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Scared

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“The West End Partners, the redevelopers of the area along West Main Street, are planning a large market space to be built out over next year or so. It’s supposed to open in early 2014.

The idea is to have a dozen small-scale restaurants as well as coffee, beer and wine. There will be kitchens for smaller-scale projects, like incubators for people whose business models are too large for the cottage food law but too small for traditional commercial kitchens; a gluten-free kitchen and a confectionary kitchen.

The market part will emphasize local artisans, including a butcher shop to be run by a whole-animal butcher who moved West rose from in-house butcher to sous chef at Bouchon. Much of the food for sale will come from the commercial kitchens, and there will be a demo space as well.”

Fuck, I’m scared.  Isn’t this the perfect opportunity for me?  Is this what I’ve been waiting for?  I want to open up a gelateria downtown and here comes a space that seems almost too perfect – kitchen space, in my preferred area – and on my time schedule.  How can I ignore this?

I had placed the gelateria idea on the back burner; I haven’t worked on it in months.  I’m so easily discouraged by other’s critiques and comments – and my own self-doubt…probably my own self-doubt more than anything. In an attempt to combat it,  I’ve read dozens of quotes (and a book or two)  by successful people about how one must silence the critics to move forward, but I find it impossible to silence the voices of doubt in my head.

The first step is to admit the fear – I’M FUCKING SCARED!  Scared! Scared! Scared! Whew,  that’s out of the way.  The second step is to take one tiny tip-toe forward.  I will call the redevelopers on Monday. No procrastination.  What could it hurt?

Rebound

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So, here we sit, across from each other.  My profile is down.  Your profile is down.  Saying, yet not saying, “I want to be with you…for now.”  Is that what you’re really saying?  I don’t know.

It’s tricky, this dance that we’re doing.  You are raw from your separation, still licking your wounds, still not aware of their depth.  You’re not ready to date, not really.  You have work to do.  But you’re trying – and I am your first.  I am “the rebound” and that scares me.  I don’t want to be hurt.

I like you, I think.  I haven’t liked a man in a long time.  You’ve been straight with me and there’s a warmth in you that draws me.  I desire you. Do we have anything in common?  I’m not so sure.  We both like music, but not the same kind.  You don’t like movies.  We’re both foodies, but how far can that take us?  We both like books, but we’ve already had that conversation.  I don’t surf.  You don’t garden. You introduce me to your friends – and I feel out of place.  Where do we go from here?

You need someone to mend your heart, your ego.  I don’t want you to see me as the antithesis of your ex, but as the person I am.  I want you to like me for me, not for how I’m different than her.  You don’t ask me those usual questions about past boyfriends and future hopes, likes and dislikes.  Am I merely there to fill the hole she left in you?

I tell you I like hanging out with you.  You say you do, too.  You say I make you happy. I try to play it cool.  I know one day I’ll say or do something (or perhaps for no concrete reason at all) that will make you flinch.  You will want to run, screaming “she is not what I want”.

So, I keep one foot out the door, taking it one week at a time.  I’m trying not to cling, not to panic. I’m trying to let this unfold naturally, not putting pressure on you.  I am the rebound and I’m scared.