If you wanted to be swept up by some conformist everyman who replaced the multiple projects with a clean condo and a straight job, you could do that quite easily. There’s a more average bear that will love, love, love this highly evolved, communicative self you present to the world.
I think you want an artist boyfriend because YOU want to be an artist. You aren’t writing me so that I’ll tell you that some man will love you someday. You aren’t writing to me to prove that you’re healthy enough and now you’re ready to be cherished. You’re writing to me because you’re ready to cherish yourself.
You aren’t satisfied with “evolved.” That’s not enough for you. If it were, you’d be more sure of your spark, and remarks about lacking a spark wouldn’t get under your skin. You wouldn’t take some dude’s ambivalence personally.
And look, you’d also feel more alive and less worried if you felt comfortable with simply being GOOD. Because even the ladies who step right in line and aim to please, they have lots of spark, if that’s what makes them happy. YOU WANT MORE THAN THAT. The lack of spark within you comes from the conflict between WHO YOU TRY TO BE and WHAT YOU REALLY WANT FOR YOURSELF. You want more. You act like you don’t want more, you act like you’re satisfied, but in fact, you want a lot more.
I used to date men who were obsessed with their creative projects. After a while, I realized that I didn’t want THEM. I wanted to BE them. I thought being close to that energy might be enough. I thought that being loved by someone who was willing to give himself completely to the creative process was enough. I met a musician once who was consumed by his creations. I put him on a pedestal. I had so much crazy lust for him, it was almost stupid. But it wasn’t him — I hardly knew him — it was his focus, his total involvement and belief in what he did, that made me crazy. I wanted to have that kind of passion for myself. I SHOULD’VE BEEN CHERISHED. I refused to cherish myself. It was easier to pretend that all of that magic and passion belonged to someone else, and that I had to ask permission to get a little taste of it.