car trouble

I was driving down the freeway on the way home from work, admiring all the sexier cars going by, thinking “someday I’ll have a husband who wants me to drive one of those,” when I caught myself at it. I mean thinking that very crazy notion.

And I realized that I don’t need anyone’s approval or wish for me to drive a hot car — I can have whatever the hell car I want for myself because I’m in charge. And I value me and I don’t need approval from anyone. Of course I know this. Of course I’ve had this realization before…yet still, on some level, I realized this mental pattern meant I’m still seeking direction, approval, competence, the “go-ahead” from somewhere outside myself.

Clearly this is a pattern for me: one of those nasty, sticky karmic lessons that doesn’t want to go away until it’s well and truly engrained into my noggin. Seems like every time I peel back another layer, I need to learn the same lesson again, in some nuanced new way…

So I hereby declare myself competent, independent, in charge and approved. As is. And I will do what the hell I want…whether it means driving this rice grinder into the ground or hailing a hot new chariot. It’s all me, Baby!

written in the stars

I have one of those daily horoscope apps on my smart phone. Today, it had this message for me:

“Pretend for a moment that love is like a star in the sky. It twinkles in the distance. It is surrounded by darkness. It is far away and unattainable. You can’t…get in your rocket ship and soar to a star. If you have felt cynical or hopeless about having the best kind of love in your life, it may be because you are — without realizing it — thinking of it as something you cannot really have. But you can. And the time has never been better. Take the first step…”

Hmmm…a thinker: both challenging and really, really nice. I’m open…

crazy life

Life’s been a little crazy, y’all, so I haven’t had much time to write. There are children’s club or school activities each night, and much mayhem in the workplace. Here’s the rest in a nutshell:

I went to my first-ever sex toy party last weekend…and all I could think about was how much fun this stuff would be if there was a guy in my life to experiment with me! (Okay, truth be told, I was imagining the fun my ex boyfriend and I would have had with those toys!) And the other weirdness about it was that, for all the fodder, the girls (friends of a friend) never really got very fun or playful. Most of the women I know will confess that we can easily get far more raunchy than any group of men. Heck, even my co-workers at the office and I have had conversations that were more suggestive and knowing and “girlfriend-y” than what was going on at this “party.” Oh well, at least I can say I’ve been to one.
Mother’s Day is coming up Sunday. My children are cheerily bringing home plants from school and hiding cards and offering me back rubs and other sweet gestures; meanwhile, I’m not sure Hallmark makes a card that adequately expresses the sentiments I feel for my mother at this moment. She has just bought a car with her long-time ex, which prompted a greater flurry of communication between her children (me) and sister (my aunt) and daughter-in-law than we typically have in a given year. What to do with our crazy mother, who has clearly lost her mind?! One day, I got the recap of my sister-in-law’s conversation with her; the next, I heard my brother-in-law pleading with (yelling at) her to “Wake the fu#% up!” in the midst of a passionate and inspired 45-minute diatribe. My own words toward her were frank, laced with kindness and entirely ungenerous to her ex. She is getting a book about verbal abuse for a Mother’s Day gift. If she doesn’t find it useful in her relationship with the sociopath in her home, perhaps she can at least learn to deal with the rest of us.
Finally, my ex (boyfriend, not husband) texted me today, calling me “sweetie.” I wonder if he’s been thinking about me as much as I’ve been thinking about him, or if he just accidentally texted the wrong girl…? Regardless, it was sweet to hear from him.

Stay tuned…

devotion

I feel as though I’ve had a breakthrough: feelings of overwhelm and sadness I had earlier this year have passed and (aside from the allergies) I’m feeling more energetic, waking earlier, powering through most work days, feeling sharp and generally thinking my life is pretty awesome! I am strong and certain of my boundaries.

Looking back on recent challenging times (and, yes, of course I know there will always be more ahead), I view them as part of the process, peeling back another layer of the onion…in a word, growth.

Here, on the other side, I am quite happily not dating. My life is fulfilling as it is. I am also noticing an entirely new level of openness to possibility. (Thus, I suspect I would also be quite happy if I were dating.)

Where a few short months ago I wasn’t able to fully give myself over to a loving relationship, I feel capable now — capable of giving as well as receiving, capable of feeling that kind of full-on “in it-ness,” capable of genuine devotion.

I’m not actively looking, mind you, but I’m open to whatever might develop naturally.

As a footnote, I’ll Have Another just won the Kentucky Derby…he wasn’t the most powerful-looking horse, he didn’t have the most experienced jockey, he didn’t start out ahead of the pack. If a horse like that can come from behind and win the race…well, let’s just say that gives me hope, too.

baby crazy

Today I’ve learned that another of my girlfriends is pregnant. She’s the second wife, and he will have grandchildren older than their coming arrival. And I can’t help but feel just a bit surprised.

Sure, this happens all the time. But, given their lifestyle and such, I guess I’d just assumed that they’d talked before getting married and decided to be wonderful aunt and uncle and grandparents. But, oh, what a wonderful treat to have a baby!

I met another friend and her one-year-old for brunch over the weekend. My children sat bored and restless, playing with electronic devices, while I, smitten, cooed over the darling little girl. My girlfriend was 39, nearly 40, when she had her daughter. Another girlfriend has just undergone IVF…fingers crossed.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that I’ve got babies on the brain. I suppose it’s safe to confess that I’m baby crazy!

Would I have another? I’ve gone back and forth many times since my youngest was born (now more than eight years ago), even considering becoming a surrogate to give another couple the joy of becoming parents. My son even remarked a few years ago, “Mommy, I think you’d have another baby if you could.” Last week, I saw a profile of three children waiting for adoption and wished I were capable of bestowing such miracles on my own. I’ve often thought about hosting exchange students or taking in foster children…if I weren’t a single, that is. (Even as a single, I may yet do such things as my children grow a wee bit older…)

Ultimately, with my other roles as parent and provider, such musings have yet to come to anything. And today, while I’ve counted myself for some time among the well and truly finished, unwilling to go back to wee-hour feedings and diaper pails, I think I might just be open…if the stars aligned…if the man and wind conditions were right…perhaps if I could stay home at least part of the time…I might be open to considering it.

My children are, of course, dead set against this. But they can be bribed. Further, they are not in charge.

Ultimately, my conclusion is this: I have an open heart and an open mind and many, many gifts that might be shared in any number of ways. For the moment, I’ll revel in being an honorary aunt to my friends’ babies — and someday, sooner than if I had a newborn, a social life.

Peter Pan

Somehow I’ve always managed to attract a certain type of men: When I was not yet thirty, the fifty-year-olds were drawn to me like white on rice, like moths to a lamp. Lately, it seems to be guys who don’t want to grow up, who want to live in the moment, who don’t have any kind of vision for the future. Or is it just that a disproportionate number of the available men out there are single because they aren’t interested in commitment?

In any case, I sometimes wonder whether I should be concerned about the trend, concerned that maybe I’m giving off a “fantasy” vibe, rather than “marriage-potential” vibe.

I’ve been clear about what interests me, and I’ve aligned my behavior to my long-term interests, eschewing easy dalliances. After all, I’d hate to end up back in a relationship with a man who ultimately required as much parenting as my children. A man (by this age) ought to have some sense of self, strong core values and a clear understanding of the expectations of commitment. He ought to be mature enough to behave with integrity and conduct himself with a certain amount of dignity.

My latest six-month romance was with a man who bucked the trend: he was dignified and intentional (though he would have said “deliberate”) about living a set of values. In fact, he may have been the most mature man I’ve ever dated. It goes without saying that these are qualities I admire.

So I’m going to bless that chapter of my life, express my gratitude for the experience and know, with confidence, that I’ll recognize such qualities when I next experience them.

a whole new world of weird

It’s interesting that I feel so grounded and centered with so much weirdness around me:

Someone material to me has just made one of the most unmitigatedly, colossally poor decisions of her life: she has allowed her ex to move back into her life and into her home. The ex is certainly narcissistic, quite possibly a psychopath, who was fired from his job for screwing an intern (in his office) who called him “Dad.” This is while married. The divorce was ugly; she has struggled to manage a large house and finances since. And she’s willing to take the philandering douchebag back… Ugh. Sadly, the woman in question is my mother. Containing the fallout will surely mean my relationship with her changes, as will the relationship she has with my children. The manipulative man formerly known as my stepfather has no place in my life.

Meanwhile, I’ve shared this news with my ex, whose response was that — if she could forgive and take him back — perhaps there was hope for us to reconcile, as well… Um, no.

Despite the drama going on around me, I’m managing my boundaries…so far, so good anyway.

world gone mad

There’s a whole new level of crazy going on in my world, so pardon me if you don’t hear more for a few days. I’m happy to report that it is not me or my immediate life, but some wackness in my extended family…and we’re talking serious dysfunction. Like “should we have her committed and ask a judge for durable power of attorney?” messed-up-ness.

In other news, I’m actually delighted that none of you seemed to care about my boobs…no likes, no comments.

Let’s get back to talk of dating soon…

where am I going with this?

I honestly don’t know.

I thought I had a good concept going with failedatforty.com — a good story and one with potential legs. For example, I could have been “fierce at forty-one,” or “failed to fierce” or “failed to fabulous.”

But, truth be told, I had started dating by the time I thought I’d be ready to do these things. And I’d started to begin thinking about my professional growth again, which meant I didn’t have as much time or energy to spend here. And I didn’t feel fierce at all. I felt…soft. Which was not only unexpected, but also without alliteration.

Unexpectedly soft. That’s how I felt in a relationship with a manly guy with manly man energy. And — I know it sounds crazy — I loved it! I’m sure my guy would have laughed and joked, “soft as nails!” But I know he enjoyed being man enough to match my strong-willed energy. Strong on the inside, soft and flexible on the outside…it was like that thing Joan Armatrading sings about in her song Willow: “strong, straight, willing…”

So, I’m not sure I feel all that soft anymore, really…neither do I feel fierce. Maybe sometimes. Occasionally fabulous. Perhaps I’m failed to fabulous? I guess time will tell…

In the meantime, I’m just going to keep dropping in, sharing some about thoughts about relationships, dating and being when the mood arises.

Let me know what you think.

let’s break up again

Hollywood has made a killing on romantic stories of first dates that happen over and over again.

And so, while lying in my hammock on the first lovely day of spring, remembering fondly its role in the courtship between me and my first boyfriend after becoming single again, I began musing on what I thought was a brilliant idea: We had broken up so lovingly, maturely, beautifully…why couldn’t we break up over and over again? Why not spend one more beautiful, perfect, last day together — knowing that maybe we aren’t quite right for the long haul together — but enjoying and celebrating the love and affection we still have for one another. What could be wrong with that? Perhaps I should start on the screenplay!

So as I was remembering and musing — you’d think I’d know better — I dialed his number. To my surprise, he answered. And I rambled on for a bit about all my girlfriends thinking I’m a damn fool and how much I missed him and that I’d brought my hammock out and I told him my idea. We chatted a bit and then, as we were about to end our conversation, he asked, “So, do you want me to come over?”

And he did. And we talked and snuggled in the hammock for a bit and he said, “I’m going to take you upstairs and [this part is really not fit for print] and then we’re going to dinner and then I’m going to bring you back home and we’re going to [do that part] all over again.”

Now, y’all know by now how much I like a man with a plan. And especially one who can execute on the plan. Well, we did exactly as planned. Except for the part where he paused and told me that the only thing that could make it better than it was already was if we were in a committed relationship. And when I told him that I still couldn’t say, “YES!” to that, I know he was disappointed.

As we said our good-byes that night, he looked me in the eyes and said, “Now don’t call me again.” And I haven’t, even though I still think he’s wonderful and will miss him.

I’ve since told a few girlfriends about this, and they’ve all nodded and repeated, “mmm, breaking up again” knowingly, like it’s a thing. So apparently this is no novel idea. Apparently, for years, all around me and without my knowing it, people have been breaking up again and enjoying it! Like so many other things, I am a late bloomer when it comes to enjoying the benefits of break-up sex.

None of this brought up difficult emotions for me. I’d made my peace with where we were at — and I still think this guy is a terrific catch!

And then, earlier this weekend, I saw a little film (again) called 500 Days of Summer. Months after breaking up, main characters Tom and Summer find themselves at the same wedding / reception and she falls asleep on his shoulder on the way back to the city. She asks him to a party that weekend and, at some point that evening, he realizes that she’s engaged to a new guy…and he’s devastated.

That’s when I realized that I was Summer and he was Tom, and inviting my former man back into my life for a day may have given him false hope of reconciliation and was, probably, actually kind of cruel…and that hurting him was the furthest thing from my intent.

Toward the end, the two leads run into one another again and, in the course of their conversation (I may be paraphrasing here), Summer, now married, says, “One day I woke up and I just knew.”

Tom: “Knew what?”

Summer: “All those things I was never certain about with you.”

And I guess that articulates really well what so many of us are looking for: certainty, something to which we can say YES!

Oh well. Lesson learned. But I’m still toying with that screenplay idea, Hollywood.

p.s. If you haven’t seen the movie, do — it’s a tale wonderfully told. Besides, who can resist Joseph Gordon-Levitt and Zooey Deschanel?