As far back as I can remember, I have wanted to be half of a highly creative power-couple. Linda Eastman to Paul McCartney or maybe Laurie Anderson to Lou Reed. And as much as I wanted to be Yoko Ono, it seems I always end up as May Pang, a magpie's shiny bauble kicked out of the nest or a hazy, forgotten interlude in an otherwise engaging monologue. And many times I wonder if this is the role I am set out to play in the Oscar Wilde dramedy of life.
I have certainly never expected things to be perfectly happy, soundly solid, or even remotely sane, but I do think that I am able to bring some solace to the the bargain. I always hope to inspire some insight or solve some difficult puzzle that someone in the spotlight does not have time to figure out. Over there, behind the curtains in the wings, I am happy to look on and be proud of my beacon of a man while I am scribbling away or stealthily shooting on a project of my own. I have prided myself on being that special someone's number one fan. And I have to say I have been a couple of times, some with more success than others. But in the end, I find myself as May Pang, jilted and slinking away from the peering eyes into my own comfortable shadows again.
To be honest, I cannot help wondering what the hell is wrong with me. Why is it that I am never the one that someone wants to raise children with, to sit and have a quiet evening at home with while music plays from another room, to grow old with? I feel it is some fatal flaw in my character, some ugly scar on my surface that makes men tire of me. And the older I get, the more it hurts. Seems like I should be growing a thicker shell and putting more weapons into the pack on my back but just the opposite happens. I am one more set of flower petals closer to falling open and giving in to going to seed.
I know I am not the prettiest crayon in the box, that I am kind of ordinary and pale and I do not shine brightly in the night sky, but I wanted to be one special someone's personal beacon without being a respite from a rocky shore or just a nice place to spend a vacation. My winters are grey but they have a kind of stillness I have grown used to. My rains are as stormy as anyone's but they are over in just a little while. And maybe some day I will stop wondering where my someone is or why my favorite someone did not love me enough to stay. And when I feel a little more ready, I will roll the dice and keep my fingers crossed for a solid Yoko.