I’ve been seeing someone for the past few months. Fairly seriously for a girl who’s still technically married. We just broke up. Like a half hour ago.
So many good things about that relationship, so many good things about that man. What ended the party was his fear that I’m not ready to dive into love again, that I’ll break his heart. And, damn it, he’s probably right.
So here I sit. Alone. When I get shitty news, or great news, or have a free night, it will not be a man I’ll be calling. It’ll be my girlfriends. Probably one hundred percent appropriate for this almost-divorced phase but, man, I feel like I’m back in the rowboat in the middle of the hurricane. It was so nice to sit in the cruise ship for a while. To feel partnered is so lovely.
It’s a conundrum. I’ve probably never been more open and ready for a deep love relationship. I crave it, I want it. And yet, while I’m creeping towards that spot of connecting deeply with someone, I’m not there yet. I should sit on my couch and watch “Jerry McGuire” and “Four Weddings and a Funeral” and cry. When really I want to be rolling around with some beautiful man. Death and divorce, both will make you feel alive, feel that the moment is possibly all there is. It’s such a shame spending that moment sorting through feelings in a puddle of tears instead of all the other glorious, delicious, life-y things there are to do (Nudge, nudge, wink, wink. But, Jesus, even just having dinner with someone who lights you up makes you feel alive).
Okay, so I’m in the rowboat. Luckily that rowboat has a popcorn maker, Roku, and an adorable, terrible dog named Sunny. And, most vital, a cell phone to text my girlfriends. I’m at sea, but it’s my sea, it’s my boat. And I sense there’s land ahead.