I love hotels. Wait....let me clarify that. I love nice hotels. God knows, I have spent a night or two in some bad ones. Not really by choice, mind you, but occasionally out of bare necessity. I've stayed in a few dumpy, dingy places where I've refused walk across the carpet in my bare feet or had to leave the lights on all night to distract certain insects that only venture out in the dark. I shudder when I think about it.
Yes, I prefer a nice classy hotel. I could live there for days. Everything is neat and organized and compact. They have convenient little coffee pots with automatic timers, an abundance of fresh, clean towels and those adorable bottles of shampoo and body lotion. Where else can you go and leave a mess in the bathroom, trash cans overflowing, and your bed unmade; only to return a few hours later to find everything orderly and immaculate?
I especially like the beds in hotels. They are so much more comfortable than mine and I always get such a good night's sleep. The pillows are firm, but not too firm, and the sheets are nice and crisp. I swear hotel housekeepers must have military training when it comes to bed making. They make them up so perfectly, tucking the sheets and blankets in so tightly, you could bounce a quarter off the covers. I just love that.
I've been sharing a bed with my guy for the past few years and we've stayed in hotels together before. Nice ones. This past weekend we celebrated his birthday in a lovely place in SoHo. It was there that I had an epiphany of sorts. We spent one entire day exploring the city on foot, including a hike through Central Park. My feet were so sore I could barely stand because I covered miles of concrete in heels. I forgot to pack sensible shoes. Good excuse to do squeeze in some shoe shopping, which of course, I did. Late that night, we both collapsed in the big, comfy hotel bed. I gently slid my aching feet and body under the covers, taking great care not to cause a crease or wrinkle in the tightly tucked sheets and blankets. As I leaned back on all the perfectly fluffed pillows with a satisfying sigh, my guy was busy thrashing his feet and legs beneath the blankets like a fish out of water. He was completely tearing up his side of the bed to achieve his goal- the freedom to move without restraint. I was beginning to get a little aggravated and he knew it, so he kept on until we both burst into laughter. It's comical how very different we are.
"Are you really gonna sleep like that, all wrapped up tight like you're in a cocoon?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied. " I feel all safe and tight and secure."
"Not me," he said. " I need to be free!" And with that, he gave one last kick beneath the covers, and we both fell fast asleep.
The next morning, my side of the bed looked as if it had never been touched. I had slept so well, snug as a bug, all safe and secure beneath a layer of tight, constricting sheets and blankets. His side, however, was a disaster. The covers were crumpled and messy and sometime during the night he had tossed them completely aside. This is what prompted my "ah-ha" moment. I learned a little bit about myself this weekend. And about him. Very strange, how my mind works.
I am a trusting, free spirit. I want to go, move, taste, see, touch, smell and experience everything life has to offer. I refuse to let anyone control me, tell me what I can or cannot do, or hold me back. But at the end of the day, I desperately long for security and a place where I know I am safe. I never want to stop dancing on the edge; I just need to know someone is there to keep me from falling.
My guy is the complete opposite. He is conservative, cautious and restrained. He won't even go near the edge, let alone dance on it. But he also needs to be free and able to move about as he wishes. It totally amazes me how we get along, we are so different. Trust me, it's not easy, but somehow, we make it work.
A relationship is like a big bed. It can be cozy or it can be terribly uncomfortable. Each partner must be able to do what they want, say what they want, and be who they want to be on their respective side. I choose to be wild and crazy, outspoken, a little careless, and independent. I need to be free to do that, but I also want someone stronger to lean on occassionally and to feel safe and secure. In exchange, I must allow my guy the same liberties and luxuries and refrain from criticizing him for being different or for making a mess when he needs to stretch out over on his side. When we finally master this, we will meet in safest and most secure spot of all---right in the middle.
And this is my Daily Cyn.......