Just to be safe

Just to be safe

Safe
–adjective
1. secure from liability to harm, injury, danger, or risk: a safe place.
2. free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.
3. involving little or no risk of mishap, error, etc.: a safe estimate.
4. dependable or trustworthy: a safe guide.
5. careful to avoid danger or controversy: a safe player; a safe play.
6. denied the chance to do harm; in secure custody: a criminal safe in jail.

Such a small word - safe. S-A-F-E. Four letters.

But so many meanings.

Safe.

To be safe. To feel safe.

Something we all want. To be safe, to feel safe. To be with someone who makes us feel safe. To make someone else feel safe.

Sounds so simple.

Safe.

I have never felt safe in a relationship. Neither of my marriages made me feel safe. My familial experience with safe is spotted at best. I thought that was just the way every relationship was - “safe” was a word that meant something but didn’t apply.

I’m not sure what would make me feel safe. I’m not sure I could ever feel safe at this point in my life. I do have people in my life who I trust -- mostly my girlfriends. But safe?

“Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk: to arrive safe and sound.”

Free from hurt, injury, danger, or risk.

I want a relationship free from hurt, injury and danger. But I’m not sure any of us can have that. We all get hurt, we all hurt. Doesn’t matter our intentions, we hurt. That’s life. That’s nature. We hurt, we get hurt, we get injured, we injure. How can we feel safe if it is inevitable that we will get hurt, get injured and injure those we love?

I threw a life preserver (virtually) to someone last night, hoping to make him feel safe because I know that he doesn’t -- in any aspect of his life. And I want to be the one to make him feel safe, to make him feel secure and whole and valued and beautiful and loved. But I know he probably won’t let me because he’s been hurt and injured and he’s hurt and injured and maybe he thinks he will never be able to be safe again so he lives in the hurt and the injury rather than risk.

And I stand over here, pondering how to maintain a peaceful heart when all I want is someone to make me feel safe. Someone to throw me a life preserver - virtual or otherwise. But I know I won’t let them because I’ve been hurt and injured and I’ve hurt and injured and I’m not sure I can make anyone feel safe anymore because I’m not sure I believe there is a safe left.

And can I love even if it doesn’t feel safe?

Sometimes, I think safe is not trying to love, not letting someone in. If I don’t ever let him in, then I won’t ever get hurt. Or so I tell myself. And maybe he’s not the one hurting me, maybe I’m the one hurting me by not letting him in.

Safe is protecting myself and keeping my heart to myself. Safe is not letting him get as close as I’d like him to because then neither of us can hurt each other. We can stand at this distance, arms at our sides, heart buried deep inside, fighting the urge to risk, fighting the urge to hurt, fighting the urge to just not be safe for one single, delirious, beautiful moment.

Because that would be dangerous. That would be risky. And the definition of safe is “free from… risk.”

So how do we be safe and not safe at the same time? How do we do that? How do we put ourselves out there in the ether, praying it won’t hurt this time, praying we won’t hurt him this time? How do we risk when the cost seems so very high and when it feels safer to just stay home, just keep your heart tucked away, keep yourself and himself safe?

I risk so much every single day in the life I have chosen to live. I risk the system, I risk living the life I want to live. I risk losing everything every day because I can’t pay my rent and I can’t pay my bills, and I can’t even afford gas for my car this week. That’s risk. That’s danger. That’s pain and hurt and all of that stuff. But I choose to do that every single day because of love. Because I love my life. I have chosen a life I love and so I’ve chosen to not be safe.

But I can’t yet choose to not be safe with you. And you won’t choose to not be safe with me. Not yet. Maybe not ever. So we’ll both just stand here, at a safe distance, still hurt, still hurting, still wanting and aching and breaking and needing. But “safe”. Without seeing how unsafe we are not.

And maybe we’ll never be brave enough to let go of safety enough to be with each other as more than just good friends. Maybe there’s a safety in that that somehow reassures us and keeps us here. Occasionally, one of us risks the loss of that safety with a touch or a glance or a few moments of holding my hand, unexpectedly, overwhelmingly. Yet we retreat to our safe corners, to watch, to wait, to be safe.

Or maybe -- just maybe -- I say, fuck that and jump. Because I want the way it feels when it’s not safe. I want the risk, I want the unknown, I want the… everything that goes with not being safe. I want to feel. I want to live.

I want what this poem expresses so beautifully. But until I risk, until I stop feeling safe, I’m not sure I’ll be able to.

So I’ll end with a little e.e. cummings, who was never safe and always risked and left behind a legacy of words filled with un-safety and beauty. Because I already carry your heart with me now, whether you know it or not.

i carry your heart with me

i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)

i fear
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you

here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart

i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)