I’m on vacation. I brought the children to Chicago to see some sights…and you know who’s in this town: Chi-guy! I’ve already seen him (and, sadly, he’s feeling sick)… But, oh, what a gentleman! What manners!
My children are with me, and tomorrow we have a play date planned with him and his daughter, so I have no illusions of any “adult” fun. It’s just that the energy of this city excites me — and something about Chi-guy’s dreamy energy gives me a delightfully giddy, girlie feeling!
This one ought to raise a few people’s ire…
So, it’s like 2007-ish, right? And the rumors begin to circulate that Brad Pitt has left his wife, Jennifer Anniston, for his Mr. & Mrs. Smith co-star Angelina Jolie. Suddenly, the tabloids and press and groups of women are on fire everywhere with vitriol for this hussy who stole away the innocent Jen’s husband.
Well…what always surprised me about this phenomenon is how rarely Brad’s part in all this is mentioned (and, yes, I’ve now gone generic: Brad and Jen are any committed couple, and Angelina is any “other” woman). There were two people in a committed relationship, two people responsible for their fidelity — and, yet, Brad got none of the blame, while Angelina — who had very little responsibility for another couple’s relationship, I might argue — took the brunt of the mass outrage:
And what of Jen and Brad in their relationship? They were responsible for nurturing, loving, communicating and compromising with one another. Somehow, it broke apart from within first. A strong and solid committed man would be impervious to external influences, right?
Well, even I admit that Italy and Angelina could be tempting…
I’ve personally experienced or witnessed many shades of this hue — from my own parents’ divorce (which ended in infidelity) to the temptations I encountered while feeling vulnerable while in my own marriage to feeling completely helpless when I couldn’t seem to recapture any of my husband’s wayward energy. I never cheated, and I don’t know that my ex did, either…but we weren’t equally committed at all times (or ever). And yet I was always conscious of our responsibility for our relationship.
If my ex had been unfaithful (and I suppose it’s possible that he was), I can assure you I would have held him squarely responsible. This does not mean that I would have had any positive or warm feelings toward the other woman; only that I wouldn’t automatically assume malicious intent on her part. What if she had done nothing to lure him? What if he had made the first move?
When I was younger, my attitude was far more cavalier. I had a few encounters with married men myself. I don’t condone this behavior; I now view it as wrong. At the time, my behaviors were foolish and naive, with no intent to hurt others. I never made any first moves. I assumed these men just didn’t value their marriages. And if they didn’t, why should I bother? (And, of course, I see how such dalliances hurt me most of all in the end.)
Having lived through more than a decade of commitment, I certainly see how misguided my perspective once was. I believe those around us — our friends, our families and society in general — ought to be generally inclined to support us in our commitments, whatever they may be. Still, I lean toward placing the greatest onus for any marriage or commitment on the two people in it. And, while I hope others around us will adopt behaviors that support those commitments, I’m not sure the support of those outside of our commitments is the relationship glue we should rely on.
I didn’t go on an online dating site because I want to meet new friends. Ultimately, I want to meet the man with whom I hope to spend the rest of my life. And I’d like to have fun doing it! I would like to meet someone to date, to have fun with, to enjoy a little romance.
And yet, the best relationships begin with a strong foundation of friendship…
So what does one do when there seems to mutual interest, and then one backs off and offers friendship?
It would be disingenuous for me to say that I’m looking for new friendships in this manner. Instead, getting the brush-off and then being asked to be friends feels more like being on “keep warm” or “back burner” status. In other words, not something I enjoy.
I want to be on the front burner, the burner turned to hot, feeling a little sizzle!
I’m a compete sucker for John Cusack. In anything. I don’t really care how bad it is, I will get sucked in anyway. He is virtually perfect (but whoever does his wardrobing could use a slap upside the head). So, when I came across what turned out to be Must Love Dogs, I couldn’t resist. My favorite part is his character’s second date over dinner at an Armenian (I think) restaurant. There, he fumbles out a speech that goes something like this:
“You know what? Can we just skip the small talk? Who are you? Who am I? What are we doing here tonight?
I just have this theory that when you first meet somebody, that’s the time when you have to be totally honest, because you have nothing to lose. Five, ten years down the road, it gets a lot harder; you can’t just wake up and say, ‘this is the real me.’ It doesn’t work that way.
You know what I’m talking about? This is it. We’re never going to see each other as clearly, as nakedly, as we do in this moment, right now, in this instant. I’m really scaring you right now, aren’t I?…
I’m just divorced and I had my heart broken badly by a woman who I really loved… but I think your heart grows back bigger. Once you get the shit beat out of you and the universe lets your heart grow back bigger … and I think that’s the function of all this heartache and pain, you know? You’ve got to go through that to come out at a better place. That’s how I see it anyway.”
I loved this soliloquy. So that’s what I meant when I said my heart is more open. It got the shit beat out of it, but it knows that it can now love more openly, more deeply, and better than before. And the best part is that it’s going to allow itself to be loved back a whole lot better, too!
You’ve heard of hundred-year floods or hundred-year storms…well, today may be the day of the hundred-year cry.
A confluence of factors, including losing my favorite shades over the weekend, scaring off yet another bloke and a once-monthly flood of hormones have collided to create the ideal conditions for this sort of emotional release. In fact, it’s likely to be a necessity.
So how did I scare away the fellow you ask? Uh, not sure. I seem to be the one- or two-date queen these days (more often my choice). I suck at this dating stuff. I admit it. I haven’t dated in well over a decade. Neither did I have good relationship models in my formative years — and my last relationship was disastrous. My ex used verbal manipulations and silence to control his environment — is it any wonder my communication skills are a little rough?
In this case, I’m not sure what it was that I said…I only meant to have a quick chat, feeling bloody awful as I did with hormone brain and allergies…my mind was too foggy for any serious discussion. And serious this gentleman is. It seemed he suddenly realized, though I said so before, that I am a mostly full-time parent…and then he was backpedaling: I could call him when I have time, I could call him when my vibrator batteries run out (this was actually quite funny at the time, based on an earlier joke in our conversation), maybe we could be friends…after all, seems I don’t really have time to date…
What did I say? Probably too much, as usual. And probably not the right things to keep him interested. Somehow I failed to spit out:
Perhaps more importantly, I’m not sure I conveyed a level of enthusiasm on par with his own. And then it faded…
Why? Well…I’m scared and I’m out of practice. I’ve never been in sales. My heart got broken. It’s healed bigger and more open than it was before. But it’s still a little tender and I’m still a little guarded. I am trying. And I find it difficult to show my true feelings so early. I don’t want to seem over-eager or desperate. But I am trying to be present and open and take the right kind of risks. I suppose there’s something in this that seems like game-playing, though I have neither the intent nor skill.
I know this guy’s done me a favor by opting out early. I respect and appreciate that. Still, there’s a little part of me that feels like I’ve failed…again. I wanted to get past the “interview” stage, to get to the hand-holding and tender touches, to connect, to feel a man’s soft lips touch mine, and to experience regular conversation and touch that I’ve been missing for so long. Something that seemed so natural for so much of my youth seems so elusive now, particularly in the bizarre, forced world of online dating. Another opportunity slipped away…
And that’s why this won’t be your run-of-the-mill monthly release; it’s going to be a serious cathartic experience.
It’s been an interesting week, so I’ll share a few highlights:
…getting to know all about you, getting to like you, getting to hope you like me… I love this song and the musical it’s from, The King and I. Dating is supposed to be about having fun and getting to know people — hopefully, eventually getting to know someone special.
So this may sound kind of weird: I schedule the kind of dates with guys that are the most low-pressure, the least likely to have any sort of romantic element, that are…well…mundane. Frankly, I think that’s the best way to get to know someone, to see if they can make fun out of nothing, to see if running errands can be entertaining, to see how they navigate everyday life. I enjoy conversation, making fun with words and dialogue, and seeing how my date behaves toward clerks in stores and hospitality workers and strangers asking directions on the street.
I don’t think I did this “boring date” thing consciously at first…I mean, when you’re just getting back out there, you don’t give some guy you’ve never met your Saturday night anyway, right? But I’m starting to see other advantages to this preference.
Consider The Bachelor or The Bachelorette, for example: put a girl on the island of Bora Bora and I can guarantee you she’ll fall in love with one of the attractive men around. The setting alone is enough to create a kind of euphoria, and then there are all these singles, who have nothing else to do but look lovely and woo… Everything is lovey-dovey until they’re off the island, off the show, and back in real life…where it all falls apart. These relationships — infatuations built on scenery and alcohol and candlelight and once-in-a-lifetime adventures — are destined to fail. So I’d like to have a slightly clearer view of reality before I let my heart get carried away.
Don’t get me wrong — I love the candlelight and romance and all, and I want those incredible adventures, too, in time. But I want it to unfold naturally, because it’s something we both want…not because of the scenery.
So that same chap who suggested I’m over-analyzing all of this, well, he said something…I should say emailed (and, heavens! I do much prefer to actually talk in my relationships — phones are okay, but nothing beats the face to face!) that has me thinking. I haven’t been obsessing over him or anything he’s said, mind you; I was merely meditating last night as I was drifting off and had one of those flashes of clarity that made me go “hmmm.”
First, let me reiterate that I don’t normally share my blogging habit with men to whom I’m attracted. This one, more-like-it (in case you hadn’t guessed), just seemed open enough, strong enough, in the sort of field where he gets the whole creative process thing. It sort of slipped out, I guess. I was hopeful that he wouldn’t take it very seriously…after all, I don’t.
So we’d been flirting a bit and he’d offered to give me a massage sometime…never followed through…and so, in his email, he mentioned that he’s really tempted, but hesitant because he thinks I might interpret that as… And here’s where I have this incredible clarity around the situation:
You may recall that I’ve been through the whole marriage counseling thing — and with a counselor who had an excellent reputation. Still, after going through sessions, being called out on my bad behavior and watching as my ex was called on little or none of his…I actually ended up going to individual counseling to deal with the marriage counseling. It would go like this: We’d have an acrimonious couples’ counseling session in the evening. The next day, at noon, I’d talk with our counselor on the phone to try to re-interpret or process what had happened the night before. (This was great — I got all kinds of juicy information during these talks — but nothing that helped us with our marriage, only stuff that confirmed why it was unlikely to ever really work.) And then I’d go see my own counselor to work on myself and try to get over what felt like an emotional hangover from the couples’ counseling.
My point in recounting this is that I have professional advice as a basis from which to say it… The single biggest take-away I got from my counselor was this: I am responsible for my happiness. I am not responsible for my partner’s happiness. In fact, she went so far as to say, “It’s your job to make him do the right thing.” And I asked, “Even if he resents me for it?” She replied, “How he reacts is not your responsibility. Let him feel resentful. At least in the end he will have done the right thing.”
This may seem obvious to any emotionally healthy adult but, at the time, I was so in the weeds of my unhealthy relationship that it was a revelation. A huge weight lifted from my shoulders. I didn’t have to try to “make” this man (who was depressed and perpetually unable to be happy) happy. I moved forward, worked on myself, took care of the home and children as best I could, and began implementing those boundaries I’ve written about. I’m not saying I did this all “right” or anything, just that I got the concept.
So, while I can appreciate a man who respects me enough not to want to mislead me, the concern might be a little misplaced. Just ’cause some attractive man is rubbin’ on me doesn’t mean I’m going to let the situation venture into something that feels uncomfortable to me. It’s not his responsibility to worry about how I might interpret or react…because, finally, I’ve learned enough to say with conviction: I’m a big girl…I got my back.
Mostly I’ve been feeling great lately — confident and optimistic — so it’s been frustrating for the past couple of days to full stuck in the mud, overwhelmed…as though this place is going to hell in a handbasket.
Yesterday, I came home to towels and sand everywhere and a messy kitchen (thank you, nanny!). Naturally, as I tried to clean up, the disposal crapped out. Suddenly, I felt completely overwhelmed…both tactically and financially! I don’t have the time to accomplish all I need to, nor the resources to hire it done. I’m paying for a car and a new roof for the house and the garage, full-time summer childcare, I’m trying to find a way to take the children on a road trip, and I just don’t need any more stuff to go wrong right now. Between working full-time and parenting full-time and scheduling the oil changes and dentist appointments and haircuts and planning a vacation and the weather, when in the hell am I going to cut the grass, much less fix something I don’t know how to fix?!
I hate feeling this way…and, worse, I hate myself for allowing myself to feel this way!
It is at this point (in my self-pity) that I realize that there is a part of me, deep inside, that resists trying to solve this problem. I simply expect a man to come along and fix it. That’s what my father always did. And that was certainly a part of what I expected of my mate…who is no longer my mate, of my own volition. I am a run-of-the-mill, Disney-variety damsel in distress, a caricature! (Enter more self-loathing…) It was not always entirely this way…I was all about diving in to ownership (in every sense of the word) when I bought my first condo…
I am nothing if not resourceful, I tell myself, so I reach out…My social networks tell me to try hitting the reset button on the bottom of my disposal and, if that doesn’t work, get an allen wrench and try to give it a crank to see if it gets unstuck. Reset fails. There are several sets of allen wrenches in the basement, I’m certain, yet I can’t find a single one, much less an entire one of those handy-dandy sets I know I’ve seen down there before. And I do mean plural…my father has seen to that.
And now, though I asked him to leave, this is when the anger and resentment at my ex percolates back up: I am alone without my male rescuer. The basement is a complete mess, and he just left it that way. I can’t find anything! I don’t know what he’s left here or what he’s taken with him. I blame him for allowing the children to take over the “workshop.” I blame him for the disposal not working. I blame him for my being in this completely overwhelming project of a fixer-upper house…this was the house he wanted above all others, while I wanted to keep looking. There, I said it. Clearly, despite efforts to that end, I have not yet purged all of the baggage of “us,” and I have not entirely accepted full responsibility for my life. I am a victim. (Ewww…that feels so gross!)
Yes, the self-pity came on strong. I wanted to throw my hands in the air and say, “I can’t do this!” And then, maybe, through releasing the fear, doubt and hopelessness out into the atmosphere, it would dissipate and the fearless woman in me would prevail…
As I happens, I made a healthy dinner, got a start on the lawn, a helpful neighbor fixed my disposal and I gave the roofer a final check for his work, which will be complete tomorrow. And, while I can’t be entirely sure that check won’t bounce, my outlook is so much sunnier now!
It was recently suggested to me (by an attractive man) that I might be over-analyzing all of this relationship stuff… I suppose that could be a fair supposition for a reader to make. Here, I’ll share part of my response…
“Indulge me as I share a story:
When I was pregnant with my daughter and began (around the 7th month) to feel the sheer panic that comes with the realization that this lovely little floaty bubble of bliss would, at some point burst, and then a head the size of a cantaloupe was going to come out of (and would likely tear to shreds) a much smaller hole / passageway…I went to the birthing classes and watched the reality birth stories on TLC. One thing I observed was that so many women would, in a moment of contraction agony, utter: “I can’t do this.” And I remember thinking they were ridiculous! I mean, we’re women, our bodies are MADE for this! I had my doula, my (drug-free) natural birthing plan, my body had been in the best shape of my entire life when I got pregnant, and — even though I was occasionally visited by the sheer terror I mentioned earlier — I was confident that I would be champ at labor and birth.
Fast forward to several hours into labor, when the pain got ahead of me and I could no longer ride it like a wave, and I could no longer relax or rest between contractions…this is the thought that came into my head: “I can’t do this.” And I thought it for a bit, meanwhile putting on my brave face and trying not to clamp my jaws together on the nearest arm and finally I, too, like those women on the shows, uttered those words, “I can’t do this.” Predictably, everyone around me jumped in with, “Yes you can!”s and other encouragement…but words or encouragement weren’t what I needed. What I needed was to speak my doubt aloud, release it of its power and move on…
I guess my blog is kind of like that. I don’t over-analyze everything…I think it, write it, release it and move on. Yes, there are areas of my life in which I’ve tried to be intentional…and then released those thoughts out into the universe. I’m probably more introspective and self-aware than many, likely more honest and bare…and that’s what I needed to do with this — I needed to explore being honest with myself, being completely vulnerable and to commit to writing all the time. (Frankly, I’ve had enough of this failed relationship introspection already — I’m ready to get out and live again!) Meanwhile, this space is also a great venue in which to cop a bit of a diva attitude that I rarely display in real life. So…if you’re going to read it, please try not to read too much into the very limited view it might offer…
While there are certain things that I’ve shared here that remain true — e.g. I do, at some point…maybe a few years in the future… want to be in a life-affirming, committed relationship — what I think I’m ready for has changed constantly since I began writing about it. One day, I think it would be peachy to find a lover who is willing to explore and share new heights of pleasure, and who might also be a confidante. Another day, I find I’m holding back my natural sensuality because I don’t want to lead with physical attraction, I want to find an emotional connection. And at another time, I think the most lovely thing in the world would be to enjoy a conversation, maybe hold hands, maybe smooch a little (okay, not gonna lie, a make-out session sounds spectacular!). I want adventure! Or a little candlelight and some romance! I’m making peace with all of the different aspects of myself and integrating my energy. I feel lighthearted and playful and whole in way that I can’t claim to have felt in years. It’s wonderful…I’m living in the present moment. And I feel amazing!
My entire adult life has been lived in shades of gray, sometimes with too few guard rails… After being pretty lost for a bit, grasping for anything that seemed solid, while being conscious about what I’m trying to create, I am wide open to allowing things to unfold, to “let go to the mystery”…in fact, I’d prefer to be surprised. At this moment, I have no pre-conceived notions about what my next relationship might be like or how long it will last…I can only suspect (given my parenting schedule), that it’s likely to unfold slowly. And that’s okay with me. I’m navigating moment to moment… Whatever I think I might want in the long run, the only way to move forward is to take small steps — meeting people, going out, having fun…”
Then I wrote that I have fun with him…and to please not mistake reading the blog for experiencing / knowing the woman who writes it.
What do you think of that, my kind readers?
the life and loves of Alisa B 