The Circle Grows Bigger

So,
The Mister and I lay awake in bed for 3 hours last night, talking. One of those its-only-3am-and-I’m-not-used-to-sleeping-before-5 nights.

I said, making a circle with my left index finger and thumb (like when you say Excellent), this is me.
And this, I said, making a loop with my right hand and covering the first loop almost completely, is you.

Now if I was to let a third person into my life (in a big way), I say, he would have to either take you and me and all our baggage with him

Or, you would have to move out enough to let that new person in.

So how does that work? Do we want that? I don't think I do. I like us.

He looked at my hands folded in two interlocking circles and said
The circle grows bigger.

The circle grows bigger.

What a simple and liberating thought that seemed to me. That we can grow and expand to include more people in our lives. I had forgotten that for so long! In this complete and absorbing (and totally fulfiling) relationship that we have developed, it stopped occurring to me that there is room for other people.

So this is my reminder: the circle grows bigger. There is always space for more people in our lives. So smile at the passenger next to you and ask the grocer how his day was. Make the circle grow.

Opening Lines

I’m sitting in a small room in the west of Scotland looking out of my window at a view of rolling greens and grand stone buildings with pointed tops. The view from a room is almost as important as the room itself- specially when it's a small, study size room and an airplane size bathroom. And no, those rolling greens are not hills, but gardens that belong to an old university. This city I call home (well, partially home, but we’ll get to that in a moment) has two beautiful art shops, a very bad reputation for crime, and is romantic in the way that thunderstorms are romantic.
Let’s call it Home Base II

Home Base I is on the other side of the world. Well, almost. It’s in a country of extremes and myths. It’s a city by the sea where the warm, salty breeze caresses your face and totally fucks your hair; where the sound of the sea can be heard over the screaming traffic (sometimes); and where it is impossible to apply blush without it turning to oil within 4 minutes of stepping outside.

The obvious common factor, besides me living in both of them, is, of course, that the heavy winds routinely render umbrellas useless. Oh, and they both sport magnificent stone buildings designed by the British.

Almost all my friends, boyfriends, mistakes, and decisions have been made (and changed) in the life that has unfolded between long slow flights, lots of drunken Saturday nights, and too many questions.

This is the view from where I stand.