trying to pluck the low-hanging fruit

About a year ago…

A couple of jobs ago, I worked in a building on the other end of downtown, with a suave and charming guy who always had a bit of a thing for me. Despite not really being my type at all, we had chemistry. When I was feeling neglected in my marriage, I sometimes fantasized about running into him in the library and making out among the stacks.

He went through a divorce around the time I was moving on to my next gig. But we stayed loosely in touch, occasionally catching up over coffee. He changed jobs, too, and was now a lobbyist. I ran into him downtown one day and he hugged me longer than was comfortable. Pretty much everyone described him as “smarmy.” But that was all years ago…

Now I was newly single again and on the prowl — and Brendon should have been an easy target. Smarmy and lobbyist are irrelevant terms when one has a specific mission in mind. I had absolutely no interest in a relationship with him. In fact, I wasn’t even interested in him as a human. But sex, yeah. Think of Aaron Eckhart’s character in Thank You For Smoking. So I texted him, “What happened to that coffee date we had planned? Let’s upgrade to a cocktail to celebrate my being single and fabulous!”

“Well you’ve always been fabulous!” he replied. “Sorry to hear about your divorce. Pick the coziest place you can think of and you can tell me all about it.”

So you see, I thought this would be easy. Incredibly easy. The low-hanging fruit is always easy to reach and usually ready to be plucked, right?

But apparently smarmy lobbyists have an entire season of fundraisers to attend to, and his work demands kept getting in the way of any plans we’d made. When he cancelled on me for the second time via text, I ignored him. Note to men: you may be able to cancel a date via text once. But if you have to cancel the very next one, it merits a phone call and apology.

He began texting me again while I was out of town on vacation with my children. We vowed to make something work when I returned.

One day, as I was walking downtown, I saw Brendon coming from the other direction. He excused himself from the work colleagues he was with and embraced me in the middle of the street. I felt butterflies in my stomach and weak in the knees — classic crush symptoms, which were even more pronounced than they’d been back in the day. Brendon had to endure a work dinner with an out-of-town colleague, who would soon become his boss. After the sexual tension I felt right there in the street, I was sure Brendon would call after dinner …but he didn’t.

Brendon’s inaction was not helping me achieve the mission my counsellor set me on. And it was killing my self-esteem that someone I thought would be so easy and seemed to be interested in my charms was not motivated to take action! In the end, I never did hook up with Brendon.

And, looking back, I’m okay with that.

doctor’s orders

About 13 months ago…

When I went to see my counsellor to talk through all the bizarre sexual / commitment swirl going on around me (and ultimately to decide whether to stay at Max’s family’s home while on vacation), she told me something else:

“Even if your husband hasn’t moved out, I think you should go out and have sex. It will help make the separation more real for you and allow you to move forward in your life.”

If this wasn’t ground-breaking psychotherapy, I’m not sure what to call it! Throughout it all, I had tried my best to take the high road, to be respectful and behave honorably. Clearly my sexual needs were not being met, but I was hoping to change that once my ex moved out. And now I was being offered a hall pass to go out and “have sex like a man” for a few months, regardless of whether we were still living under the same roof.

To be honest, I’ve never been a pick-up artist. And if I didn’t know how to pick up men in my twenties, I certainly didn’t know how the hell to do it as a frumpy mother of two! Actually, I barely even dated around, except for a few months in college. I’ve spent most of my life, since my teenage years, as a serial monogamist. By this time, I may have had one or two encounters/partners in my entire life that I would consider casual. (This does not count all those relationships that, now, I can look back and simply classify as stupid.)

And now I had doctor’s orders to go out and find a casual partner and — perhaps most importantly — not allow myself to get attached.

I left the office considering the possibilities: I would be on the prowl. I could be a cougar. I would commit to getting myself laid, stat!

But first, I went out and bought a Bliss Bikini Perfect grooming kit.

keeping my imaginary relationship in check

Yesterday I wrote that I tend to compare new men I meet against an “ideal” I already know, therefore allowing these potential “new” men little opportunity to make an impression in their own right. My behavior of making these comparisons can have the negative side effects of my feeling reluctant to meet new people, not being truly open or available to the potential in others and strengthening my attachment to an absurd imaginary relationship. And it’s entirely possible that I sounded just a little obsessed.

But I think having a high water mark against whom to compare new guys has a positive side: I have often tended to be a push-over in personal relationships, saying yes to everything and wasting time with people and on activities that don’t add anything meaningful to my life. In particular, let’s consider the online dating experience — there are so many men out there, so many who seem so earnest and eager — and who knows? As my wise friend Adonis (ha!) once said, “How are you to know who will love you best?” Well, guess what? When I’m feeling strong and centered and think of my high water mark, it’s pretty easy to see that I’d be wasting my time with those guys who can’t complete a sentence. The idea of a high water mark then serves the positive purpose of keeping me focused and aiming high. And I normally hold this “ideal” in a healthy, detached way in my mind. It’s potential energy, nothing more. Okay, maybe a little bit more.

But as I wrote yesterday’s post, I was feeling a bit unbalanced, insecure and under the influence of estrogen. (I really believe PMS should be considered a perfectly valid reason for absolutely anything for which a woman wishes to invoke it.) Besides hormones, there was another contributing factor for my being a little wrapped up in my imagined relationship: While I was meditating, emptying my mind and opening myself to possibility, a vision of this particular fellow popped in to my head. I am occasionally visited by visions — some prophetic — that seem to come out of the ether. They are not created by my conscious mind, nor do they appear at my own will. These “visions” are very realistic, detailed and persistent. Perhaps “vision” is not even the right word, because I can see as a witness — as though I’m out of my body — what’s happening; meanwhile I’m feeling, smelling, tasting, hearing — experiencing through all of my senses. It’s rather bizarre, actually, and the realistic nature of these little interludes is what makes them so darned difficult to shake!

For example, from the time I began dating my (now ex) husband, I regularly saw visions of a child between us. It’s true that I wanted a child and was in love with him, but the very clear picture of me, him and our girl baby came out of nowhere. I could art direct a photo shoot that would exactly replicate my vision to this day. It was that clear, and the memory of it remains that clear. And this vision became a reality.

So when a vision of my high water mark man in the shower with me interrupted my meditation yesterday, it seemed incredibly real and true — not to mention pretty damn hot! But I was meditating and tried to bring my focus back to my breathing, yet the next thing I knew…I could feel every sensation of his hands on my soapy skin; I smelled the soap and the faint scent of chlorine vaporizing from the steamy water; I felt the water wash over us, his hot breath on my ear and the way each part of me warmed to his touch; I heard the water streaming and his voice in my ear…You get the idea, and I don’t want to turn this blog into soft porn. One might be able to gather how difficult it was to put this experience out of my mind and maintain my sense of perspective!

Even though some (thank heavens not all) of my past visions have manifested in my life, I try not to give them too much power or thought. That which is right will come into my life — I prefer to believe with detachment.

And you’ll be happy to know that today I’m back in balance, having put my high water mark in proper, useful perspective.

no more sex

About 18 months ago…

There was simply no emotional intimacy in my marriage any longer. My husband was dishonest and had made decisions that affected our family without talking to me; the betrayals were insidious. My mistrust was so complete that I was constantly wondering what and when the next big betrayal would be. I had lost hope. And I had already determined to end it.

So it came as a surprise to me when, after so many months of abstinence, my husband complained about not getting any sex.

I raged, “How can you expect physical intimacy when you’ve denied me emotional intimacy for so long?! It goes both ways.”

The fact is, I enjoy sex. I probably wanted it more than he did. And I always found him physically attractive. But I couldn’t even look him in the eye anymore, much less share myself in such an intimate way.

But I think the bigger question is this: Are men really that clueless? Do they really think if they’re not getting any, that they have nothing to do with it?

Oh, wait…I think I may be able to answer this one myself…

another break-up coming

While strolling through the bookstore on my lunch break today, I picked up a random book on relationships. I’ve been a little stressed lately, and snappish with my children at times… so when I saw a chapter on verbal abuse, I was compelled to look more closely to see if I could recognize myself among some of the highlighted behaviors and find some alternative ways to deal.

Instead, I found myself recognizing my ex…in many more ways than I ever anticipated. On some level, I was consciously aware of his means to undermine me throughout our relationship. And my growing strength in myself was what ultimately tore our marriage apart. Yet this book opened my eyes to a level of subtle and insidious behaviors that pervaded our relationship from start to finish. I’m ashamed to confess there were times that I didn’t stand up for myself or draw immediate boundaries (I found many new tools for dealing with verbal abuse in this book) — largely because I was caught so completely off guard that someone I loved — and who allegedly loved me — could possibly behave in such a hurtful and inappropriate way.

But I think the bigger realization I had today was that there’s another abusive relationship I need to break: my job. I’m not in a bad “situation” there; no one is verbally abusing me. Rather, the nature of going into a place every day that no longer nurtures my passion nor values the tremendous assets I bring is causing me more harm than good.

I recently told my ex I was going to look for a new job. His response, “What, for $XX grand a year, you can’t give them what they want?!”

I said, “No. What they want is not in my nature.”

It’s a big company. We are all bound, at times, to feel like cogs in a wheel. So I’m going to find a place where my experience and skills are respected and rewarded.

I guess, with more presence of mind, I might have responded to my ex: “What? To save your marriage, home and family, you couldn’t stop drinking, see a counsellor and get a decent job!?”

But those things probably weren’t in his nature, either.

baggage my ex left

I learned a lot in a decade of marriage to my ex. I developed several positive habits, and I loved the feelings I would get early in our relationship when I realized some wonderful change my husband had brought about in me. Love transforms. And that’s beautiful.

But relationships can also wreak great damage and destruction.

We all come with baggage, expectations or perspectives imposed or imprinted upon us through our upbringing, life experiences and major relationships.

Following are examples of the emotional baggage from my marriage that I need to shed:

I’ve let myself go and am undesirable.

I’ve come clean about the fact that I’ve put on a few pounds (like nearly 30) since having a second child or turning 35 or whatever reason / excuse I give myself. My ex used to tell others (I learned after I ended our marriage) that I “had let myself go.” He constantly judged others based on their weight. He made a joke of taking photos of me only when I was eating (as if to show that was all I did). And his lagging libido didn’t exactly make me feel desirable, either. One way he could feel good about himself was his body — he was sexy and fit and attractive, even at more than a decade my senior.

Truth is, I am well-proportioned and attractive — I come from good stock, and my DNA allows me the blessing of being able to wear a few extra pounds better than most people can. I’ve had more than a few guys (and a few gals) indicate that they find me sexy or attractive. Sure, I’d like to release some extra poundage, but I don’t let that stand in the way of living to the fullest. I accept myself for the sexy, curvy woman that I am, while working to create positive, healthy change from here.

I’m materialistic because I want things.

Another of the ways my ex made up for his own insecurities (he was not a good earner) was to scorn me for having wants and desires. Anyone who knows me is aware that I’m not a bigger- or more-is-better kind of gal. I live lean and green. I like having things around me that are nice, that function, that are beautiful and give me feelings of comfort, peace and security. I want a new car not because my old one is not good enough, but because it’s falling apart and I don’t feel safe. I’d like to take some road trips, and I’m not comfortable venturing outside of the city in the current state of my jalopy. I like receiving gifts because I feel considered. I like wearing nice sunglasses because I’m more likely to keep track of and take care of them than I am a drugstore pair, which ultimately saves money in the long run. I like to travel internationally and consider the experience an investment.

My ex never cared to understand or accept these things and tried to make me feel small for my innate tendencies. And now I have to learn to let go of his judgment and allow myself to want things, and to know that it’s okay to have wants, and to share my wants and desires. Because I feel pretty sure there are others out there who will help me in my path, rather than stand in the way.

I suspect there are more ugly bags that I’ll find and release over the next months, and probably some that I won’t locate until I’m in another relationship. I hope, by then, that I’ve developed the wisdom and insight and tools to manage to clean them up in a way that’s mature and respectful. But in the mean time, I think I’ll use a sledgehammer on these old, worn-out beliefs…if I can only figure out how to do it!

flirting in 160 characters or less

About 17 months ago…

If you’ve been following and reading about my attraction to Max, you’ve read that we’ve shared some powerful words via text. And so began our flirtation, in 160 characters or less.

Who knew this genre could be so complicated? I soon learned to edit my thoughts into a single, 160-character message, as well as how many ways I could possibly communicate in this abbreviated form:

start an exchange,
keep the conversation going,
end a conversation,
have the last word (and realized this was not entirely desirable)
and more.

We texted almost daily. Nothing inappropriate, just flirtatious. It became such a lifeline for me that I began checking my phone in the middle of the night to see if Max had texted me. After all, we were in different time zones and he often texted after I had gone to sleep. It was nice to wake and get a sweet message like, “I have a hard time believing that the man in your home doesn’t appreciate you” or “How did it take this long for us to find each other?”

There was never a time when I took any of these things to mean more than the sweet thoughts that they were. A flirtation blossomed.

Were we crossing the lines of what was appropriate, given that Max was married? I suppose a few times we did. But one of us always brought the conversation back into the realm of what was safe and appropriate.

miss you already

About 17 months ago…

Two girlfriends and I were having a few cocktails after work, one of whom has been married for more than a decade — really married, and the other successful, single and not dating. In other words, I was clearly providing the conversation / drama / entertainment.

No one really ever wants to talk about divorce in public. The heartbreak, the pain — it’s all better swept under the rug lest the weepies rear their ugly heads. And so I told them about Max and what happened since I’d last seen him.

“You texted WHAT?,” Cynthia asked. “How could you?!”

“What?,” I asked innocently, “‘Miss you already’ is perfectly innocent. I would say the same thing to a girlfriend or a niece or my own children.”

“He’s not your girlfriend or niece,” Cynthia pressed. “It was suggestive. And he’s a married man!”

“Seriously, it’s not as though I told him I wanted to get naked and rub my body up against him,” I argued.

Cynthia: “No, that would have been being direct.”

Kristine, meanwhile, was doubled over with laughter and merely kept repeating, “Miss you already. Miss you already. That is priceless!”

They asked what happened next, they made me show them photos and then I told them about Max’s wife:

“You told her you had a crush on her husband?!,” they asked incredulously. I generally gravitate toward honesty. I may not always be appropriate or have the best boundaries, but I have my ethics.

“Yes,” I confirmed. “And she was cool, she was fun, and she was as inappropriate as any of us. And she would fit in perfectly sitting right here with us in this empty chair. We would have a grand time!”

Even as we put on our wraps, paid the tab and walked out of the bar, the girls were still laughing and giggling over what would become our inside joke: “miss you already!”

seeing Max again

Nearly 18 months ago…

When I got off the plane in Max’s region, I couldn’t wait to get to work. I mean, of course, that I couldn’t wait to see Max!

After a couple of meetings, we got a chance to talk.

“How do you do this?,” he asked, “I mean travel, as a single mother, with your children at home?”

That was quite an assumption for Max to make! He must have been scoping out my ring finger (I was no longer wearing my ring). After all, I had yet to tell my husband that our relationship was over nor asked him to move out. It hadn’t even dawned on me that my girlfriend in Max’s region might have spilled to him that I’d asked after him.

Later I had an opportunity to ask Max about his own children. That’s when he told me: two grown children, four stepdaughters and two grandchildren. Grandchildren?! I had guessed Max’s age at 44. He was older than I thought — and, having married a woman with four daughters, he clearly had a great deal of capacity.

I reveled at telling my girlfriends about this development . . . their consistent response: “Not only is he gorgeous, but also a saint! No wonder you like him!”

Exactly.

That evening, I had the pleasure of meeting Max’s wife. As predicted, she was a bottle blond. And she was an attractive mother of four, had crow’s-feet (or shall I say “laugh lines”?) and a warm, authentic presence accompanied by a boisterous laugh.

By the end of the evening, I was compelled to confide in her. “I have a huge work crush on your husband,” I admitted. “He has been such a joy to work with, communicative, cooperative, willing, steady and pleasant in every way. Not to mention, he’s hot.”

She laughed and leaned close to me. “Oh, that is so sweet — I can’t wait to tell him! He is every one of those things at home, too, consistent and steady and never raises his voice…” We laughed and chatted for a bit longer before good-byes. Then she insisted I come back to the area with my children on vacation and stay with them.

Um…maybe not a great idea!

Finally, as I hugged Max goodbye, I whispered into his ear, “I just told your wife that I have a huge crush on you…but I bet you already knew that.”

“I’m no fool,” he said. We smiled at one another and slowly released our embrace.

New Year’s sex

Did you have sex with your spouse, mate, lover, partner this weekend?

I always thought sex on New Year’s Eve was a given in a relationship, kind of like the free space on a Bingo card. But after we had children, my spouse seemed to think the little ones were a great excuse to stay home and go to bed early.

I wouldn’t have objected if “going to bed early” meant some extra quality time for us. I enjoyed sex, and my libido remained strong through most of our relationship, even the difficult times. Furthermore, more time in bed meant more time to connect, catch up and enjoy pillow talk. Sex can help keep the lines of communication open.

And sex acts as a barometer in a relationship. It’s not the most important thing, of course, but it’s often a good indicator of how things are going. Regular sex — or desire, the potential for sex, for each other — indicates the passion and love are still alive, that there’s still a connection.

My own appetite for sex with my husband was certainly an indicator of how our relationship was going. I put on a few pounds after our second child and, along with the added demand of a new baby in the house, our sex life dwindled. I didn’t feel great about my physique, and my husband’s lack of desire certainly didn’t provide reassurances to that end. But we blundered on.

A few years later, it was a bit of a surprise to me when my husband charged, “I’ve already given up sex. What more do you want from me?!”

Wow! By this time, I was already convinced our relationship was doomed. Add to that the fact that he hadn’t seemed interested in me in months. I couldn’t even look him in the eyes, much less imagine sharing myself in that way any longer.

I responded, “You’ve denied me emotional intimacy for months. How could you possibly think I could be physically intimate with you?”

For women, sex and talking, sharing and connecting emotionally are two sides of the same coin. One is unlikely to happen without the other. And, in my experience, women are likely to want to communicate and connect emotionally before sharing physically, while men often prefer the physical before they open to the emotional. Herein lies one of the great balancing acts, the yin and yang of intimacy in a relationship.

So, if you haven’t already, log off and have some slow and steamy New Year’s sex, along with a side of snuggling and pillow talk, to begin the year right for your relationship.