are you available?

About nine months ago…

When I began to unravel the habits, behaviors and shared responsibilities of married life, I realized something. It had been months since I’d been touched. Sure, I mean it would have been nice to have someone hold my hand, put an arm around me, embrace me…but I suddenly felt quite eager (i.e. desperate) to get naked and, well, randy. And with another human of the opposite sex.

I reached out to a number of my male friends, most of whom are married, to ask if they knew of any guy friends who might be in a situation similar to mine, which I summarized as such: “If horniness were fatal, I’d be dead already!”

Imagine my surprise when a couple of them inquired about my other criteria — coyly disguised as a request for descriptors, such as height, hair color…and whether this fellow’s being single was a requirement. I won’t guess whether these (ahem) gentlemen were inquiring about such details for themselves or friends of theirs, but I made a decision at that moment:

Even if I was only looking for sport, I wanted someone who was available. Someone reachable when I wanted to reach out, someone without such certain limits, someone who could actually contribute something to the interaction.

And availability isn’t just about whether someone is married or not. It’s about whether he is free and willing to engage, connect, share presence. Some married men are more than willing to make themselves available, while some single men — such as my recently divorcing friend, Chi-guy — just can’t wrap their heads around opening themselves to such opportunity.

At least not yet…

the inquiry

About 21 months ago…

I was back in my cubicle at the offul, sticking out late winter in middle America, thinking about Max. I had noticed he was not wearing a ring. How was this possible? Was he a playboy unable to commit? Recently divorced? How old was he, anyway? And why was I suddenly obsessed?

To comprehend the relative importance of this crush, one must understand that it had been months since I had felt wanted or loved, since someone of the opposite sex had shown genuine interest in me, since I’d been touched. Frankly, Max had done none of these things…yet the hope that had sprung up so suddenly inside me reminded me of how badly I needed these things.

So I sent a note to another work friend in Max’s region. I told her how nice it had been to see her, how much I enjoyed meeting her family, asked what the story was with that cute guy Max, and promised to make time for cocktails during my next trip. In journalistic parlance, I buried the lead. And then I waited.

A few days later, I got a reply: The usual pleasantries — and the news that Max was to be married in a few weeks.

You’d think someone with whom I’d spent only a few hours would be easy to forget, but I found myself nursing a powerful work crush — and pondering what type of woman Max was about to marry. I imagined she was twenty-nine, a bottle blond, and had a beach body complete with fake breasts. Surely he deserved someone with more depth and experience, someone real and, well, more like me!

hmm…

Am contemplating that I may one day be online dating again….

After all, where else am I going to meet that special someone who wants to join, create with and contribute to an already existing family of three. Sure I know many who’ve done it — I mean both online dated and joined two families together. It’s just difficult for me to conceptualize at the moment.

that feeling again

21 months ago…

In the midst of what must have been the most miserable few months of my life — I had just come to the agonizing realization that I had to end my marriage, but hadn’t yet communicated it, things were not going well at work, and I was certainly suffering from situational depression or Seasonal Affective Disorder — I went on a work trip to a warmer clime.

My project partner lived in the city I traveled to. I had spoken to him on the phone and emailed with him. I enjoyed his cooperation, responsiveness and playfulness. But I thought nothing more of this fellow, who I shall refer to as Max. (I simply wasn’t emotionally available to think or feel more of this fellow — or anyone else, for that matter.)

While working with Max, I slowly began to notice the following qualities: he was tall, muscular, tan, and had a charming personality. He was helpful, friendly, communicative, willing and calm. He had a nice smile. And here’s the thing that I loved most about Max: he woke me up.

For a long time, I hadn’t felt anything but depression, resentment, anger, betrayal or hurt. I could barely remember feeling any other way. But there was something about Max. Was it possible that he was flirting with me? Now something inside me, that elusive feeling we refer to as chemistry or magnetism, was slowly blooming. I felt as if I were waking from a deep, long slumber. And for the first time in probably six months, I felt hope.

date ready?

My marriage had failed. While still in the midst of slogging through the legal stuff of divorce*, I’m sure it seems strange for me to express a desire to be married again. So many of the folks I know who’ve survived divorce assure me they are perfectly content to never marry again. Some even swear they won’t. Perhaps having yet to experience true partnership, a companionship that I have to believe and hope is possible, it remains my deepest yearning.

Of course, this dream is likely to be in the somewhat distant future. First, my ex has to move out. And then we will both, I hope, focus on the well-being of our children and ensuring that they feel as safe and stable as possible, despite everything.

Still, thinking ahead, it struck me that I will have to learn to date again. More immediately, I must learn to pick men up. And that activities such as these are going to require a level of grooming I must confess to having allowed to taper off some time ago. I am not entirely without vanity; my ex simply never cared.

The fabulous au natural me of more than a decade ago was fit, taut, sexy. The current reality is that I’ve birthed two children, I’m carrying around a bit of extra weight, hair grows in places that it once did not, and I’m going to need to exert a bit more effort than simply shaving my legs and painting my toenails to achieve a condition one single girlfriend refers to as “date ready.”

Is it normal to feel overwhelmed by what I suppose ought to be simple maintenance and upkeep? Add it to the list along with yard work, gardening, housekeeping, earning, parenting — it’s just one more chore. And I’m already exhausted!

*all the final paperwork was sent in by the first week in January, 2011!