Hold My Hand! Actually, Please Don’t By Jane Dietrich

Our blogger this week is my sister, the sculptor,  writer and one of my favorite guests on this blog (and in real life:)

Check out more of her work at www.janedietrichart.com

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I’m walking along the sidewalk hand in hand with the man I love. It’s a beautiful day; 75 degrees and sunny. A light breeze carries the songs of the birds above to our ears. Our arms swing slightly with each step, telling the world “Hey! Look at this hottie. I’m dating him!”

Yet, something feels off. Is it the growing clamminess of my palm? No…(though that is a bit embarrassing). Is it that our steps aren’t quite in sync? I suppose, but there’s something more. 

It’s the feeling that I’m not centered. My internal compass feels askew. I want to walk a bit more to the right, but then he would be falling off the curb. Isn’t that better than me scraping my arm against the wall? Don’t I deserve to dodge pedestrians coming the other way on my own time?!  

Suddenly claustrophobia sets in. 

The buildings are too close. 

But on the other side l’ll run into the parking meters!

Our pace is too fast, 

now too slow. 

CAN’T YOU LET ME WALK AT MY NORMAL CADENCE?? People say I have a walk that is “so me”. 

WHY ARE YOU TRYING TO CHANGE ME INTO SOMEONE I’M NOT!? 

Suddenly, the sidewalk situation morphs into a metaphor for my life. The spiral downward picks up speed.  

Is this what marriage is going to be like? Never having my own space? Always touching?   If I can’t get over this, how will I ever make it through a lifetime with you?! 

More importantly, WHY ARE YOU MAKING MY HANDS SO SWEATY?!

Now remember, I am madly in love with this guy and usually love him holding my hand. But there’s something about the sidewalk. It just doesn’t seem to be made for two. I need some independence here people. 

So there I am walking, internally freaking the hell out while Hunter observes how beautiful the clouds are.  Lost in my angst, 

I trip. 

Our grasp tightens and I don’t make a complete fool of myself. I snap back to reality.

I do love him. I do want to hold his hand. I can use my words like a five year old and ask to not hold hands for a hot sec. It doesn’t mean we won’t last together. When it comes down to it, I would always choose holding his hand than not having the option.

It is nice to walk on the sidewalk together… but sometimes, let’s not hold hands.