Philip F. Rose

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January 03, 2004

Abandon, and my fear of flying

Abandon. The word captures the impulse and its perceived danger so well. It's abandon that I seek and abandon that I fear.

When I admired and adored rock stars, it was largely for how much they were able to achieve (or simulate) abandon, either on stage or expressed through their music: the lead singer that collapses in ecstasy, the guitarist that loses themselves in the sounds they're creating, these were my ideals. My core love of music – whether Baroque choral or Bob Quine's frenetic guitar playing - is that it evokes abandon.

As a teen I used alcohol. Being drunk approximated abandon. It was the closest I could get. But it comes with such lousy trade-offs. The closer you get to abandon, the closer you get to unconsciousness. In real abandon, perceptions may be distorted, but you're fully experiencing the moment; alcohol blurs the experience itself, makes it less. And heroin. It too blurs, but with less – what? – messiness. Of course it has problems, to say the least: loss of affect, high cost, illegality, and especially resistance and dependence that eventually eliminate the enjoyment. It's just not sustainable. (Oh, and in one of nature's great ironies, it makes it impossible to come.) And it's still just an approximation of real abandon.

BLISSFUL SEX

But sex ... ah sex. The ideal of abandon is here too. At least I can be glad I understand that. But the reality, well, that's another story. In my life, I've had maybe half a dozen blissful over-the-top sexual experiences -- where I've totally lost myself to the moment, to the sensations, felt the transcendent quality of abandon -- the loss of self, merging with the experience, with the other person. I realize there are plenty of people who've never had one. But I want more. They were amazing. Left me naturally high for a week. Sense memories, snapshots, remain with me today, years later, as peak moments of my life.

I know it's possible for this to happen more often. I know people for whom it does, and I know it brings them joy and well-being. But how do you make it a part of your life?

My experiences all happened within relationships. But even with someone I feel safe with, feel intensely attracted to, and feel emotionally connected with, why is it so fragile, so brittle? I've focused on avoiding missteps, creating a less distracting environment – free of daily worries and such. This helps, but it doesn't address why my ability to let go, let myself be open to abandon, is so delicate.

For many people, all that's needed is to learn it's possible, and a few techniques to help them along the way. They can take it from there. But I've had it. I've experienced its full wonderfulness. And yet I accept a life without it because the path to attaining it again is so fraught with … what? How do I fix this? What needs fixing?

FEAR OF FLYING

If there's one thing I've learned in years of self-help, it's that most dysfunction is rooted in fear. If that's the case here, then what am I afraid of? Intimacy? I don't think so. The mechanics of sex? Certainly there are things that cause me worry, cause problems. The fact that I have a slipped disk, the fact that I'm 20 pounds overweight, the fact that being uncircumcised is abnormal in this society, the fact that, being uncircumcised, condoms reduce my pleasure far more than for most men: these are all legitimate factors that can play into trouble. But they're external factors. They can all be dealt with. They aren't decisive unless I let them be so. As far as the mechanics of sex, the techniques, of course I could know more – anyone could – but I know I'm already in the group that has a clue, which is better than most people. And yet many of these people still manage to have more fun than me.

OK, so what do I know I am afraid of? I am afraid of showing how much I want it. Afraid of doing something she'll be offended or bothered by. I think there's something there. How many times have I been afraid of showing what I really want while my partner would be willing if only they knew, but is also afraid of showing what they want? Still, from reading sex advice books and columns, I know this is common. The only sexual energy I saw in my parents was when my father was drunk and leering. My mother was more out of touch with her body than nearly anyone I've known. But how many millions of people could say far far worse?

There's something much more basic. I need lots of signals that it's OK; I need my partner to take the lead, and bring it out of me, and encourage me, and continue to send me signals throughout that it's what they want, and push me to open up more. Even then, I rarely totally let go. When I do, I think it's probably always thanks to her sexual energy being so strong that I pick up on it. Even then I can't take the lead in satisfying my own needs. On those occasions where I've been totally satisfied, it's been because she has met my needs by coincidence or intuition.

My fetish issues are about two things: abandon and knowing she wants it. (This is profoundly different from pretending she wants it, and the frequency of porn fantasies that go out of their way to make this point -- that she really does want it -- makes me think it's a more common issue than we might think.) I'm attracted to dominatrixes, but not out of a desire for humiliation or pain or submission to dominance. It's about submission to anything; it's about letting go. When I was a monastic oblate, it was not about submitting to God or submitting to the abbot. It was about submitting to the ritual and the moment. It was about the freedom and comfort of not choosing or taking the lead because everything was clearly defined. And it was about the incense and chants. (Those Catholics really understood the power of abandon back in the Middle Ages.)

This might be obvious to any reader but is it that I'm afraid of offending not her, but me? If so, how do I make this stop? Is there a real problem here? Or have I just not found the right sexual partner – a dominant woman who is empathetic, who can read me and see my needs better than I can, and bring them out in me, and who doesn't, after a while, come to resent the responsibility of doing so? Or if I had a relationship like that for a while – a few months? years? – would I not need her to lead anymore? All my work in self-help has set in my mind a deep belief that you have to work things out yourself, that depending on another's guidance is enmeshment, dangerous dependence. But maybe it's OK to have a power imbalance, especially if it's temporary. And isn't everything temporary anyway?

NOT IN CONTROL

The reason I relate to women's stories of sexual awakening, puberty, etc. so much is that my own sexual coming-of-age and growth has been entirely in the hands of my partners. Every encounter I've had was initiated by the other person.

I've been sexually aware and active for nearly 30 years, I've read a hundred sex help and analysis books, and lived much of my life on the fringes of sexually enlightened groups, and I don't know what I want. I enjoy sex but I focus on my partner's satisfaction. I know a few things that turn me on but I don't know the essence of my sexual self. Do I have a more aggressive side that is shut down because of some fear, or am I simply missing those impulses? Would I be happy as a true submissive, or is the desire to not be responsible for what I'm doing an obstacle to happiness? Is that the bottom line – am I afraid of being responsible for sex? Afraid of showing I'm lustful, desirous? Could it really come just from getting no guidance or modeling as a kid – simple fear of the unknown? Or should I take a Rational Emotive Therapy-type view: Who cares how it happened. How do I fix it? I'm not clear about what needs fixing. What the problem is. Let alone how to solve it. I'm not even clear how much I care. Does it bother me more because I think it needs fixing, or because it really does? At least I'm asking questions.