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.
