insisted on buying grapes so that he could feed them to me "in a decadent manner"). He met me at a theatre last night after a show I attended, and we went out to a bar with some of my people. I was at his house this morning, and he made me tea. We're going out for dinner tomorrow night, and going out dancing with his friends and mine on Friday.

But it doesn't feel like enough time.

And I don't know what to do.

If I lived here, it would be easy. But I don't.

Long distance relationships blow (I know from a great deal of experience). And when the long-distance involves a different time zone? Incredibly challenging. And to enter into one with someone you've just met? Sort of insane.

I'm afraid to even bring up the subject with him. Mostly because I'll be heart-broken if he suggests the obvious course of action: end things when I leave.

(Heart-broken? Seriously?... Maybe I'm exaggerating.)

Hurt. Disappointed. Sad. Angry at circumstance.

He says he thinks about me all the time. That he's distracted from his work. And, to be honest, I was pretty distracted in class today because I kept thinking about a conversation we had this morning.

Yesterday, he had a bad day (extraordinarily bad... three huge, bad things hit on the same day). But when he met me at the theatre, he said that all day, he'd been calming himself down with the reminder that he'd get to see me. And that somehow just by seeing me, he felt better. He referred to me as being the light at the end of the tunnel.

We've been incredibly open and honest with each other thus far. More so than I ever remember being in any dating situation I've been in up to this point. I love that. No games. No strategizing. We're just present. And it's easy.

I'm too attached to him. That's the problem. I want to be around him as much is as physically possible. And he says he feels the same way.

Part of me thinks I should spend less time with him now. Just enjoy London. Not get dependent on him, as I once got with Brian. Because honestly, as much as I once cared about The Filmmaker, I think the way I feel about Phil is closer to the way I felt about Brian. I don't know how to explain it. I want to say something big and dramatic, like there was a puzzle piece missing in my life, and he fits. But that's not it.

It's more like... I think he sees more in me than I see in myself. I think he sees inside me somehow. And it makes me feel vulnerable and safe all at the same time.

I cried twice last night. The first time was at the theatre, during my height-induced panic attack. The second time was when I was alone with Phil. I felt so close to him, and I had a moment where I was afraid of falling, but not in a literal sense. And just like with D-Train leading me down the stairs, it wasn't until I was being led away from the terrifying thing that I cried.

Phil said all the right things. He said things that I didn't know I needed to hear. And I don't mean that in a delusional, "He said something different than what I wanted, but I'm going to rationalize that it was what I needed" kind of way (because, unfortunately, I have gone through that sort of denial in the past). I don't want to ruin my memory of the moment by trying to write it. But one of the things he said was that it made perfect sense for me to be feeling the way I was feeling. He gave me validation without me asking for it. And that's when I cried.

And then I apologized for crying. He smiled at me, and calmed me down, telling me that there was no need to apologize. That I never needed to apologize to him.

I felt vulnerable. And safe. And like I'd just reached a level of intimacy with him that didn't make sense with someone I've known for only a few days.

And now I'm filled with self-knowledge that had previously been lurking below the surface. Mostly regret for things in my past. Things I led myself to believe were real, but that truly never were. Regret for convincing myself that I was comfortable with things that had been said and done, when I never truly was.

So today, I officially ended things with Alessandro, the Italian boy whom I've enjoyed spending time with. I knew I had to. Phil is worth so much more to me than Alessandro ever was or ever could be. It was awkward and uncomfortable for me, and I hated the idea of hurting him... but ultimately went much better and more easily than I thought it would. I guess I didn't as much to him as I thought I did (or maybe he just covered it well?). But then, I guess he didn't mean as much to me as I thought he did, either.

The scariest part of ending things with Alessandro actually had nothing to do with Alessandro. The scariest part was knowing that, in some way, I'd just made a choice to commit to Phil... without Phil having to do anything to commit to me. I gave over a little more. I signed on a little more. I put myself in a more vulnerable position.

Phil isn't perfect. And I'm not sure he's right for me. Which makes it harder to make leaps like this.

But something about him is wonderful. And it makes me cheer deeply for there to be a way for this to work. God, please let there be a way to make this work.



I don't know why I'm rooting so hard for this in my head. But I am. I want this to be Happily-Ever-After instead of a star in the trail to Neverland.

And I feel crazy for thinking that. Absolutely insane. I feel like a needy, delusional stalker chick.

I've been so honest with him about so many other things, and he with me. But I haven't told him how much I'm rooting for this. I have a fear that I'll scare him off. I don't want to be one of those girls. And I think I've somehow just become one of those girls.

Maybe it's a mistake seeing him at all right now. Maybe the smart thing to do is just enjoy my last week in London, and not waste time falling further into infatuation with a guy I won't have time to solve things with. I don't want my life to turn out like the series finale of FlashForward (i.e. completely unresolved, despite the creative team having plenty of reasons to suspect that it was about to be canceled).

D-Train says that I shouldn't pull away. He says when you find someone you connect with like this, you have to enjoy it. But he also said not to get my hopes up about the future. And I know he's right.

It's just too hard.

The logical side of me has the solution, of course.
Step 1: Spend time with him while I'm here, and enjoy it.
Step 2: Don't define anything.
Step 3: Stay in touch when I get back to the USA, but don't have any sort of commitment.
Step 4: If it becomes apparent once I'm back in the USA that we actually want commitment, THEN consider it.
Step 5: If we both end up in the same city when I'm out of grad school (most likely possibility: Los Angeles) and are still in contact and single, then go for it.

But right now, the irrational side of me is beating the logical side over the head with a sledgehammer of emotion.

If I take any other course than the one the logical side has chosen, I'm setting myself up for heartbreak. I know that.

And I'm terrified of it.

I don't mind being in a vulnerable position. I don't mind being open and honest with him. I don't mind being so connected to a person that I just met.

I'm not afraid of being that high.

I'm just afraid to fall.



May you conquer your fears. And may you find a Happily-Ever-After to root for.

~A~



P.S. Both pictures in this post were taken the day I met Phil. Neither of us thinks that these photos do either of us justice. We are both much more attractive in real life. (Phil thinks he looks insane in the second one.) But this is what I have so far, and I figured you'd want to see the guy I'm so insane over.

Discovering Magic

I went to a performance of The Real Thing by Tom Stoppard at The Old Vic theatre yesterday. (That's the theatre for which Kevin Spacey is the artistic director.)

And a cute guy sat next to me.

And we talked at intermission (or, as they call it in the UK, "the interval").

And we talked after the show.

And we went out to get a drink... which turned into dinner.

And I went to a pub with him and his friend.

And then to another pub.

And he came out to a dance club with me and my friends.

And we walked around the city talking.

And we went back to his place and kept talking.

And I got home today around noon.



His name is Phil.

I want to describe him. Or the way I feel about him. But the word that keeps running through my head is "magic". He is magic. Yesterday was magic. This whole experience. Magic.



He's 28. He's from Liverpool, but went to school in Wales, and now lives in London. He's a playwright/screenwriter/director/actor.

And it feels like... I don't know. Like we match. We fit. We're right.

Phil feels it, too. It's like we've met before. Or like I understand his life-force or something.

I know this is going to sound nuts (and it probably is), but I think that he's important. He's a significant event in my life-story. He's not just one of the other random guys from the last post I wrote (or the guys that have come along since I wrote that post... because there have been more).



I feel like my life just changed.

Okay, that's probably ridiculous.

But maybe it's not.

My roommate asked me, "What are you going to do about the other men," and I said, "What other men?"

I mean, I had agreed to dates with two other guys next week, and two more had asked me out. And now I know that I'm going to say no to all of them. I don't care about the other dates. Any of them. They're meaningless now. Pointless.

So in that way, yes, I think it is going to change my life. Especially since one of the guys I won't be going on a date with lives in Florida, and had already talked about visiting me when we got back to the states. That probably won't happen now.

I had a similar realization when I met The Filmmaker... I remember realizing that The Engineer just wasn't right for me, and there was no point wasting my time with him when there were better people for me out there. I feel that way again with Phil... I don't need to waste time with Alessandro, Blake, Deron, Andrew, Nael, Luke, Nsikan, Wael, or anyone else. Because even if Phil isn't the guy I'm meant to be with in the long run, he has reminded me how important it is to me to actually care about the guys I'm test-driving (for lack of a better term).

So I'm done with my newfound wild woman ways. To quote The Real Thing, "The thing that 'free love' is free of is love."



You know what's funny? When I originally tried to get a ticket to The Real Thing, I was trying for the Saturday evening performance. But they were out of student tickets. And Phil? He had gone to the theatre on Friday to try to get a last minute seat, but it was sold out. So he figured he'd have better luck with the matinee.

That, my friends, is magic. Or angels. Or fate. Or maybe just a very fortunate coincidence. But I've said it before and I'll say it again: I believe that everything happens for a reason.

He said that when he showed up to the theatre on Saturday to try to get a ticket, I was standing in line in front of him. And he thought I was gorgeous. And then he ended up sitting next to me and was excited. He figured I probably get harassed a lot by strange men, and he didn't want to be that way, so he talked himself out of talking with me. But I initiated a conversation at the interval. And he said he spent the whole second act trying to figure out a good way to ask me out after the show.



He has social anxiety, just like me. He has an old white MacBook that is even closer to death than mine (Lady MacBook) is. He has a personal blog that he keeps private from people in his life (yes, that's right: I found a blogger).

He's easy to talk to. And he's talented (I asked to see some of his work, so he showed me a short film he wrote... and it was great). And he's got a good balance between being hot and cute. And he speaks with a really charming dialect, which is a nice bonus.



And as my roommate pointed out, this began in an unusual manner for me: Phil and I were interested in each other. I generally only go for guys who have shown interest in me first. And I have friends with the opposite bad habit: they go for guys that they're interested in, but the guys usually don't care about my friends as much as my friends care about the guys. But this time, I haven't fallen into either trap. And I think it's healthier this way.



I wish I'd met him weeks ago, as my time in England is almost up... But I guess I'm just going to have to trust that there's a reason we were brought together when we were: at a play dealing with what it is to be a writer, what it is to be an actor, and what it is to be in love.



Phil says he doesn't know how he could possibly explain what had happened to us yesterday. He says that people couldn't understand how connected we felt after such a short period of time, or maybe they just wouldn't believe it.

He joked that he's going to steal my passport to stop me from leaving. I understand the impulse. I want to spend as much time with him as possible before I leave.



I don't believe in love at first sight. I'm not in love with him. But I do have an incredible infatuation with him. And he with me.

In my playwriting class here, one of my classmates wrote a monologue about how hard it is to find love. In it, she said that trying to find the one other person on the planet who is meant to be with you out of the billions on the planet was worse than searching for a needle in the haystack; it's more like searching for a bubble in the sea.

I've crossed the sea and landed in London. Have I found my bubble?

I guess we'll see.



May you find your bubble.

~A~