When you know, you know

Hey! It’s Paige.

Your pocket sexologist. Pocket philosopher. Pocket rocket, if you will. This is The Midday Tease, where you’ll find micro essays on sex, love, relationships and modern spirituality. Whatever that means.

It’s taken me 369 years to start this newsletter, but I finally feel ready to ponder life mysteries more publicly. It’s format might change, my opinions definitely will, AND I’m so grateful you’re here with me.

Okay, so…

When I met my boyfriend, I was deadset convinced the planets had aligned, a chasm in the cosmos had opened and Shakespeare himself would rise from the grave to take notes. I felt such an overwhelming sensation of rightness when he was around, that I was certain this was knowing when you know.

Part of why I thought this was because, truth be told, I’m a fanatical, thrill-seeking extremist with a bent for torrid romance, and I never do anything in halves.

The other part was that, as a 32-year-old woman on a quest to find someone to seriously consider starting a family with, I’d often heard that phrase used in reference to meeting the person you do it with. It’s sentiment whispers, somewhere out there, there is this ‘one’, and you’ll know it when he smacks you on the bum. (Firstly, ‘cos it will be consensual.)

For most of my 20s, romantic relationships felt impossible to sustain. I never had that meet-at-22-then-7-years-in-start-thinking-about-the-next-steps kind of relationship. That organic grow-up-together type of love, where gradual commitment happens in the background, rather than is the focus of your connection.

So, when I met my boyfriend, I wanted to know. My soft, feminine heart ached, please let this be it: the forever kind of devotion. I had worked so hard on shedding the shame around longing to be adored by trustworthy man; the idea that being a traditional romantic made me weak. But as the shimmer of our limerence began to settle, the philosopher and oracle within me had their chance to speak.

They gently reminded me that nothing comes with a guarantee; change is the only constant, and death is life’s only promise. (That, and paying taxes.)

Fear of uncertainty is pervasive in our secular culture. My personal discomfort with the unknown has almost been exclusively triggered in my relationships. But for others, I’ve seen it manifest as crippling anxiety over the toxicity of our environment, the hostility between our global leaders, the looming possibly of another health crisis, or the rapid evolution of technology and its imminent spiral beyond our mortal control. How are we supposed to cope with all these threats to our safety?

It doesn’t help that being right is also pedestaled in Western society. Our value is based on how sure we think we are; in the workplace, of our choices, about politics over dinner. We are rewarded for being experts who can confidently assert their intellect, and the curious mystics among us are relegated to the fringes. There is so little freedom to be wrong.

Alongside all of the external uncertainty, we are made to be afraid of our own.

Perhaps there is less in the unknown to be fearful of than we think…

Or, maybe, we are all genuinely f*cked. Either way, I think the remedy is in finding certainty the only place we can: in the truth of how we feel, moment to moment. In the intimacy of what our bodies are telling us, through the language of our feelings. And from there, exercising what little control we have over how we choose to respond. In a world constantly conspiring to lure our attention outward with the temptation of substances, screens, and other Capitalist seductions, it is an act of rebellion to face each truth as it arises. That’s my kinda Wim Hoff method.

As I gently surrender into my relationship, a fresh insight has emerged.

In place of the story that I’ll know forever when I know it, I can feel a greater depth to knowing right now. Knowing that I am exactly where I am supposed to be, for now. That I can trust, on some karmic level, this dynamic will propel me into the next chapter of my own personal growth, beckon me to take more responsibility for what I bring to connection, and invite me into deeper honesty. My only job is to build trust with myself, not to control someone else so that I can trust them.

I’d like to think I’ll be able to look back from my death bed and assert that yes, the planets did align, a chasm in the cosmos did in fact open and Shakespeare himself was revived (as artificial intelligence, for sure). But until such time, who am I to think I can micromanage such profundity from the inside? It took me 369 years to even start this newsletter.

Anyway. That got deep.

My hope is that I can write to you every week with what I’m thinking and feeling. I’ll do my best to create a portal where we can muse about sex, love, relationships and how to get closer to the truth. But it might not always be light and fluffy. (It might also be incredibly funny. Who knows. No one knows anything, remember.)

Until next Tuesday.

With chasm-opening gratitude for your time & attention,

Paige xo.

P.S. I’d love to hear from you! What you loved, what you hated, what you’re working on in your own life - all of it helps me grow.

P.P.S. Some other trinkets for you below. I’ll keep these updated.

Podcast I loved: Blu & Layla Martin on sex magic and sacred unions
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hGp8bDUK0SA

Song I’m crying to: Quietly Yours by Birdy https://open.spotify.com/track/7wRijQK8vRmGLK0RYW7Vr1?si=2908537762154a67

Upcoming comedy gigs (I swear I’m funny, too):
Thursday 4th LISMORE CIVIC (NSW) 7pm
Friday 12th MADOCKE BREWERY (QLD) 7pm