The Art of Flirting with Self-Devotion
When Yearning Meets Practice
I release my chocolate wool coat from my shoulders and gently slide into the bar seat, placing my phone in my bag for the evening. I was craving a nightcap before heading to bed, and this mini sanctuary is the perfect bedtime story. Immediately drawn to the cognac and vanilla spice aroma that was lightly floating throughout the dimly lit restaurant. The glimpse of the full moon shining through the window walls. Tea lights welcome every table set for two. The live band serenadin’ all the lovers in the house.
I watched the sax player, observing the way his eyes were tightly shut, his head swaying from left to right, and the way his fingers hit each key. Mm, I love the way this spot makes me feel. Suddenly, my eyes closed too. I felt the low frequency of the baritone sax, slightly vibrating through my body.
“Ma’am, could I offer you the menu?”
My eyes lift toward the bartender. “Hi there,” I say with a smile. “I’ll just have a merlot, please.”
“Of course, ma’am.” He smiled back.
“Would you like a recommendation?”
I turned toward the voice and immediately locked into his deep mahogany eyes.
I smirk, “Of course.”
“Sir,” the gentleman began, “A glass of the Duckhorn Merlot for the lady, please.”
“Certainly,” the bartender said, heading toward the wine cabinet.
‘Thank you,” I replied. My gaze shifted back toward the band as my anticipation rose for my glass of wine that was on its way.
“These fellas are amazing, aren’t they?”
I turn toward those mahogany eyes again.
He continued, “I couldn’t help but notice the way you were enjoying the band. They’re talented.”
“So talented,” I responded. “The instruments make me feel lifted. They make me feel safe and warm,” My cheeks flush simply at the thought of comfort.
“I can tell,” He smiled.
The bartender set the glass of wine in front of me.
“Thank you,” I reached for the first sip, enamored by the warm, cocoa flavor. My eyes closed as if my body wanted to savor this moment. “Wow,” I thought. Pleased as the wine lingered down my throat. I gently place my hand on the gentleman’s wrist. “Smooth and velvet,” I say with a slight grin.
“I knew you’d like it.”
As we engaged in magnetic conversation, the jazz band trembled through my bones, and the glass of wine continued to tease my taste buds, reminding me that I haven’t tasted all the magic there is to taste in this world yet.
I check the time on my wrist.
As lovely as this evening has been, I am ready for bed.
“Thank you again for the wine,” I say, standing up from my seat.
“My pleasure, you’re leaving so soon?” The disappointment in those mahogany eyes was evident.
“Yeah, it’s late,” I smile, wrapping my wool coat around my body, embracing the walking hug.
I wave to the bartender and head toward the door.
“I didn’t even get your name,” the voice said.
But it didn’t matter.
I was ready for bed.
Before I could reach for the door handle to exit, the host grabbed it for me. A glimpse of my reflection winked as I walked through. Damn. I. Am. Gold.
The night air swarmed around me for a moment, a chill that quickly turned refreshing. One more exhale before sliding into the backseat of my awaited car.
What lingered wasn’t the man, the wine, nor the music. What lingered was the reminder that I always get to choose.
I can be whomever I want. I can decide ‘yes or no’ whenever I want. There is no pressure to perform, nor should there be an expectation, because, well, I am not auditioning for you.
Looking into someone's eyes without wondering what they’re thinking, but simply feeling that the twinkle I’m seeing in their eye, is my capacity to receive being mirrored.
What happens when you flirt with the way you feel? What if we took the playful communication, the eye contact, the body language, the verbal cues, the light physical touch, and tease our lives in the same way?
For every idea, for every desire, for every fear, what if we released the commitment, the pressure, and tried anyway? Shifting our focus to building excitement anyway.
The art of flirting with self-devotion. Speaking to myself the way I’d speak to someone who has my intrigue. Approaching my ideas with curiosity and exploration, resembling my favorite slow burn, letting the idea impress me. Engaging my senses, intentionally, passionately, like a permanent snapshot in my aura that I can keep returning to again and again. Slowing down enough to feel the deep breath navigating into my lungs.
I rest assured that I can allow this thing, whatever it is, to stir up every fiber inside of me, with the intention of only observing how it makes me feel.
Embodying a world where all that matters is how I feel, a world where how I feel is enough.
