There are some people I meet who seem, immediately, to be and have been soul-mates. We go to the depths of each other’s characters, knowing the way as if it had been written in the tablets of time.

We move into the premises and promises and premonitions, each barrier sliding aside as the right questions are posed, the answers received positively, each generating a next.

We argue gently, for we disagree and are not each other. And that is O.K., because there are many life journeys, and the world is of a size that no one can go upon them all.

These soul-mates move, immediately, past what I look like to them into the depths of feeling and of thinking, into who I am, really. But I am fearsome, and many who would know me, cannot; and I do not know what to say or think about that.

I am often protective because I have known that many others have neither the means nor the willingness to begin to know me as I know my self. During several years of lessened confidence, I often reacted self-protectively; handled the reactions of others to my semblance, by an inner recitation of Machiavelli’s dictum: “It is better to be feared than to be loved.”

But even so, I am quite fortunate. I fit into several mostly positive stereotypes at this point in life. I look like what I should look like, for many others. They are inclined already toward me: too old to be physically dangerous, old enough to be taken seriously…for others to want to…know me, trust me.

My youthful earnest and self-righteous anger has mellowed and has been cast out from my appearance. Others – do not find many soul-mates because they do not look right…to them.

Already by the time we begin, the barriers erect themselves; the possibilities of hurt and anguish, overweighing the potential of understanding , of being…understood: pride, integrity?

Connecting. Yes, lovely. But not always…possible…or actual.