Life after love

I never imagined I'd be here--single again, after nearly five years with him. Nothing about THIS is what I dreamed of for my girl and me. I am so consumed with guilt, knowing how much this fucked up life is my creation. My selfish desire to be whole prompted this disaster.

People keep asking me if I'm having doubts. I should have never let it drag on for this long, allowing him to become so imbedded in our lives--regret, but not doubt. I look around my house, and there he is. In the albums, in the art on the walls, in the furniture, in the bed. He's everywhere. I wish I could erase him, but almost five years is a very long time, when she is only six. He has been in our skin since nearly the beginning of "us."

It would be easier if he were the villain in the story. I could tell you how horrible he was to and for us, and you would nod in sympathy. That's just not true, though. He loved [loves] us so sweetly. We were his world. He never fails to remind me that we were all he had. Twisting the knife.

I just couldn't do it any longer. I could no longer pretend it was working. I could no longer pretend I loved him. I was so tired. Tired of faking it, tired of trying, tired of forcing. Love shouldn't be an incessant struggled to...love. That can't be right.

Sometimes, "He loves me, and he's always kind" isn't enough to sustain a relationship. I wanted the dreams he represented--a family, a home, European vacations, stability, love, togetherness, completeness. The dreams and the everyday were so far apart, though.

I am so sure, and so unsettled. And so alone.

So I bought myself diamond earrings. They are tiny, and they were only $80 on clearance. They felt like something I could DO. Tell myself I'm worthy. Nobody ever thought I was worthy of
a precious stone. So I bought them for myself.

But I knew I'd never be convinced that I deserved them. A sad reminder that I may never be loved the way I need to be loved.

That dress.

I was in one of those discount stores. I'm not sure what possessed me to try it on--maybe the unbelievable price. I slipped into it in the communal dressing room, and I suddenly felt unbelievably sexy--like someone else. It was black, fitted, and short, but it was still classy. It hugged in all the right places and hid the ones I was most uncomfortable with. I bought it because I'm a dreamer and a romantic, and how often does a dress fit that perfectly? I had this notion that the new man in my life would take me out to a fancy dinner in the City, and I'd need to look the part. It turns out that never happened--in any of the four-ish years I saw him. He rarely took me out at all. The tags stayed on the dress, and the mere $30 I spent on it seemed like an utter waste on a foolish pipe dream. How did I believe I deserved that?

It was Friday afternoon, and I was packing for a weekend away with my new man--a man so different from the other. It was the weekend of my dreams: massages, Carmel, a drive along the coast, and a fancy dinner. I was daydreaming, thinking this weekend can't possibly live up to my expectations for it, when I pulled "that dress" out of the closet. I slipped it on to see if it would work, and it felt perfect. Perfect. I was going to get to wear that dress! As I laid it across my weekend bag, I felt a little flutter in my stomach. Are we sure this is my life?

We were driving down the coast, with the top down, in his car, marveling at the wonder of it all. Over and over the views were declared, "unreal/amazing/beautiful." I was lost in the views, and in the moment of being with this man who is making my dreams come true. For a moment, though, I smirked. I smirked not because I was overcome with love or the moment or the actualization of this perfect day, but because that dress was in the trunk, and, in a few short hours, I'd be walking into the restaurant on the arm of the man I love in that dress.

How did I not know I deserved this?

Doing it differently.

I have a brain that never stops.

To overthink is my game.

Today, I'm just pausing, really rolling around in gratitude. I'm not thinking about the facts or the details or what comes next.

I'm feeling good--where I am. I'm sitting here with a smirk on my face and peace in my soul.

I honestly don't know. For sure, though? I'm happy.

Happy is good.

Really good.

"Even though she could say that based on the information that had been presented Alan Saturn was wrong--Dr. Rapp had behaved badly, and Nancy Saturn was right, such matters were worthy of judgment--she found herself siding with Alan because there was much in his single-minded devotion to a mentor that sounded a familiar note. In this life we love who we love. There were some stories in which facts were very nearly irrelevant." 
--Ann Patchett's State of Wonder

Never really alone.

I ordered Chinese food delivery last night. I don't love Chinese food, but I was home in my pajamas and my girl was getting ready for bed and my refrigerator was empty, so it seemed like a good idea.

I was sitting on my living room floor, enjoying my dinner, but I was thinking about how much less pitiful this picture would be if I were sitting across from someone I love. My little living room floor picnic wanted a companion, and it made me sad.

Then I opened my fortune cookie, and it read, "You look happy and proud."

It's true. I've never been happier, and I've never been prouder. Even though I'm finding myself eating Chinese takeout alone on my living room floor on a Friday night, this season of my life is sweet.

I'm thankful.

Worn easy

I don't know why, but sometimes it hits harder than other times.

It's usually when I watch a movie or a TV show or read a scene from a book that describes love in a way that is ordinary, yet profound. It's a love that's worn comfortable--after years of trials. The trials don't come easy but they come with a confidence that they will survive them. In those moments, moments where life requires a partner, comfortable lovers connect in a way that takes my breath away.

I mourn it. I mourn the lack of normalcy in our family. I mourn the absence of romance. I mourn the want of companionship.

Tomorrow, I'll find myself back in my familiar rhythm, loving on my girl and my students. Tonight, though, I'm feeling a bit empty and like our family's lopsided.

It's not my favorite color.

"Taught Me Purple"

Evelyn Tooley Hunt

My mother taught me purple

Although she never wore it.

Wash-gray was her circle,

The tenement her orbit.

My mother taught me golden

And held me up to see it,

Above the broken molding,

Beyond the filthy street.

My mother reached for beauty

And for its lack she died,

Who knew so much of duty

She could not teach me pride.

It was much easier to say "no" than I expected.

It's not that I don't want to see him--that I don't miss so much of that life.

He would arrive long after she was fast asleep and sneak out before she stirred in the morning. Their eyes would never meet.

But I can't tell her that she's worthy of love and that she is so much more than her body if I don't believe it of myself.

I did it for her. I have to teach Klara purple--by wearing it.

It felt good on my lips.

"He kissed her. There was such an incredible logic to kissing, such a metal-to-magnet pull between two people that it was a wonder that they found the strength to prevent themselves from succumbing every second. Rightfully, the world should be a whirlpool of kissing into which we sank and never found the strength to rise up again."

-Ann Patchet's Bel Canto

This space has been quiet, and that bothers me--not because of any grandiose perception of readership, but because I don't feel like myself.

I don't have anything to say that would interest you or that I feel comfortable sharing with an unknown audience (and, in some cases, a known audience that I don't trust). I have a lot going through my mind, but none of it's good.

I will say this: 'Tis the season when being single is impossible. I love everything about this time of year, which makes me hate it. It's so difficult to experience November through January in solitude--what's beautiful becomes sad. My attempts to "fix" my loneliness often fall flat, which makes it just a little bit harder.

I'm trusting in the hope for tomorrow--that things do, eventually, get better. They must.

Boring for $500, Alex.

"When it comes to love, even freaks can't wait forever."                    -Meredith Grey in Grey's Anatomy

I wish I could believe that I deserve something better than this. Even if I did believe it, though, believing in it doesn't make it magically happen. I think this is better than nothing, but I really have no idea because I'm afraid to risk losing this in case I change my mind. What if I'm left with nothing and that feels even worse?

Being a feminist should mean that I don't let men treat me like this. Instead, it means I feel guilty about letting men treat me like this.

I'm exhausted. I'm ready for a relationship that's about mutual respect and give and take. I long for the definition I dodged. I'm feeling old and tired and ready.

Feeling like a stupid girl

When the possibility of a relationship is in the air, I always find myself saying the same things.

I say,

"I think I might really like him, but I'm not going to let myself get too excited."

"Well, it was hopeful. That's all that matters."

"Whatever. If nothing happens, nothing happens."

I'm lying. Most of the time, I want, desperately, to believe my own words, but I don't. I always get excited, and for a brief time, believe in the possibility. Those moments of hopefulness always take me aback because they seem so real.

Really, though, it always starts the same way (exciting, hopeful, fun) and ends the same way (frustrating, sad, confusing).

This time, I believed it was different. Looking back, I have no idea why. 

Replace horror films with foreign films, and I say, "Here, here." Thanks, Katie Turner.

All hail the Greek pantheon.

There is a story about the Greek gods. They were bored, so they invented human beings, but they were still bored, so they invented love. Then they weren't bored any longer, so they decided to try love for themselves. And finally they invented laughter, so they could stand it. 

-Morgan Freeman in Feast of Love

Dancing seems appropriate.

I know the journey is not over, but the news of late in regards to civil rights is encouraging. It's bizarre to think that, not too long ago, I could not have married The Doctor, even if I'd wanted to. I'm glad that society progresses.

It brings me great joy.

And now for my favorite Facebook status of the day,
"Brian C Lovato thinks that if you want to protect traditional marriage you ought to ban the internet, business trips, alcohol, and me in tight jeans - not gay marriage."

And for my favorite blog quote of the day,
"I also find it disturbing that Christians are upset about "the will of the people" being overturned by a judge. Sometimes the "will of the people" is dead wrong. . . 

Don't Christians realize that one day we might be the minority? How will we react if ballot initiatives restricting our religious freedoms are voted upon with overwhelming support? In that day, I hope there's a judge who overrules the errant majority."

Despite all the contention that comes with such a ruling, right now I'm practicing the art of celebration! 

I'm a bad person.

I've received some really silly e-mails on Match.com, and this one's simple, but it cracks me up the most, for some reason. Being a teacher, I probably shouldn't laugh at the English Learners, but it's still funny. It sort of sums up dating in two sentences, in case I wasn't sure what it was about. Without further ado, here it is:

You have a great smile and the beauty. Let us talk and see what we got.

Ugh.

I hate dating. Online dating isn't easier; it's just an ugly microcosm. I'm not sure it's worth it.

Are there people who actually enjoy hanging out one-on-one with people they don't know? It's just painful. One time, I didn't feel that way, but it didn't work out.

The torturous dating process probably has a lot to do with why people stay in toxic relationships. At least they won't have to start over.

I want to love you well.

Like most things, my perspective on love has changed.

As a young girl, I always assumed I would get married and have a houseful of children because, well, that's what women do; I played Barbies and house and baby. As a teenager, I wanted a fairy tale romance that would sweep me off my feet; we would, of course, hold hands at the fair and cuddle up at the football games--the most important places to be coupled. As a college student, I wanted a partner in crime--someone who shared my vision for life; I thought that, maybe, together we could accomplish more.

Now, I just want someone to love. I want to prove myself as a partner. I know that I could love someone well, but I don't get to and that kills me. Now, it's less about being loved and more about being able to love someone else. I want to be your support, your greatest fan, your intellectual match, your closest confidant, your wisest counsel, the one who laughs the hardest at your jokes, and the most welcomed, tender touch. I want to love you.

I feel like part of me is being wasted and it is, perhaps, the most frustrating feeling---ever.

Deleted!

I deleted your number from my phone again this morning. It's a famous move of mine. My friends have been known to say, "You showed him!" or "Again?" when I triumphantly announce my bold decision. They know it's only a matter of time before I'll be making the announcement again.

I do it whenever you make me feel desperate--when you make me feel like you're doing me a favor by spending time with me.  Your time is always more important than mine, of course, and you, well, you have options. You're way out of my league. You don't say it, but I feel it.

I know you're not "partner" material. Your aloof attitude and cockiness are toxic. I know. I have no intention of making any sort of commitment to you. I'm sure you feel the same.

You are better than nothing, though. I'm not ready to lose your number permanently. The good thing about "this" is that, if he comes along, deleting your number will be so effortless.

And, damn, it will feel good.

"But it has come to me, sitting here in the barn feeling very full of cold  rice, that there is something revolting about the way girls' minds so often jump to marriage long before they jump to love. And most of those minds are shut to what marriage really means."

-Cassandra Mortmain in Dodie Smith's I Capture the Castle

I had a date this morning with a man from my past.

We were friends all through childhood and adolescence. We spent every minute of our summer vacations together--playing ping pong in the backyard, organizing neighborhood games of hide and seek, and playing hockey in the street. We even "went out" for about a week in seventh grade.

He's always been really, really nice. He was never shy about telling me how much he liked me. Even though we haven't seen each other for several years, he would do anything for me. I know that. He's safe.

A little too safe.