I was out for a walk tonight on this glorious late summer evening: the early sunset light on the leafy green trees reminded me that fall is sneaking in quickly and it won't be long until winter is upon us. In Minnesota, the cold can set in as early as Halloween, and nearly always does by Thanksgiving. It hit me that we have a maximum of eight more weeks of good weather before it's parkas and boots.
Eight weeks. But winter seems to far away - the leaves haven't even begun to change.
Eight weeks. But just eight weeks ago, summer was in full bloom.
Eight weeks ago, my former fiance was still alive. I took his presence on this earth for granted because only now I know the emptiness of a world without Scott. The grief, the guilt, the sorrow that I've felt every.single.day since he died is unrelenting. Some days, I rejoice in our memories. Other days, I cry.
Six weeks ago, my brother was living life like he always does: working, playing guitar, spending time with his partner. And then all of a sudden he wasn't: an infection entered his heart, devoured his pulmonary valve, and filled his lungs.
Three weeks ago, emergency open heart surgery saved his life.
Two weeks ago, I was in San Francisco with my family while my brother was recovering in the hospital. Hours turned into days of holding his hand as he lied in the intensive care unit largely unconscious. I was in a staring contest with the machines and monitors, willing them to blink with good news. After eight full days, they finally did. My brother is a hell of a fighter.
Just eight weeks.
These are terrible things to have to go through - the images in my mind of Scott's death, his memorial service, his children's grief are seared in my memory. The sound of the ventilator keeping my brother's breath going echos in my eardrums. The scent of the magnolias, honeysuckle, and jasmine flowers that line the sidewalks of San Francisco will forever trigger me to remember the miles I walked to and from the hospital.
But I will also be reminded of the extraordinary amount of love I witnessed and felt. The outpouring of kind messages from people I had never met but who found me via social media after Scott died was deeply touching. The grace of my coworkers who gathered to support me through the last eight weeks is a kindness that I will never be able to repay. My gratitude for my boss and my team is larger than words can possibly encompass. My whole family was out in San Francisco with my brother for six days, and I've never felt closer to them in all of my 37 years; this terrible illness tried to take us down, but instead it brought us together.
Most of all, though, I saw the love between my brother and his partner. They've shared twelve years together but because they live in California, I didn't know much about their relationship. For the entire eight days after surgery when he was heavily sedated and medicated, she was there. I mean, our whole family was *there* - but she was there in a way that only a partner can be. When she would take his hand, kiss his forehead, murmur in his ear, I could actually see his heart rate slow down on the monitor--often it would drop below 100, which was a big deal for someone as sick as he was. He knew she was there, he could feel her, and it gave him great comfort while his body was in so much pain. That is the power of love.
When I got home from California, I was exhausted - and yet life had to keep going. I had my kids, they had sports, and I had to get back to work. There was nothing in my fridge to eat since I'd been gone for two weeks. There was even less in my emotional tank to keep me going, especially since my boyfriend and I had just broken up as well.
I was dragging ass, deflated and tired as I trudged up the stairs to my apartment two days after I'd been back in Minnie. I opened my door and was completely surprised to find my two closest girlfriends had let themselves in, brought me flowers, and were making me dinner! If I had had any tears left to cry, I surely would've spilled them all over T's gnocchi dish. Champagne, homemade ice cream, and leftovers all filled my fridge...and their love and support filled my heart. That is the power of friendship.
Eight weeks. Of loss. Of sorrow. Of sadness. Of family. Of friendship. Of love.
Thursday, September 8, 2016
Monday, July 25, 2016
Having the Right to Grieve
Dear Scott,
Two weeks ago today, you left us behind. All of us: your daughters, your family, your friends, your co-workers, even us, your ex-fiance and my kids. It supersedes reason and it makes no sense and we're all here wondering what the fuck.
For days after I found out, I was in a daze of shock and sadness. Those two feelings curled up inside of me and nested way deep inside of me, making me vulnerable to tearful outbursts at the slightest provocation. Like how you loved flowers and I cried at the store when I saw the cheerful bouquets of daisies and roses--oh, how the roses were your favorite. You loved to go for long bike rides wearing that god-awful neon green/yellow sleeveless shirt, so when I saw a guy biking the other day in a similar get-up, I laughed before I sobbed. Last Monday, I went to that Bonfire Grill by your house and talked with the bartender, just like we used to. But the emotions hit me like a ton of bricks and even though I tried desperately to hide my tears, Todd the Bartender gave me a glass of red, on the house. You'd remember Todd if you saw him - we'd had him before as a server. And PS - it was a really good glass of cab.
A week of this went on - these painful memories pecking away at my beat-up old heart - and I decided I had to Get.It.Together. Set the jaw, get to work, and make life move forward. For next week, I busted my ass at work and put in long days, pulling together projects and people and pieces of paper like a goddamn champ. The more I worked, the more normal I started to feel. I know I used to bitch about how much you worked, but maybe now I understand it a little better: how work can be such a tool to avoid real life and how burying your face in your computer is far preferable to facing life.
And now, somehow despite the set jaw and the hard work, I'm right back to where I was the first week: emotional, rundown, grieving. Only this time, I'm both sad and angry. I'm angry at me and I'm angry at you and I'm angry at God (ya hear me, dude?!). Your friends keep messaging me on Facebook - bless them for reaching out, for searching for something that makes sense, for offering condolences and prayers. Friends of yours that I had never met are finding me somehow and it's both touching and agonizing. I didn't know how many people in your life even knew my name.
Grieving has got to be one of the loneliest processes for humans to go through. No one wants to talk about my deceased ex-fiance - this guy that I once loved and shared a home and a family with, broke up with, and who now is no longer here. I mean, that's awkward on 101 levels, and I get it. There aren't too many people in my life now that know what we went through, that know your beautiful daughters and how much I love them, that know how hard we worked to build a family in spite of some pretty big obstacles. And no one at all really knows how we sorta succeeded and, if we're being honest, also how we mostly failed. I know I said it then, but it bears repeating that I'm sorry for my part in all of it.
Since you left, a tangled ball of emotion lives in my chest. My therapist calls it anxiety, but that sounds too narrow right now. It's anxiety, but it's also anger, hurt, disgust, sadness, worry, guilt, and sorrow. This tangled ball accompanies me to Starbucks each morning, hangs out while I'm in meetings at work, pokes me when I'm out for a long walk in the evening. Its weight grows more heavy as the day wears on until I fall, exhausted, into bed...and then we start over in the morning.
I'm trying hard to let the sun shine on our good times and dim the lights on the rough times as much as I can, but I don't know if that's even the right response or not? Remember when you taught me to garden and how I was most thrilled when the pea pods and six-foot tall sunflowers grew? So cool that they actually grew from seeds - I mean, SEEDS! - oh and how you teased me for being a city girl. How we binge-watched Dexter in the first few months we were dating--we ate pizza on the living room floor so that we didn't miss a single minute of a single episode. I think about these moments and smile...and then my mind inevitably turns to the darker moments of arguments and sleeping on the far edge of the bed, avoiding each other even in our slumber. Did I try hard enough? Is there anything I should've done differently? I lay awake and second-guess myself now.
I'm trying to be tough on the outside, but I can feel myself withdrawing on the inside. It's a lot of fake smiles these days (yeah, you would TOTALLY be calling me out on that!) because my thoughts race sometimes about all of this and more stuff that I can't write about here. I feel guilty about being so sad because we broke up, right? I feel guilty about being so upset because your girls and your family must be feeling it 10x worse. I feel guilty about the sorrow because I don't feel like I have a right to it. And I can't expect anyone to listen to me about it...except the therapist who makes $150/hour to listen, so I guess he kinda has to.
You're missing the Republican and Democratic Party Conventions now- I know you'd be following them closely and ready to argue with me over the dinner table. I'm trying to ready myself for moments like this - things that you would've loved that will sneak up on me as memories. It's going to take time to build up that sort of fortitude.
At the end of the day, you were a guy who wore his heart on his military-pressed sleeve and who had stories to tell but no words with which to share them. Things between us ended terribly and I carry that weight in my heart now.
I'll keep an eye on your girls as much as I can; they are your legacy in this world and their successes, even at these young ages, are a testament to you. Rest now.
Leah
Two weeks ago today, you left us behind. All of us: your daughters, your family, your friends, your co-workers, even us, your ex-fiance and my kids. It supersedes reason and it makes no sense and we're all here wondering what the fuck.
For days after I found out, I was in a daze of shock and sadness. Those two feelings curled up inside of me and nested way deep inside of me, making me vulnerable to tearful outbursts at the slightest provocation. Like how you loved flowers and I cried at the store when I saw the cheerful bouquets of daisies and roses--oh, how the roses were your favorite. You loved to go for long bike rides wearing that god-awful neon green/yellow sleeveless shirt, so when I saw a guy biking the other day in a similar get-up, I laughed before I sobbed. Last Monday, I went to that Bonfire Grill by your house and talked with the bartender, just like we used to. But the emotions hit me like a ton of bricks and even though I tried desperately to hide my tears, Todd the Bartender gave me a glass of red, on the house. You'd remember Todd if you saw him - we'd had him before as a server. And PS - it was a really good glass of cab.
A week of this went on - these painful memories pecking away at my beat-up old heart - and I decided I had to Get.It.Together. Set the jaw, get to work, and make life move forward. For next week, I busted my ass at work and put in long days, pulling together projects and people and pieces of paper like a goddamn champ. The more I worked, the more normal I started to feel. I know I used to bitch about how much you worked, but maybe now I understand it a little better: how work can be such a tool to avoid real life and how burying your face in your computer is far preferable to facing life.
And now, somehow despite the set jaw and the hard work, I'm right back to where I was the first week: emotional, rundown, grieving. Only this time, I'm both sad and angry. I'm angry at me and I'm angry at you and I'm angry at God (ya hear me, dude?!). Your friends keep messaging me on Facebook - bless them for reaching out, for searching for something that makes sense, for offering condolences and prayers. Friends of yours that I had never met are finding me somehow and it's both touching and agonizing. I didn't know how many people in your life even knew my name.
Grieving has got to be one of the loneliest processes for humans to go through. No one wants to talk about my deceased ex-fiance - this guy that I once loved and shared a home and a family with, broke up with, and who now is no longer here. I mean, that's awkward on 101 levels, and I get it. There aren't too many people in my life now that know what we went through, that know your beautiful daughters and how much I love them, that know how hard we worked to build a family in spite of some pretty big obstacles. And no one at all really knows how we sorta succeeded and, if we're being honest, also how we mostly failed. I know I said it then, but it bears repeating that I'm sorry for my part in all of it.
Since you left, a tangled ball of emotion lives in my chest. My therapist calls it anxiety, but that sounds too narrow right now. It's anxiety, but it's also anger, hurt, disgust, sadness, worry, guilt, and sorrow. This tangled ball accompanies me to Starbucks each morning, hangs out while I'm in meetings at work, pokes me when I'm out for a long walk in the evening. Its weight grows more heavy as the day wears on until I fall, exhausted, into bed...and then we start over in the morning.
I'm trying hard to let the sun shine on our good times and dim the lights on the rough times as much as I can, but I don't know if that's even the right response or not? Remember when you taught me to garden and how I was most thrilled when the pea pods and six-foot tall sunflowers grew? So cool that they actually grew from seeds - I mean, SEEDS! - oh and how you teased me for being a city girl. How we binge-watched Dexter in the first few months we were dating--we ate pizza on the living room floor so that we didn't miss a single minute of a single episode. I think about these moments and smile...and then my mind inevitably turns to the darker moments of arguments and sleeping on the far edge of the bed, avoiding each other even in our slumber. Did I try hard enough? Is there anything I should've done differently? I lay awake and second-guess myself now.
I'm trying to be tough on the outside, but I can feel myself withdrawing on the inside. It's a lot of fake smiles these days (yeah, you would TOTALLY be calling me out on that!) because my thoughts race sometimes about all of this and more stuff that I can't write about here. I feel guilty about being so sad because we broke up, right? I feel guilty about being so upset because your girls and your family must be feeling it 10x worse. I feel guilty about the sorrow because I don't feel like I have a right to it. And I can't expect anyone to listen to me about it...except the therapist who makes $150/hour to listen, so I guess he kinda has to.
You're missing the Republican and Democratic Party Conventions now- I know you'd be following them closely and ready to argue with me over the dinner table. I'm trying to ready myself for moments like this - things that you would've loved that will sneak up on me as memories. It's going to take time to build up that sort of fortitude.
At the end of the day, you were a guy who wore his heart on his military-pressed sleeve and who had stories to tell but no words with which to share them. Things between us ended terribly and I carry that weight in my heart now.
I'll keep an eye on your girls as much as I can; they are your legacy in this world and their successes, even at these young ages, are a testament to you. Rest now.
Leah
Wednesday, June 29, 2016
Lemonade from a Monkey
Today was, by any standard of measurement, a beautiful summer day. Just over 80 degrees here in Minnie, low humidity, bright sunshine, a gentle breeze. And it was made even more perfect given the fact that I was enjoying a few stolen moments with my boyfriend at the fire station where he works. I was sitting out on the apron in front of the trucks, sneaking a few kisses when the other guys weren't looking, and letting sheer happiness settle inside of my heart.
Enter Jack Monkey, stage right. Because every story has an antagonist, right?
We had been watching the news and there was a story about a camp for kids to learn about the importance of bees. It filled with the usual gaggle of innocent children and cute sound bites, and to make conversation, I turned to the guy next to me (hereafter known as Jack Monkey) and jokingly asked him if he was next in line to go to Bee Camp. He smiled and replied that he had actually wanted to have an apiary and some chickens, but he and his wife have a small city lot and she said no. He smiled and described the scene at home: their 125-pound dog, two kids, and her trying to get everyone tucked into bed.
"I mean, she's a single mom right now since I'm at work, and she didn't even make any bad choices," Jack Monkey tells me, as if we're just talking about some as non-controversial as the color of the sky.
As I do when I'm caught completely off-guard, I tried to turn my hanging-open mouth into a semblance of a smile. "Oh," I replied sweetly, "well, I'm a single mom."
Of course, he stumbled and fumbled to recover his words, and I accepted his cover story about his sister who, evidently, made some "bad choices" and had kid(s?) out of wedlock. I smiled at his tall tale and swallowed the acid of his lies.
There are so many things wrong with his statement that, truly, I could write a book. But I'm going to settle for one single (see what I did there?!) point: stereotypes.
Jack Monkey has stereotype problems. Jack Monkey didn't know I was a single mom because I don't fit his mold: I'm suburban. For him, single moms are urban, impoverished, struggling. Single moms don't live in the suburbs, drive an SUV, or date firefighters.
But the other piece is this: no one would ever, in a million years, look at a single dad and say, "Well there's a guy who made some bad choices in his life." Because single dads get high fives. They get a "thanks for being a stand-up guy" award. A single dad walking down the sidewalk, pushing a stroller, gets ogled by young women as we marvel over the kind of person he must be. Life is graded on a curve for single dads. And as with so many other areas of life, women have to work twice as hard to get the same reward.
All of this is on a very macro level; I don't want to disparage my friends who truly are stand-up guys. And I am always grateful to my friends that support my single mom journey. It's likely that Jack Monkey is a nice person to the single moms in his life - because the odds are such that he probably knows at least a handful. But it's the overall negative societal point of view that allows Jack Monkey to make his sexist, racist statement and feel okay doing so in mixed company.
Senator Rick Santorum (R-PA), a former candidate for president of the United States, had this to say about single mothers:
"We are seeing the fabric of this country fall apart, and it's falling apart because of single moms."
So should we even be surprised when Joe Citizen, just a regular guy working as a line firefighter in the Midwest, pops off with some equally repellent comment? Vitriol from our public officials is having a distinct trickle-down effect, and I saw it before my own eyes tonight.
And honestly, what does it say about me that I smiled and dropped the topic? I'm sitting here, hours later, struggling with what my response should have been. I wish I would've popped off with any number of sharp comments, but I couldn't - these are the boyfriend's coworkers. Keeping the peace is part of the long term plan. And at the end of it: Jack Monkey's comments weren't personally directed at me. He took a swipe at my people, and I will find a way to fight back against his kind. In some ways, I take it as a win that I managed to hold my temper and bite my tongue. Jack Monkey may have won the battle, but he won't win the war.
This world is changing faster than any of us could have imagined 20 years ago. It's more and more okay to talk about who we are, what we are, where we came from. For me: I carry no shame in being a single mom. I have struggled, I've cried, I've fallen and I've had to come back kicking. My kids know that I'm a fighter, that I'm passionate, and that I have a fire for what I know to be true and right. I wouldn't want to parent in any other way.
So...hey you - hey Jack Monkey: challenge accepted.
Enter Jack Monkey, stage right. Because every story has an antagonist, right?
We had been watching the news and there was a story about a camp for kids to learn about the importance of bees. It filled with the usual gaggle of innocent children and cute sound bites, and to make conversation, I turned to the guy next to me (hereafter known as Jack Monkey) and jokingly asked him if he was next in line to go to Bee Camp. He smiled and replied that he had actually wanted to have an apiary and some chickens, but he and his wife have a small city lot and she said no. He smiled and described the scene at home: their 125-pound dog, two kids, and her trying to get everyone tucked into bed.
"I mean, she's a single mom right now since I'm at work, and she didn't even make any bad choices," Jack Monkey tells me, as if we're just talking about some as non-controversial as the color of the sky.
As I do when I'm caught completely off-guard, I tried to turn my hanging-open mouth into a semblance of a smile. "Oh," I replied sweetly, "well, I'm a single mom."
Of course, he stumbled and fumbled to recover his words, and I accepted his cover story about his sister who, evidently, made some "bad choices" and had kid(s?) out of wedlock. I smiled at his tall tale and swallowed the acid of his lies.
There are so many things wrong with his statement that, truly, I could write a book. But I'm going to settle for one single (see what I did there?!) point: stereotypes.
Jack Monkey has stereotype problems. Jack Monkey didn't know I was a single mom because I don't fit his mold: I'm suburban. For him, single moms are urban, impoverished, struggling. Single moms don't live in the suburbs, drive an SUV, or date firefighters.
But the other piece is this: no one would ever, in a million years, look at a single dad and say, "Well there's a guy who made some bad choices in his life." Because single dads get high fives. They get a "thanks for being a stand-up guy" award. A single dad walking down the sidewalk, pushing a stroller, gets ogled by young women as we marvel over the kind of person he must be. Life is graded on a curve for single dads. And as with so many other areas of life, women have to work twice as hard to get the same reward.
All of this is on a very macro level; I don't want to disparage my friends who truly are stand-up guys. And I am always grateful to my friends that support my single mom journey. It's likely that Jack Monkey is a nice person to the single moms in his life - because the odds are such that he probably knows at least a handful. But it's the overall negative societal point of view that allows Jack Monkey to make his sexist, racist statement and feel okay doing so in mixed company.
Senator Rick Santorum (R-PA), a former candidate for president of the United States, had this to say about single mothers:
"We are seeing the fabric of this country fall apart, and it's falling apart because of single moms."
So should we even be surprised when Joe Citizen, just a regular guy working as a line firefighter in the Midwest, pops off with some equally repellent comment? Vitriol from our public officials is having a distinct trickle-down effect, and I saw it before my own eyes tonight.
And honestly, what does it say about me that I smiled and dropped the topic? I'm sitting here, hours later, struggling with what my response should have been. I wish I would've popped off with any number of sharp comments, but I couldn't - these are the boyfriend's coworkers. Keeping the peace is part of the long term plan. And at the end of it: Jack Monkey's comments weren't personally directed at me. He took a swipe at my people, and I will find a way to fight back against his kind. In some ways, I take it as a win that I managed to hold my temper and bite my tongue. Jack Monkey may have won the battle, but he won't win the war.
This world is changing faster than any of us could have imagined 20 years ago. It's more and more okay to talk about who we are, what we are, where we came from. For me: I carry no shame in being a single mom. I have struggled, I've cried, I've fallen and I've had to come back kicking. My kids know that I'm a fighter, that I'm passionate, and that I have a fire for what I know to be true and right. I wouldn't want to parent in any other way.
So...hey you - hey Jack Monkey: challenge accepted.
Saturday, May 14, 2016
Mergers & Acquisitions
Dearest Reader,
As you know, there are a lot of tried-and-true metaphors about dating: the catch-and-release of fishing, the job interview, the tennis match--all true and valid in their own right. So now I offer up another one: mergers and acquisitions.
In the business world, mergers happen often and only the big marriages make the news: Time Warner + Comcast (fail), Caribou Coffee + Krispy Kreme donuts (yay!), ESPN + Disney (surprisingly decent). These marriages are done with a lot of forethought and work during the acquisition phase, including getting the regulatory permissions from the government, the baring of balance sheets, and the blessing of stockholders.
Over dinner this week, a friend of mine recently brought to my attention that these same phases apply to dating and ultimately marriage. So let's explore that a little more...
ACQUISITION PHASE: The dating between companies when they explore possibilities is quite the same as the dating between humans. Someone expresses interest, the other responds in kind, and we're off to the races. We try to show our best sides, smiling often, disagreeing rarely--if at all. In order to seem as appealing as possible, we posture like peacocks in order to draw attention to our beauty. As this phase wears on, the real homework begins. Who is this person underneath the pomp and circumstance? Are we really compatible? Are the inevitable flaws that each of us have endearing or are they dealbreakers? (Because, snoring. Let's be real.)
MERGER PHASE: So we've decided to pull the trigger and merge our lives together in matrimony. The snoring is adorable, the bath towel on the floor is tolerable, and thankfully most toothpaste tubes have flip tops instead of loose caps these days--Colgate has finally gotten it right and prevented many an argument in households across America. You go down to the courthouse and secure your regulatory permissions from the county in order to merge. Stockholders (parents, friends) have offered up their blessings (they don't know about the bath towel) and are hopeful for a payout in the form of subsidiaries (grandbabies, grandpups, grand-somethings). The blessed event goes off without a hitch and the honeymoon is bliss. It's coffee + donuts in a sugary swirl of happiness. With a little luck, the business deal is fully complete and we're all sports + Cinderella forever.
BUYOUT PHASE: But sometimes the sugar high wears off and you've been awake next to this person all night, wondering why you thought the snoring was adorable. Maybe the balance sheet excluded the $50K in credit card debt. The addition of subsidiaries has torn apart the parent company. The corporate cultures don't blend. Whatever the reason, it just.isn't.working. So you talk and decide it's time to part...and now the buyout negotiation begins. Who gets the house, the dog, the credit card debt? How long will it take to re-establish your stake in the market?
Of course, I don't have my MBA and government school didn't cover this, so parts of this metaphor are likely very weak. My apologies to those who are versed in this! But there is some truth here, underneath my snarky language and jaded rhetoric. Still, I maintain optimism--I want to be ESPN and I'm looking for my Cinderella story.
With love,
Leah
As you know, there are a lot of tried-and-true metaphors about dating: the catch-and-release of fishing, the job interview, the tennis match--all true and valid in their own right. So now I offer up another one: mergers and acquisitions.
In the business world, mergers happen often and only the big marriages make the news: Time Warner + Comcast (fail), Caribou Coffee + Krispy Kreme donuts (yay!), ESPN + Disney (surprisingly decent). These marriages are done with a lot of forethought and work during the acquisition phase, including getting the regulatory permissions from the government, the baring of balance sheets, and the blessing of stockholders.
Over dinner this week, a friend of mine recently brought to my attention that these same phases apply to dating and ultimately marriage. So let's explore that a little more...
ACQUISITION PHASE: The dating between companies when they explore possibilities is quite the same as the dating between humans. Someone expresses interest, the other responds in kind, and we're off to the races. We try to show our best sides, smiling often, disagreeing rarely--if at all. In order to seem as appealing as possible, we posture like peacocks in order to draw attention to our beauty. As this phase wears on, the real homework begins. Who is this person underneath the pomp and circumstance? Are we really compatible? Are the inevitable flaws that each of us have endearing or are they dealbreakers? (Because, snoring. Let's be real.)
MERGER PHASE: So we've decided to pull the trigger and merge our lives together in matrimony. The snoring is adorable, the bath towel on the floor is tolerable, and thankfully most toothpaste tubes have flip tops instead of loose caps these days--Colgate has finally gotten it right and prevented many an argument in households across America. You go down to the courthouse and secure your regulatory permissions from the county in order to merge. Stockholders (parents, friends) have offered up their blessings (they don't know about the bath towel) and are hopeful for a payout in the form of subsidiaries (grandbabies, grandpups, grand-somethings). The blessed event goes off without a hitch and the honeymoon is bliss. It's coffee + donuts in a sugary swirl of happiness. With a little luck, the business deal is fully complete and we're all sports + Cinderella forever.
BUYOUT PHASE: But sometimes the sugar high wears off and you've been awake next to this person all night, wondering why you thought the snoring was adorable. Maybe the balance sheet excluded the $50K in credit card debt. The addition of subsidiaries has torn apart the parent company. The corporate cultures don't blend. Whatever the reason, it just.isn't.working. So you talk and decide it's time to part...and now the buyout negotiation begins. Who gets the house, the dog, the credit card debt? How long will it take to re-establish your stake in the market?
Of course, I don't have my MBA and government school didn't cover this, so parts of this metaphor are likely very weak. My apologies to those who are versed in this! But there is some truth here, underneath my snarky language and jaded rhetoric. Still, I maintain optimism--I want to be ESPN and I'm looking for my Cinderella story.
With love,
Leah
Saturday, April 30, 2016
Do You Believe in Magic?
Once upon a time, I went on a date. (I actually prefer to call these first meetings with Men From the Internet "meet-n-greets" because, to be honest, "date" is a heavy word in this application.)
Literally from the first moment, it was sparks and fireworks and chemical reactions. He was cute, funny, smart, sensitive, and even a tiny bit romantic--the kind of guy who seemed to wear a little bit of his heart on his sleeve.
We sat at a bar in St. Paul for hours, laughing and getting to know one another. We easily moved from topic to topic, from work and tattoos to politics and parenting. When he reached out and touched my hand from across the heavy oak table, electricity flowed between us. He shyly smiled and I let my guard down enough to allow my eyes sparkle back. When it was time to go, he slipped his arm around my waist and guided me out the door. I was floating.
He walked me to my car, which was parked on the now-quiet downtown street. It had rained all evening, and the pavement shone with the soft glow from the street light. We said our goodbyes, our eyes locked, each of us not ready to leave. He pulled me in for a kiss and suddenly it was like a Ryan Gosling movie. His hands were in my hair, my arms were wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders. When I finally opened my eyes, everything just seemed a little bit more magical.
Alas, there isn't a lot of actual magic in this world.
Fast forward a little bit...we had, you know, relations, and I instinctively knew something was off right away. He grew distant and when I asked him if he was okay, he said he was overwhelmed because I was so pretty. Instead of letting my inner alarm sound in caution (because really - who says that?!), I smiled and nestled down inside what seemed to be a compliment. The next day was even more quiet which was so unusual compared to how he had previously been--texting, sending silly photos, chatting about his day. By the following day, it was grossly apparent that things had gone pear-shaped. I finally brought it up since he wasn't forthcoming, and the bomb dropped--the list of reasons why things likely wouldn't work out (opposite sides of the Cities, kids, schedules). Read: I had a good time and take care.
The main takeaway from this painful experience could be this: don't believe in magic. Leave it to Harry Potter or Cinderella and keep your own feet firmly in this real world. Life doesn't take place on the set of a Ryan Gosling movie. The streets don't glow and sparks don't fly. To let your guard down is to go to battle without body armor.
But as much as I want to be this jaded - and believe me, I do! - I fight to quiet my inner skeptic. As much as this interaction seemed to rip into me so painfully at the time, in the long run it's nothing but a bee sting. So, okay, I made an error in judgment and got a little burned, but to let this incident color my view of dating or men or even the world is to let his carelessness infect me - and he doesn't get to have that power. I want to let the streets glow after a long rain and allow my eyes to sparkle. Because whether I choose cynicism or optimism, life is going to march on. And the days are happier with a little tiny bit of magic.
Literally from the first moment, it was sparks and fireworks and chemical reactions. He was cute, funny, smart, sensitive, and even a tiny bit romantic--the kind of guy who seemed to wear a little bit of his heart on his sleeve.
We sat at a bar in St. Paul for hours, laughing and getting to know one another. We easily moved from topic to topic, from work and tattoos to politics and parenting. When he reached out and touched my hand from across the heavy oak table, electricity flowed between us. He shyly smiled and I let my guard down enough to allow my eyes sparkle back. When it was time to go, he slipped his arm around my waist and guided me out the door. I was floating.
He walked me to my car, which was parked on the now-quiet downtown street. It had rained all evening, and the pavement shone with the soft glow from the street light. We said our goodbyes, our eyes locked, each of us not ready to leave. He pulled me in for a kiss and suddenly it was like a Ryan Gosling movie. His hands were in my hair, my arms were wrapped tightly around his broad shoulders. When I finally opened my eyes, everything just seemed a little bit more magical.
Alas, there isn't a lot of actual magic in this world.
Fast forward a little bit...we had, you know, relations, and I instinctively knew something was off right away. He grew distant and when I asked him if he was okay, he said he was overwhelmed because I was so pretty. Instead of letting my inner alarm sound in caution (because really - who says that?!), I smiled and nestled down inside what seemed to be a compliment. The next day was even more quiet which was so unusual compared to how he had previously been--texting, sending silly photos, chatting about his day. By the following day, it was grossly apparent that things had gone pear-shaped. I finally brought it up since he wasn't forthcoming, and the bomb dropped--the list of reasons why things likely wouldn't work out (opposite sides of the Cities, kids, schedules). Read: I had a good time and take care.
The main takeaway from this painful experience could be this: don't believe in magic. Leave it to Harry Potter or Cinderella and keep your own feet firmly in this real world. Life doesn't take place on the set of a Ryan Gosling movie. The streets don't glow and sparks don't fly. To let your guard down is to go to battle without body armor.
But as much as I want to be this jaded - and believe me, I do! - I fight to quiet my inner skeptic. As much as this interaction seemed to rip into me so painfully at the time, in the long run it's nothing but a bee sting. So, okay, I made an error in judgment and got a little burned, but to let this incident color my view of dating or men or even the world is to let his carelessness infect me - and he doesn't get to have that power. I want to let the streets glow after a long rain and allow my eyes to sparkle. Because whether I choose cynicism or optimism, life is going to march on. And the days are happier with a little tiny bit of magic.
Wednesday, April 13, 2016
The Good Ones that Make Us Better
The day started out like any other: alarm, shower, coffee...let's go. I was looking forward to a little field trip from the office to run out to a client's home to pick up some paperwork. The morning was sunny and the sky was a brilliant shade of blue. Windows down, music up - that kind of day.
Puttering along on the interstate, an apartment building caught my eye and a memory jolted my brain like a lightning bolt. Years ago, I dated a guy who lived there and I suddenly remembered him as if he was standing in front of me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, tattooed - totally my type. I remembered the night I met him and his pick up line and our first date. I remembered how he was a decorated Iraq war veteran, physically stateside now but still battling PTSD in his mind. I pictured the times he made me ahi tuna, shrimp boil, or waffles...and remembered how he made me laugh and think. We didn't work out and now, years later, he's married. He's one of the good guys and I hope they're very happy.
The experience on the freeway that morning has had me thinking about all the people I've met throughout this adventure called dating. Sometimes in this blog, I fear that I write too much about the bad ones and don't spend enough time on the good ones...because hey - let's take a moment to realize that there are a lot of good ones out there, even if the dating thing doesn't work out. Maybe it's the sociologist in me that sees these encounters as more than a date - it's a chance to get to know another person, to gather their thoughts and opinions and viewpoints, and to treasure those things as gifts.
So I put my mind to work to think about some of the good ones and the moments we shared: the Sundays spent on a motorcycle on back Wisconsin roads with a man who had the most gentle heart; watching war movies with the dog trainer whose German shepherds were as sweet as kittens; the afternoon runs along the Mississippi with a man who was part farmer, part urban cowboy.
I treasure those that I've remained friends with, even as the relationship attempt failed. I wish I could name them here because they are such wonderful guys and the world should know, but I will honor their right to anonymity...and instead just express my gratitude. Thank you to the guy with the Audi who showed me the downtown lights and the light inside of me; thank you to the kind-hearted one who always "has my back" (to steal his phrase); thank you to the man with the easy smile and shining eyes who made such a positive impression on my son.
These men, and others not mentioned here, are part of a great story that all too often looks more dreary than it actually is. These moments in time make me smile because these guys shared themselves with me; they let me see behind the curtain and peek at their humanity. I'm grateful to them for that honesty and humanity.
This is part of my life story and it impacts where I've been, who I am, and what I'll become. Thinking about this, I'm reminded to keep an open heart no matter how long this dating journey lasts. The bad guys will undoubtedly leave scars, but the good guys can heal those scars and replenish the lost hope, even without being The One.
So to all: thank you for the gifts.
Puttering along on the interstate, an apartment building caught my eye and a memory jolted my brain like a lightning bolt. Years ago, I dated a guy who lived there and I suddenly remembered him as if he was standing in front of me. He was tall, broad-shouldered, muscled, tattooed - totally my type. I remembered the night I met him and his pick up line and our first date. I remembered how he was a decorated Iraq war veteran, physically stateside now but still battling PTSD in his mind. I pictured the times he made me ahi tuna, shrimp boil, or waffles...and remembered how he made me laugh and think. We didn't work out and now, years later, he's married. He's one of the good guys and I hope they're very happy.
The experience on the freeway that morning has had me thinking about all the people I've met throughout this adventure called dating. Sometimes in this blog, I fear that I write too much about the bad ones and don't spend enough time on the good ones...because hey - let's take a moment to realize that there are a lot of good ones out there, even if the dating thing doesn't work out. Maybe it's the sociologist in me that sees these encounters as more than a date - it's a chance to get to know another person, to gather their thoughts and opinions and viewpoints, and to treasure those things as gifts.
So I put my mind to work to think about some of the good ones and the moments we shared: the Sundays spent on a motorcycle on back Wisconsin roads with a man who had the most gentle heart; watching war movies with the dog trainer whose German shepherds were as sweet as kittens; the afternoon runs along the Mississippi with a man who was part farmer, part urban cowboy.
I treasure those that I've remained friends with, even as the relationship attempt failed. I wish I could name them here because they are such wonderful guys and the world should know, but I will honor their right to anonymity...and instead just express my gratitude. Thank you to the guy with the Audi who showed me the downtown lights and the light inside of me; thank you to the kind-hearted one who always "has my back" (to steal his phrase); thank you to the man with the easy smile and shining eyes who made such a positive impression on my son.
These men, and others not mentioned here, are part of a great story that all too often looks more dreary than it actually is. These moments in time make me smile because these guys shared themselves with me; they let me see behind the curtain and peek at their humanity. I'm grateful to them for that honesty and humanity.
This is part of my life story and it impacts where I've been, who I am, and what I'll become. Thinking about this, I'm reminded to keep an open heart no matter how long this dating journey lasts. The bad guys will undoubtedly leave scars, but the good guys can heal those scars and replenish the lost hope, even without being The One.
So to all: thank you for the gifts.
Sunday, April 3, 2016
Chasing Unicorns
I looked at my ideal: is he out there? Is my dream guy a mythical creature leaping through a rainbow-colored ether, never to be found by humans? It's been six years post-divorce, so I weighed the question carefully. Plenty of my friends have gotten married or even remarried in the time I've spent dating. But having been burned by divorce, I also think that doing my due diligence in dating is time well spent. There's a lot more at stake than when I was in my early 20s, not the least of which is because now I have my children and they deserve nothing short of the best. My oldest is 12 and his sister is 10; in these years, we've formed a pattern of functioning in this household. The three of us pile into my bed to watch movies, we talk politics at the dinner table, we have inside jokes. Adding a boyfriend is going to be complicated, and I need to make sure that I've chosen someone who is going to complement us.
The other thing is this: elsewhere in life, we're encouraged to develop a dream or a goal and then strive to attain it. "What do you want to be when you grow up?" is probably one of the most common questions in the world. We're prompted from a young age to decide what we want--that's a key word here. So I think we should be applying the same logic to finding a mate--what do I want, who do I want? Unfortunately, women are often told to be grateful for what we have. "He's good to you" or "He's got money...he'll take care of you" or "He's a provider." True - these are all wonderful traits, much to be desired, and a partner should definitely be those things. But he should also be a match in so many other ways: common dreams, a shared sense of life direction, similar parenting styles, a good conversationalist.....the list goes on.
Through these years of the trial-and-error game called dating, I've learned this: it's okay to decide on what you want and then pursue it. Chase that dream, just as you chased other dreams in life. It's no less important.
So what am I really looking for? In a non-election year, I'd say George Clooney, but this year he's supporting Hillary and I already caucused for Bernie...so that's a no-go....(hahaha!)
Truly, though, it's a challenging but fair question. Honestly, I'd probably have an easier time ticking off what historically hasn't work, rather than shaping an ideal of what I'm looking for. The world is filled with "relationship extremists"--the crazies that are armed with lies meant to blow up your life. On one end, there's the Sociopath: the guy who says anything to get laid. He'll say he's divorced or that he loves kittens--whatever it is that you need to hear. He'll read you like a book but he'll lack empathy. On the other end, there's the Klingons: those guys that wear their hearts on their sleeves and invade your space bubble. They're the ones saying the "L" word by the third date. Be wary of each, for both are perilous to your autonomy.
My unicorn lies somewhere in the middle between these landmines that dot the landscape. I don't know what he looks like, or where he is, but I'm optimistic enough to believe in him. My person--the yin to my yang, the peanut butter to my jelly, my emergency contact, my first phone call, my cuddle buddy and my in-house challenger-in-chief--is out there in the messiness called life. And that's why I date.
Saturday, March 26, 2016
Going Home
I just returned home from having traveled back home. Let that sink in for a second....and I'll explain:
While I might brand myself as a "Minnie" (-sotan or -apolitan...either works), I'm actually a Southern Missouri girl in my heart and soul...and DNA. My folks met at Tulsa University in Oklahoma and settled in my father's hometown of Joplin, MO after they got married. They bought a house, had a baby (my brother), bought a new house, and had another baby (me). We moved to Minnesota when I was not quite three years old and for a long time I didn't understand where I came from or who my relatives were. My parents' divorce complicated the relationships with my dad's side of the family; I don't remember seeing my nana more than one or two times before she was laid to rest in 1998. My dad had a sister, Elizabeth, who I also saw little of but, as my only aunt, I adored from afar. (My own daughter is named after my auntie.)
Growing up, I understood my aunt and her husband, my Uncle Ken, to be exotic, enchanting people for reasons I didn't quite grasp as a kid. In 1986, they moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, to take teaching positions at an international school for Westerners living in that country. They were musicians: my aunt was an exceptional violinist and my uncle played any and all brass instruments. They traveled the globe, they drank wine, they loved good food, they were cultured and they had experienced more life than anyone I knew. They returned to the States in 1998 and settled back home in Joplin--proof that no matter how far you go, you can always come home.
I saw my aunt and uncle irregularly in the intervening decades, but each visit was a joy. I have often wondered how much stronger our relationship might have been if we were not separated by 500 miles and three states.
Fast forward....sadly, a week ago the news came that my aunt had passed away following a long illness. And so I, too, went back home.
My aunt's funeral was beautiful: she was surrounded by dozens and dozens of yellow roses and other arrangements. A fellow violinist played a haunting and provocative piece called, "The Lark Ascending" by Ralph Vaughn Williams. The music will stick with me forever because it captured the essence of life--measures of happiness met with measures of sadness, punctuated with dissonant notes. But what really struck me most of all was my uncle seated in the row in front of me, his thin shoulders shaking as he quietly cried for his wife.
How does a love like this evolve? How can there be such mutual devotion, commitment, and adoration? My uncle did not leave my aunt's side the entire time her health was declining. When she became too ill to leave their bedroom, he brought everything to her. When the time came for hospice, he made arrangements. And when she passed from this earth, it was under the umbrella of his love and care.
He shared a story today that makes me cry as I type it here: not long ago, Elizabeth awoke from a nap where she dreamt that her parents were waiting for her in heaven. But she wept as she relayed to him that she suddenly understood how her death would mean that they would have to be apart. I have no doubt that he likely cried as well, and I can perfectly picture him holding her small hand, smoothing her soft gray curls, and reassuring her that they will find each other once again when the time comes.
To have loved someone as wholly as he loved Elizabeth is not a common thing, and us Palmers should know: all of us have been divorced, including Elizabeth--Uncle Ken was actually her second husband. But seemingly against all odds, this marriage not only survived, it thrived for 45 years. What was the secret?? In part, at least, I've come to understand this: they fully understood each other because they shared the same passion. Music was their lifeblood: creating it, teaching it, sharing it. They could build a life together because they both wanted the same thing. It's not enough just to have some stuff in common--as in, "well, we both like the Olive Garden." Sure, yes, that's nice...but greatness is not built on a sandy foundation. The commonalities have to be bigger, they have to be more central to your identity. You have to feel the things your partner feels because you've always felt them, just as he has always felt them. Your dreams are his dreams because you each had the same dream before you even met.
Elizabeth and Ken were able to build this relationship because the concrete foundation was made out of a shared passion. They each had a dream to share music with the world; doing so together made sense and was only natural. This was their secret, I think. I don't know if I'll ever be so blessed as to find a love like this...but it sure as hell is worth looking for.
While I might brand myself as a "Minnie" (-sotan or -apolitan...either works), I'm actually a Southern Missouri girl in my heart and soul...and DNA. My folks met at Tulsa University in Oklahoma and settled in my father's hometown of Joplin, MO after they got married. They bought a house, had a baby (my brother), bought a new house, and had another baby (me). We moved to Minnesota when I was not quite three years old and for a long time I didn't understand where I came from or who my relatives were. My parents' divorce complicated the relationships with my dad's side of the family; I don't remember seeing my nana more than one or two times before she was laid to rest in 1998. My dad had a sister, Elizabeth, who I also saw little of but, as my only aunt, I adored from afar. (My own daughter is named after my auntie.)
Growing up, I understood my aunt and her husband, my Uncle Ken, to be exotic, enchanting people for reasons I didn't quite grasp as a kid. In 1986, they moved to Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, to take teaching positions at an international school for Westerners living in that country. They were musicians: my aunt was an exceptional violinist and my uncle played any and all brass instruments. They traveled the globe, they drank wine, they loved good food, they were cultured and they had experienced more life than anyone I knew. They returned to the States in 1998 and settled back home in Joplin--proof that no matter how far you go, you can always come home.
I saw my aunt and uncle irregularly in the intervening decades, but each visit was a joy. I have often wondered how much stronger our relationship might have been if we were not separated by 500 miles and three states.
Fast forward....sadly, a week ago the news came that my aunt had passed away following a long illness. And so I, too, went back home.
My aunt's funeral was beautiful: she was surrounded by dozens and dozens of yellow roses and other arrangements. A fellow violinist played a haunting and provocative piece called, "The Lark Ascending" by Ralph Vaughn Williams. The music will stick with me forever because it captured the essence of life--measures of happiness met with measures of sadness, punctuated with dissonant notes. But what really struck me most of all was my uncle seated in the row in front of me, his thin shoulders shaking as he quietly cried for his wife.
How does a love like this evolve? How can there be such mutual devotion, commitment, and adoration? My uncle did not leave my aunt's side the entire time her health was declining. When she became too ill to leave their bedroom, he brought everything to her. When the time came for hospice, he made arrangements. And when she passed from this earth, it was under the umbrella of his love and care.
He shared a story today that makes me cry as I type it here: not long ago, Elizabeth awoke from a nap where she dreamt that her parents were waiting for her in heaven. But she wept as she relayed to him that she suddenly understood how her death would mean that they would have to be apart. I have no doubt that he likely cried as well, and I can perfectly picture him holding her small hand, smoothing her soft gray curls, and reassuring her that they will find each other once again when the time comes.
To have loved someone as wholly as he loved Elizabeth is not a common thing, and us Palmers should know: all of us have been divorced, including Elizabeth--Uncle Ken was actually her second husband. But seemingly against all odds, this marriage not only survived, it thrived for 45 years. What was the secret?? In part, at least, I've come to understand this: they fully understood each other because they shared the same passion. Music was their lifeblood: creating it, teaching it, sharing it. They could build a life together because they both wanted the same thing. It's not enough just to have some stuff in common--as in, "well, we both like the Olive Garden." Sure, yes, that's nice...but greatness is not built on a sandy foundation. The commonalities have to be bigger, they have to be more central to your identity. You have to feel the things your partner feels because you've always felt them, just as he has always felt them. Your dreams are his dreams because you each had the same dream before you even met.
Elizabeth and Ken were able to build this relationship because the concrete foundation was made out of a shared passion. They each had a dream to share music with the world; doing so together made sense and was only natural. This was their secret, I think. I don't know if I'll ever be so blessed as to find a love like this...but it sure as hell is worth looking for.
Tuesday, March 15, 2016
A Divided Nation is a Divided Bedroom
What happens when you combine romantic love and the divisive politics of 2016? Well, let's talk about that. Buckle yer seatbelts...this one's gonna take you for a bumpy ride!
A friend once told me that my politics are "just left of Castro." While not true in the least, it gave me a good laugh just the same! I'm a Democrat, folks. Let's just get that out right away.
I come by my brand of politics honestly: I was raised by a single mother who taught me to stand up to injustice and prejudice. She led by example: in 1968, she turned in her sorority pin and quit because her best friend (who was black) was not allowed to join the all-white group. As a young girl, I watched her campaign and door-knock for Paul Wellstone, Bill Clinton, and Al Gore because those candidates fought for the underdog. She taught me to value the common good and showed me that when people are united they can achieve so much more than they can alone. To that end, the late Senator Paul Wellstone said it best: "When we all do better, we all do better."
If you know me in real life or on Facebook (same diff?!), you know in an instant that I am incredibly passionate about governance and politics. Over the years, I've gained friends and I've lost friends because of my political persuasions. I still don't know quite how to feel about all that - there are some people whose friendship I truly miss and others whose absence is hardly felt. I maintain many online friendships with people who are truly 180 degrees politically different than I am and I generally enjoy our debates.
But what about when you've fallen in love with someone from The Other Side? This is where it gets tricky...
My last boyfriend is a dyed-in-the-wool Libertarian. I'm not going to debate the merits of libertarianism but the important takeaway here is that, since there's no viable Libertarian Party candidate for most races, he typically ends up voting conservative. In the past, he has campaigned hard for the uber-conservative Congressman John Kline (MN-R) and always voted Republican in the electoral events that happened while we were dating. His philosophy, like so many others that I talk to, is that of a social moderate/fiscal conservative. My philosophy: there's no such thing because money talks. (That's another topic for another time...)
Let's go back to the idea of voting Republican while being a social moderate. In my relationship with this boyfriend, I was always floored by the notion that he could vote Republican while claiming to support women's rights--especially with regard to reproductive health. How can a person be pro-choice and yet vote for the very guys (and yes, they're mostly men) who repeatedly try to limit a woman's right to healthcare? This boyfriend has three daughters and yet campaigned for Congressman Kline who, among other things, supported legislation to defund Planned Parenthood. Kline's bandwagon support is in line with his previous votes on abortion-related legislation, including voting for so-called "personhood" bills.
The fight for access to women's health clinics and, yes--abortion, is very real and no longer abstract. Republican-led efforts across this nation have resulted in some very frightening results:
Given all of this work done at the hands of Republican legislators, and much of it signed into law by Republican governors, how can a Republican like my then-boyfriend call himself pro-women?
The cognitive dissonance is astounding to me - and proved to be at least the partial cause of the end of our relationship. I simply could not - and still cannot - understand how his Republican voting record meshes with his belief in women's rights. To vote is to speak. All other political issues aside, how am I to love a man whose vote is speech against my well-being? The boyfriend and I went round and round about this: for him, it's no big thing. For me, it's a deal-breaker.
I see it in such black-and-white terms: I'm a woman and I want access to healthcare and equal pay. Elected Republicans evidently don't see that as valuable, and by extension, it's logical to assume that their electorate doesn't as well: Republican voters either don't care or else actively support these positions...and I can't be in an intimate relationship with someone who falls into either of those categories. It just doesn't align with how I was taught to stand up for injustice and prejudice.
The fine print here: I can be friends with Republicans! Friendships are, obviously, a different animal than relationships. Since the majority of tactics in the Republican War on Women (and yes, there is one!) are based on reproductive health rights...why would I invite a Republican into my bedroom?
Since our breakup, this has continued to be an issue for me when it comes to dating. As in...what's your name, where are you from, and how do you vote? Pretty much in that order. My belief in women's equality has driven away at least three guys in the last two months, and probably countless others who don't view feminism as a value-add when it's listed on my dating profile. *shrug*
What are your thoughts? Are there people out there who are in these "mixed" relationships of Dems/GOPers? I'd love to hear your experience and find out how it works for you.
A friend once told me that my politics are "just left of Castro." While not true in the least, it gave me a good laugh just the same! I'm a Democrat, folks. Let's just get that out right away.
I come by my brand of politics honestly: I was raised by a single mother who taught me to stand up to injustice and prejudice. She led by example: in 1968, she turned in her sorority pin and quit because her best friend (who was black) was not allowed to join the all-white group. As a young girl, I watched her campaign and door-knock for Paul Wellstone, Bill Clinton, and Al Gore because those candidates fought for the underdog. She taught me to value the common good and showed me that when people are united they can achieve so much more than they can alone. To that end, the late Senator Paul Wellstone said it best: "When we all do better, we all do better."
If you know me in real life or on Facebook (same diff?!), you know in an instant that I am incredibly passionate about governance and politics. Over the years, I've gained friends and I've lost friends because of my political persuasions. I still don't know quite how to feel about all that - there are some people whose friendship I truly miss and others whose absence is hardly felt. I maintain many online friendships with people who are truly 180 degrees politically different than I am and I generally enjoy our debates.
But what about when you've fallen in love with someone from The Other Side? This is where it gets tricky...
My last boyfriend is a dyed-in-the-wool Libertarian. I'm not going to debate the merits of libertarianism but the important takeaway here is that, since there's no viable Libertarian Party candidate for most races, he typically ends up voting conservative. In the past, he has campaigned hard for the uber-conservative Congressman John Kline (MN-R) and always voted Republican in the electoral events that happened while we were dating. His philosophy, like so many others that I talk to, is that of a social moderate/fiscal conservative. My philosophy: there's no such thing because money talks. (That's another topic for another time...)
Let's go back to the idea of voting Republican while being a social moderate. In my relationship with this boyfriend, I was always floored by the notion that he could vote Republican while claiming to support women's rights--especially with regard to reproductive health. How can a person be pro-choice and yet vote for the very guys (and yes, they're mostly men) who repeatedly try to limit a woman's right to healthcare? This boyfriend has three daughters and yet campaigned for Congressman Kline who, among other things, supported legislation to defund Planned Parenthood. Kline's bandwagon support is in line with his previous votes on abortion-related legislation, including voting for so-called "personhood" bills.
The fight for access to women's health clinics and, yes--abortion, is very real and no longer abstract. Republican-led efforts across this nation have resulted in some very frightening results:
- Nearly 400 bills in 46 states were introduced that sought to limit abortion in 2015 alone - just that one single year!
- At least 10 states require women to have an ultrasound before they can have an abortion--a clear attempt to intimidate women into changing their minds. A major study has revealed that this expensive and unnecessary practice has little to no effect on her decision to go through with the abortion.
- 27 states have mandatory waiting periods for women seeking abortions (Minnesota is one of them). The amount of time can range from 24 to 72 hours. Because abortion clinics have become scarce in many states, this can put quite a burden on women who have to travel hundreds of miles to get the healthcare they need.
- 53 abortion clinics were forced to close their doors to women in need during 2015 - about one per week. This anti-choice website crows about their success in cutting off women's access to health care.
- Perhaps most hideously, Indiana just passed a law that requires women to pay for funeral or cremation costs following an abortion. At eight weeks, the embryonic tissue is about the size of a kidney bean. I leave it to you to make the logical conclusion on this.
- Only one male Republican Senator voted for the Equal Pay Act in 2009.
- In February 2016, presidential candidate John Kasich took a moment to thank women who "left their kitchens" to help get him elected as governor. No, really. He said that. This year.
- Nebraska State Senator Mark Christensen introduced a bill in 2011 that would've provided legal justification for the murder of abortion providers - "justifiable homicide" under the color of his version of law. It didn't pass, but it had twin sister bills in two other states.
- And Donald Trump. The guy is winning despite his open misogyny.
Given all of this work done at the hands of Republican legislators, and much of it signed into law by Republican governors, how can a Republican like my then-boyfriend call himself pro-women?
The cognitive dissonance is astounding to me - and proved to be at least the partial cause of the end of our relationship. I simply could not - and still cannot - understand how his Republican voting record meshes with his belief in women's rights. To vote is to speak. All other political issues aside, how am I to love a man whose vote is speech against my well-being? The boyfriend and I went round and round about this: for him, it's no big thing. For me, it's a deal-breaker.
I see it in such black-and-white terms: I'm a woman and I want access to healthcare and equal pay. Elected Republicans evidently don't see that as valuable, and by extension, it's logical to assume that their electorate doesn't as well: Republican voters either don't care or else actively support these positions...and I can't be in an intimate relationship with someone who falls into either of those categories. It just doesn't align with how I was taught to stand up for injustice and prejudice.
The fine print here: I can be friends with Republicans! Friendships are, obviously, a different animal than relationships. Since the majority of tactics in the Republican War on Women (and yes, there is one!) are based on reproductive health rights...why would I invite a Republican into my bedroom?
Since our breakup, this has continued to be an issue for me when it comes to dating. As in...what's your name, where are you from, and how do you vote? Pretty much in that order. My belief in women's equality has driven away at least three guys in the last two months, and probably countless others who don't view feminism as a value-add when it's listed on my dating profile. *shrug*
What are your thoughts? Are there people out there who are in these "mixed" relationships of Dems/GOPers? I'd love to hear your experience and find out how it works for you.
Monday, March 7, 2016
It's not you, it's me. No, really.
Dearest readers, I'm sorry. It's been two years since I wrote and while that's probably okay by you, it's not okay by me. Writing is cathartic for me, so I've probably been a little bit tightly wound in these intervening years between posts. Apologies for anyone who had to deal with that...you probably know who you are. *hugs*
So....why today, you ask me. Great question and I'm glad you brought it up. Four years ago today, one of the best professors I've ever had passed away suddenly from a heart attack. The week before his passing, I had sat in his office, utterly adrift in my life, and he gave me a piece of advice that I will never forget: "Write. Write every day. Make time for seeing your own thoughts on paper."
(Computer screen, in this case. Call it a generational difference.)
His words roll around in my head and surface periodically like a message in a bottle on the Pacific Ocean. Today, it washed ashore and I read the note...and acted on it.
Also, this: as a single gal for the last five months, I've had some time. And some experiences. And some thoughts. Let's move on to that, shall we? Come along now...no stragglers! Let's dive in to the messy underworld, shall we....
As much as I'd like to say it's the guys out there (and in some cases, it sure is!), the problem is actually probably more on my end. Okay, definitely on my end. The thing is: I just don't want to get tangled up in a relationship. This is very different from not wanting to settle down - it's not that I want to party or hook up or any of that. Realistically, I'm too old for that anyway. But the tangled up thing relates more to wanting to maintain my personal autonomy. My space. My time. My kids. My desire to spend a Friday night reading the New York Times on my phone and not have someone telling me to put my phone down. My want to wake up alone and unilaterally decide what kind of day I will have. My need to decide if going to the gym at 9:30 pm is a good decision or if sleep is better...but knowing that, either way, no one else gets to weigh in on that decision for whatever reason.
It all sounds superfluous and maybe, in a way, it is. But it's also about allowing myself the space to figure out who I am, what I am, where I am going. Having been in a very serious relationship for the last two years, I kind of lost myself: I morphed into this person who was half him, half me. Like Brangelina, only it was my life, not the cover of People magazine. I don't want my identity merged with someone else's. I don't want to check and say, "Hey hon...I'm going to head to the gym. Yes, I know it's late. No, it's not weird. No, there's no one else. No, I'm not mad at you." Woof. Ugh. Gross. No thank you.
This isn't to dog on anyone who is in a wonderful relationship where they have found a way to coexist in a manner that leaves both parties happy. Plenty of people do it and couplehood can be a great thing. I admire people who have found the person with whom they can achieve that balance, especially with the crazy life add-ons of kids, sports, activities, etc. But for me, in my life and my experience so far, I haven't been able to find yin/yang relationship.
Which brings me to this: I can be single and be okay. That's not a self-affirming statement I tell myself each day; don't misread the emphasis. The statement is outward-facing toward others who don't seem to think that I'm okay on my own, or that my life is missing something. It's not. I don't need a man/guy/boy/person in order to achieve my goals, make my home better, make my life better, or otherwise enhance what I have. I have what I need and I'm pretty good on my own. Maybe the right relationship would enhance my life, but that falls into the "want" category...and I'm not sure I can afford that want right now. I love being focused, for once, on my kids and myself. Affording that want would require a sacrifice of spending right now as far as where and how I spend my time.
What us single people do need, however, is for coupled-up people to drop their stereotypes. No, you can't "catch" divorce by hanging out with us singles. My decision to divorce isn't going to worm its way into your marriage and make it die. I just want to be friends with my neighbors and my kids' friends' parents who, it seems out here in my suburban neighborhood, are all married. Just because I don't have a "plus-one" doesn't mean I wouldn't love to hang out with you--both of you!--and have dinner, get a drink, or otherwise socialize. Our kids are friends...so why aren't we?
In the end, the takeaway here is this: relationships are exceptionally complicated - and that goes for the single- vs married-friend dynamic as well. Everyone has to find what fits for them at that point in their life--it's a calculus of time and energy budgeting versus return on investment. Just make sure you're honest and nonprejudicial.
So....why today, you ask me. Great question and I'm glad you brought it up. Four years ago today, one of the best professors I've ever had passed away suddenly from a heart attack. The week before his passing, I had sat in his office, utterly adrift in my life, and he gave me a piece of advice that I will never forget: "Write. Write every day. Make time for seeing your own thoughts on paper."
(Computer screen, in this case. Call it a generational difference.)
His words roll around in my head and surface periodically like a message in a bottle on the Pacific Ocean. Today, it washed ashore and I read the note...and acted on it.
Also, this: as a single gal for the last five months, I've had some time. And some experiences. And some thoughts. Let's move on to that, shall we? Come along now...no stragglers! Let's dive in to the messy underworld, shall we....
As much as I'd like to say it's the guys out there (and in some cases, it sure is!), the problem is actually probably more on my end. Okay, definitely on my end. The thing is: I just don't want to get tangled up in a relationship. This is very different from not wanting to settle down - it's not that I want to party or hook up or any of that. Realistically, I'm too old for that anyway. But the tangled up thing relates more to wanting to maintain my personal autonomy. My space. My time. My kids. My desire to spend a Friday night reading the New York Times on my phone and not have someone telling me to put my phone down. My want to wake up alone and unilaterally decide what kind of day I will have. My need to decide if going to the gym at 9:30 pm is a good decision or if sleep is better...but knowing that, either way, no one else gets to weigh in on that decision for whatever reason.
It all sounds superfluous and maybe, in a way, it is. But it's also about allowing myself the space to figure out who I am, what I am, where I am going. Having been in a very serious relationship for the last two years, I kind of lost myself: I morphed into this person who was half him, half me. Like Brangelina, only it was my life, not the cover of People magazine. I don't want my identity merged with someone else's. I don't want to check and say, "Hey hon...I'm going to head to the gym. Yes, I know it's late. No, it's not weird. No, there's no one else. No, I'm not mad at you." Woof. Ugh. Gross. No thank you.
This isn't to dog on anyone who is in a wonderful relationship where they have found a way to coexist in a manner that leaves both parties happy. Plenty of people do it and couplehood can be a great thing. I admire people who have found the person with whom they can achieve that balance, especially with the crazy life add-ons of kids, sports, activities, etc. But for me, in my life and my experience so far, I haven't been able to find yin/yang relationship.
Which brings me to this: I can be single and be okay. That's not a self-affirming statement I tell myself each day; don't misread the emphasis. The statement is outward-facing toward others who don't seem to think that I'm okay on my own, or that my life is missing something. It's not. I don't need a man/guy/boy/person in order to achieve my goals, make my home better, make my life better, or otherwise enhance what I have. I have what I need and I'm pretty good on my own. Maybe the right relationship would enhance my life, but that falls into the "want" category...and I'm not sure I can afford that want right now. I love being focused, for once, on my kids and myself. Affording that want would require a sacrifice of spending right now as far as where and how I spend my time.
What us single people do need, however, is for coupled-up people to drop their stereotypes. No, you can't "catch" divorce by hanging out with us singles. My decision to divorce isn't going to worm its way into your marriage and make it die. I just want to be friends with my neighbors and my kids' friends' parents who, it seems out here in my suburban neighborhood, are all married. Just because I don't have a "plus-one" doesn't mean I wouldn't love to hang out with you--both of you!--and have dinner, get a drink, or otherwise socialize. Our kids are friends...so why aren't we?
In the end, the takeaway here is this: relationships are exceptionally complicated - and that goes for the single- vs married-friend dynamic as well. Everyone has to find what fits for them at that point in their life--it's a calculus of time and energy budgeting versus return on investment. Just make sure you're honest and nonprejudicial.
Wednesday, February 5, 2014
Risks and Rewards: Vulnerability
I inwardly sighed to myself. Another Internet date? I wondered if I had the energy to endure any more freaks, geeks, crazies, or otherwise nice-but-no-spark guys. I looked at his picture again. I liked the way his eyes shone, slightly mischievousness and totally fun. I went back to his message and typed, "Sure, let's meet." I put my phone down and closed my eyes, offering a prayer to the God of Dating: Let this one be normal. And cute. But mostly normal.
[FOOTNOTE: Anyone who has been in this mysterious world of dating knows that these sorts of meet-and-greets generally only last an hour or so. It's a brief encounter designed to feel the other person out, to determine if more time should be spent on him/her. Sure, let's meet for a drink so we can both decide if the other is a whacko or not. It really goes without saying.]
A few hours later, I found myself walking into the bar where we agreed to meet. I had pre-conditioned myself to have low standards and not to expect too much from what I was sure to be another thanks-but-no-thanks date. Walking in, I spotted him instantly: lounging casually, beer in hand, smiling as if he knew me already. He was wearing a black dress shirt and a black sport coat that set off his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly. Those sparkling blue eyes dared me to join him for a drink. I smiled broadly despite myself and whispered my thanks to the dating gods.
I sat down at the bar next to him and bravely met that mischievous look, hoping my own green eyes didn't belie my nervousness and that he didn't notice the goosebumps on my arms.
"Hi!" I managed to say, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. He was so handsome, self-assured, confident. Normally, that's me: confident, daring, and maybe even edgy. It was disarming to meet myself.
"You're a lot prettier than your pictures," he offered. The butterflies flapped their wings in my tummy, and my heart skipped. I blushed.
Five hours later and three rounds of drinks, the bar was closing and we had to call it a night. As his lips touched mine for a goodnight kiss, I felt my soul stir and the butterflies calm themselves. It was as if we were long-lost lovers, souls parted for years but now rejoining. It was easy, effortless, warm.
I will never forget his hand on the small of my back leading me out the door, the feel of his goodnight kiss, and his promise to take me out on a first date. Six weeks later, writing this post, I can feel the same goosebumps rising on my arms and the same silly, happy smile spreading across my face. I love the sound of his soft voice, the mannish smell of his skin, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way he kisses me. But more than that, I love the way my heart feels in his strong, capable hands: protected and secure. I'm not a woman prone to trusting men easily, but the heart knows when it is free from danger, so I find myself allowing this vulnerability.
Somehow, I don't feel vulnerable at all.
[FOOTNOTE: Anyone who has been in this mysterious world of dating knows that these sorts of meet-and-greets generally only last an hour or so. It's a brief encounter designed to feel the other person out, to determine if more time should be spent on him/her. Sure, let's meet for a drink so we can both decide if the other is a whacko or not. It really goes without saying.]
I sat down at the bar next to him and bravely met that mischievous look, hoping my own green eyes didn't belie my nervousness and that he didn't notice the goosebumps on my arms.
"Hi!" I managed to say, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. He was so handsome, self-assured, confident. Normally, that's me: confident, daring, and maybe even edgy. It was disarming to meet myself.
"You're a lot prettier than your pictures," he offered. The butterflies flapped their wings in my tummy, and my heart skipped. I blushed.
Five hours later and three rounds of drinks, the bar was closing and we had to call it a night. As his lips touched mine for a goodnight kiss, I felt my soul stir and the butterflies calm themselves. It was as if we were long-lost lovers, souls parted for years but now rejoining. It was easy, effortless, warm.
I will never forget his hand on the small of my back leading me out the door, the feel of his goodnight kiss, and his promise to take me out on a first date. Six weeks later, writing this post, I can feel the same goosebumps rising on my arms and the same silly, happy smile spreading across my face. I love the sound of his soft voice, the mannish smell of his skin, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way he kisses me. But more than that, I love the way my heart feels in his strong, capable hands: protected and secure. I'm not a woman prone to trusting men easily, but the heart knows when it is free from danger, so I find myself allowing this vulnerability.
Somehow, I don't feel vulnerable at all.
Sunday, September 15, 2013
Ghost stories
The latest heartbreak was one that I never saw coming - never expected his arrival, and surely didn't expect his retreat. I didn't even want to write about this one, but my fingers are typing and I'm thinking...and sometimes I don't even know what I think until I see it here on the screen in front of me. So bear with this cathartic post, and maybe you'll even find a bit of your own life in it.
When we met, it was purely for professional reasons: I had been put in contact with him as someone that I should network with. But in the course of that first informational interview, we found ourselves connecting beyond public policy issues. As I watched him leave an hour later, I felt like my life had just changed for the better.
Our second meeting - a "follow-up" networking meeting - was even less professional. We talked and giggled and joked and I couldn't help but notice how his eyes shone brightly and how his smile made my heart beat faster.
A few hours later, my phone chirped and when I saw his text message asking me to dinner on Friday night, I felt elated. That dinner, and the ensuing four weeks, were incredible. I fell hard and fast for him. We spent countless hours talking about our lives: children, divorces, shared interests and passions. We covered law and politics, teased each other with vocabulary known only to policy wonks like us, and then laughed at our own nerd-ishness. It wasn't uncommon for time to get away from us and to notice that it was after 1:00 am on a work night or that we had been on the phone for over an hour.
But what we didn't talk about was the important stuff--how our past relationships and attendant vulnerabilities would affect a future relationship. Like all divorcees, we both had raw, scraped-up hearts and when the Ghosts of Relationships Past floated up to create a wedge between us, we didn't know how to handle it. In the end, the failure to talk about what really mattered was our undoing.
So for the past few weeks, I've been walking around in a daze - things remind me of him and the wound breaks open again. It's hard to believe that I could miss someone like this when the relationship was so brief, but there it is. There is so much I wish I could go back and change and undo - and that is the worst part of all. I rarely carry around regret; I find the word itself to be ugly and the emotion to be not worth its weight. But this time, I am full of regret for words left unsaid, words said in haste, words borne of past hurt. When I find the courage to meet my own eyes in the mirror, I hate that they are full of remorse and sorrow.
Maggie Rose, a relative newcomer to the country music scene, just released a song called "Better." The melody is so-so, but the lyrics are heart-wrenching.
I just want to feel good, feel alright
Feel anything but what I feel tonight.
I just want to feel better
Music has the power to change us. I wasn't sure I wanted to even download the song because it hit me so profoundly, but since the song was already in my heart, I gave up the fight and forked over $1.29 to iTunes.
I just want to feel better. Lift the heaviness from my chest, stop the flow of tears that randomly escape at inopportune moments. Feel anything but what I feel tonight. Why can't there be a medication that could make it all go away?
But the bad feelings are what make us human, make us alive and maybe even make us appreciate the good moments. Pain has a purpose - it signals that something is wrong and needs attention. Heartache is no different. I have the hardest work of all to do: heal my heart so that the Ghosts of Relationships Past can no longer haunt me.
"The challenge is to learn from the past without giving up our innocence." --Tammie Carino
"The challenge is to learn from the past without giving up our innocence." --Tammie Carino
Saturday, August 31, 2013
Girlfriends, boyfriends, and what lies between them
Don't you just love those first few months of a relationship when everything is all sparkly and shiny? You spend your days walking on air and the whole world seems a little softer around the edges. You crave time with that special person and turn to texting, talking, Facebooking, and tweeting to fill the gaps between dates. You crow to anyone that will listen about how great (s)he is: how perfect, how charming, how funny! (giggle!)
But pretty soon, your friends grow tired of hearing about your budding romance. They want to talk about other things - after all, the world has continued to spin on its axis in spite of your blissful unawareness. If you don't tune in and miss their cues, you risk alienating your allies...the very friends you just may need if (when!) you fall from this man-made heaven.
As I was researching material for this post, I searched the internet for the phrase "balance boyfriend and friends." Google presented me with the usual ga-jillion hits, only the first ten of which I perused. Seventeen magazine summed it up perfectly: "When you're going out with a guy, it can be hard to find time for both your BF and your BFFs." In teen-speak, that seemed succinct, if not also slightly vapid and vaguely juvenile for this audience.
I tried again, searching "balance friends and relationship" - this turned up a far more diverse offering of online self-help. Evidently this problem is not unique to any particular demographic:
But pretty soon, your friends grow tired of hearing about your budding romance. They want to talk about other things - after all, the world has continued to spin on its axis in spite of your blissful unawareness. If you don't tune in and miss their cues, you risk alienating your allies...the very friends you just may need if (when!) you fall from this man-made heaven.As I was researching material for this post, I searched the internet for the phrase "balance boyfriend and friends." Google presented me with the usual ga-jillion hits, only the first ten of which I perused. Seventeen magazine summed it up perfectly: "When you're going out with a guy, it can be hard to find time for both your BF and your BFFs." In teen-speak, that seemed succinct, if not also slightly vapid and vaguely juvenile for this audience.
I tried again, searching "balance friends and relationship" - this turned up a far more diverse offering of online self-help. Evidently this problem is not unique to any particular demographic:
- The Root, a leading African-American publication, headlined their piece:
Ask Demetria: If time spent with a new boo is alienating your homies, try to find a happy medium.
- Ask Men, an online men's magazine, proffered this tidbit on its page:
Don't Let Your Girlfriend
Sabotage Your Friendships
- Psychology Today took a somewhat sexist turn on things:
Once a dating relationship grows and deepens in intimacy, a man is faced with the temptation to isolate from his friends and family and devote all his time and energy to his committed lover. As many women already know, if you want to keep your life in balance, you must must keep same sex friendships a priority.
Clearly, this topic touches a nerve with us. And it does with me, too, on a personal level. A friend of mine has recently lost herself in her boyfriend, surfacing only when he is otherwise engaged at work or with family. Her behavior is incredibly hurtful--simultaneously both demoralizing and angering in a "why am I not enough?"-kind of way.
When I took a step back from my emotions, I came to two important realizations, though. The first is that she is very vulnerable in this relationship with her boyfriend, for reasons I will not detail here. As a way to counteract that, she is spending all available time with him to try to feel connected and establish that crucial bond. It is not my place to pass judgment on that. The second point is that I've done it, too...and I am in no place to get upset at anyone else. I remember that after I was newly married, I lost touch with a great many friends because I wanted to spend all my time with my husband. Eventually, we became estranged from others and were quite lonely both as individuals and as a couple. It was a serious lesson to me not to lose sight of that balance. It's not easy, but it's completely necessary to the health of yourself and your relationship.
WebMD posted a very interesting piece on why friends are actually good for our health. Forming solid connections through friendships with people has been strongly correlated with good health and longevity. Dr. Tasha R. Howe, a psychology professor at Humboldt State University in California, says that "people with social support have fewer cardiovascular problems and immune problems, and lower levels of cortisol -- a stress hormone." The logic is based in evolution: we are social animals, having formed groups out of sheer survival need. When we have friends, our bodies are less stressed out because they are not fighting natural instinct. Dr. Julianne Holt-Lunstad, of Brigham Young University, says the evidence is clear: "One thing research shows is that as one's social network gets smaller, one's risk for mortality increases."
Having a support network of friends is clearly beneficial. That's why it is so important for us to make new friends and keep the old--including adding new boy/girlfriends, while maintaining our previous close friendships.
- Psychology Today took a somewhat sexist turn on things:
Once a dating relationship grows and deepens in intimacy, a man is faced with the temptation to isolate from his friends and family and devote all his time and energy to his committed lover. As many women already know, if you want to keep your life in balance, you must must keep same sex friendships a priority.
Clearly, this topic touches a nerve with us. And it does with me, too, on a personal level. A friend of mine has recently lost herself in her boyfriend, surfacing only when he is otherwise engaged at work or with family. Her behavior is incredibly hurtful--simultaneously both demoralizing and angering in a "why am I not enough?"-kind of way.
When I took a step back from my emotions, I came to two important realizations, though. The first is that she is very vulnerable in this relationship with her boyfriend, for reasons I will not detail here. As a way to counteract that, she is spending all available time with him to try to feel connected and establish that crucial bond. It is not my place to pass judgment on that. The second point is that I've done it, too...and I am in no place to get upset at anyone else. I remember that after I was newly married, I lost touch with a great many friends because I wanted to spend all my time with my husband. Eventually, we became estranged from others and were quite lonely both as individuals and as a couple. It was a serious lesson to me not to lose sight of that balance. It's not easy, but it's completely necessary to the health of yourself and your relationship.
WebMD posted a very interesting piece on why friends are actually good for our health. Forming solid connections through friendships with people has been strongly correlated with good health and longevity. Dr. Tasha R. Howe, a psychology professor at Humboldt State University in California, says that "people with social support have fewer cardiovascular problems and immune problems, and lower levels of cortisol -- a stress hormone." The logic is based in evolution: we are social animals, having formed groups out of sheer survival need. When we have friends, our bodies are less stressed out because they are not fighting natural instinct. Dr. Julianne Holt-Lunstad, of Brigham Young University, says the evidence is clear: "One thing research shows is that as one's social network gets smaller, one's risk for mortality increases."
Wednesday, August 21, 2013
To open the door or not...that is the question....
Chivalry. Most of us commonly think of it as those small courtesies that men extend toward women during courtship: opening doors, bringing flowers, or pulling out a chair for her at the table. In other words--that thing that most men don't do anymore. I've been thinking a lot lately about why that might be. Is chivalry really dead? Did feminism kill it?
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of a truly fantastic first date. As we made plans for our night out, I was truly thrilled at his offer to pick me up. (For those of you who haven't been on the dating scene in the last five to ten years, you have no idea what a rarity this is.) He arrived at my door clean and handsome in a pressed shirt and a nervous, boyish smile on his face. I will never forget that moment, because it was the moment that my own nerves melted away and my heart started skipping beats. As we left for dinner, I couldn't help but notice that as he gallantly opened the passenger door, making sure I was safely tucked in before he closed it behind me, his car was sparkling clean. It's the details, I thought.
Even if the rest of the date had gone to hell after this (which, by the way, it didn't!), the small courtesies extended inside of the first ten minutes of our date showed me a great deal of respect. Clearly, he had taken some time to prepare and to make sure that I knew he appreciated me and our time together.
So how does my sense of feminist equity interplay with my desire for a chivalrous man? Can the two co-exist? In a word, yes. But that's a very loaded-up word.
Chivalry is really nothing more than polite behavior toward women. I believe it's a time-honored tradition of recognizing the other and behaving with deference and decorum. Just like we hold the door open behind us for total strangers out of a sense of good manners, a man opening the car door for me tells me that he is aware of me and wants to be respectful. That doesn't mean that a man thinks of me as less. And maybe it even means that he thinks more of me.
While it's true that men and women should be equal in many ways, this does not mean that they are the same or should be treated the same in all situations. For instance, my bestie prefers to talk on the phone rather than text. As her friend, I adapt to that and do my best to meet her preference because I value her needs and wants, even though I prefer to text message. That doesn't make us unequal - it just makes us different. The same is true with regard to chivalry: if I prefer that a man open my car door as a sign of respect, that doesn't automatically make our relationship unequal.
Feminism has impacted many parts of American society. Since the 1970's, when women increasingly became employed outside the home, couples have had to work through how to divide household labor (see this NY Times article and this Wall Street Journal piece). The 1990's saw the inclusion of paternity leave to fathers who want to stay home with newborns under the federal Family & Medical Leave Act (FMLA). Today, we continue to debate how to meet the needs of our families when both parents work - and not just in jobs, but in careers where we are invested and fulfilled. In the past few years, women are making bold statements about the state of feminism in America--important businesswomen like Facebook's chief operating officer, Sheryl Sandberg, and Yahoo's CEO, Marissa Mayer. These conversations are important to all of us - men and women alike.
But while feminism has its role in our public policy debates, it may or may not have a role in our intimate relationships. It's up to each of us to decide. The most wonderful thing about people is that we are all unique beings, with our own set of wants, needs, and desires. Where I want a man who behaves with chivalry, another woman may not. To be sure, that makes for a confusing dating scene, but it's really just another part of the game of finding the person that you want to be with. So take a deep breath and enjoy the ride! This is life, and it's beautifully messy.
A few weeks ago, I had the pleasure of a truly fantastic first date. As we made plans for our night out, I was truly thrilled at his offer to pick me up. (For those of you who haven't been on the dating scene in the last five to ten years, you have no idea what a rarity this is.) He arrived at my door clean and handsome in a pressed shirt and a nervous, boyish smile on his face. I will never forget that moment, because it was the moment that my own nerves melted away and my heart started skipping beats. As we left for dinner, I couldn't help but notice that as he gallantly opened the passenger door, making sure I was safely tucked in before he closed it behind me, his car was sparkling clean. It's the details, I thought.
Even if the rest of the date had gone to hell after this (which, by the way, it didn't!), the small courtesies extended inside of the first ten minutes of our date showed me a great deal of respect. Clearly, he had taken some time to prepare and to make sure that I knew he appreciated me and our time together.
So how does my sense of feminist equity interplay with my desire for a chivalrous man? Can the two co-exist? In a word, yes. But that's a very loaded-up word.
Chivalry is really nothing more than polite behavior toward women. I believe it's a time-honored tradition of recognizing the other and behaving with deference and decorum. Just like we hold the door open behind us for total strangers out of a sense of good manners, a man opening the car door for me tells me that he is aware of me and wants to be respectful. That doesn't mean that a man thinks of me as less. And maybe it even means that he thinks more of me.
While it's true that men and women should be equal in many ways, this does not mean that they are the same or should be treated the same in all situations. For instance, my bestie prefers to talk on the phone rather than text. As her friend, I adapt to that and do my best to meet her preference because I value her needs and wants, even though I prefer to text message. That doesn't make us unequal - it just makes us different. The same is true with regard to chivalry: if I prefer that a man open my car door as a sign of respect, that doesn't automatically make our relationship unequal.
Feminism has impacted many parts of American society. Since the 1970's, when women increasingly became employed outside the home, couples have had to work through how to divide household labor (see this NY Times article and this Wall Street Journal piece). The 1990's saw the inclusion of paternity leave to fathers who want to stay home with newborns under the federal Family & Medical Leave Act (FMLA). Today, we continue to debate how to meet the needs of our families when both parents work - and not just in jobs, but in careers where we are invested and fulfilled. In the past few years, women are making bold statements about the state of feminism in America--important businesswomen like Facebook's chief operating officer, Sheryl Sandberg, and Yahoo's CEO, Marissa Mayer. These conversations are important to all of us - men and women alike.
But while feminism has its role in our public policy debates, it may or may not have a role in our intimate relationships. It's up to each of us to decide. The most wonderful thing about people is that we are all unique beings, with our own set of wants, needs, and desires. Where I want a man who behaves with chivalry, another woman may not. To be sure, that makes for a confusing dating scene, but it's really just another part of the game of finding the person that you want to be with. So take a deep breath and enjoy the ride! This is life, and it's beautifully messy.
Saturday, August 10, 2013
In his words...
Normally, I am all about creating my own art. My own words. I enjoy sharing my thoughts on this stuff which you guys are courageous enough to read and share and argue back with. I love that. And thank you.
Today, however, I stumbled across this gem on the Internet, and knew immediately that what he said was better than anything I had to say. The post below is from David Mikus, posted in a public note on Facebook, and so I am forwarding it on. Don't get caught up in his use of pronouns - I think these sage words apply across the board, to women and men, in any and all kinds of relationships.
Most of all, I love #7 on this list, and this quote specifically:
I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Lots of wisdom in here.
Peace and love,
leah
****************************************
Obviously, I’m not a relationship expert. But there’s something about my divorce being finalized this week that gives me perspective of things I wish I would have done different… After losing a woman that I loved, and a marriage of almost 37 years, here’s the advice I wish I would have had
1) Never stop courting. Never stop dating. NEVER EVER take that woman for granted. When you asked her to marry you, you promised to be that man that would OWN HER HEART and to fiercely protect it. This is the most important and sacred treasure you will ever be entrusted with. SHE CHOSE YOU. Never forget that, and NEVER GET LAZY in your love.
2) PROTECT YOUR OWN HEART. Just as you committed to being the protector of her heart, you must guard your own with the same vigilance. Love yourself fully, love the world openly, but there is a special place in your heart where no one must enter except for your wife. Keep that space always ready to receive her and invite her in, and refuse to let anyone or anything else enter there.
3) FALL IN LOVE OVER and OVER and OVER again. You will constantly change. You’re not the same people you were when you got married, and in five years you will not be the same person you are today. Change will come, and in that you have to re-choose each other everyday. SHE DOESN’T HAVE TO STAY WITH YOU, and if you don’t take care of her heart, she may give that heart to someone else or seal you out completely, and you may never be able to get it back. Always fight to win her love just as you did when you were courting her.
4) ALWAYS SEE THE BEST in her. Focus only on what you love. What you focus on will expand. If you focus on what bugs you, all you will see is reasons to be bugged. If you focus on what you love, you can’t help but be consumed by love. Focus to the point where you can no longer see anything but love, and you know without a doubt that you are the luckiest man on earth to be have this woman as your wife.
5) IT’S NOT YOUR JOB TO CHANGE OR FIX HER… your job is to love her as she is with no expectation of her ever changing. And if she changes, love what she becomes, whether it’s what you wanted or not.
6) TAKE FULL ACCOUNTABILITY for your own emotions: It’s not your wife’s job to make you happy, and she CAN’T make you sad. You are responsible for finding your own happiness, and through that your joy will spill over into your relationship and your love.
7) NEVER BLAME your wife If YOU get frustrated or angry at her, it is only because it is triggering something inside of YOU. They are YOUR emotions, and your responsibility. When you feel those feelings take time to get present and to look within and understand what it is inside of YOU that is asking to be healed. You were attracted to this woman because she was the person best suited to trigger all of your childhood wounds in the most painful way so that you could heal them… when you heal yourself, you will no longer be triggered by her, and you will wonder why you ever were.
Allow your woman to JUST BE. When she’s sad or upset, it’s not your job to fix it, it’s your job to HOLD HER and let her know it’s ok. Let her know that you hear her, and that she’s important and that you are that pillar on which she can always lean. The feminine spirit is about change and emotion and like a storm her emotions will roll in and out, and as you remain strong and unjudging she will trust you and open her soul to you… DON’T RUN-AWAY WHEN SHE’S UPSET. Stand present and strong and let her know you aren’t going anywhere. Listen to what she is really saying behind the words and emotion.
9) BE SILLY… don’t take yourself so damn seriously. Laugh. And make her laugh. Laughter makes everything else easier.
10) FILL HER SOUL EVERYDAY… learn her love languages and the specific ways that she feels important and validated and CHERISHED. Ask her to create a list of 10 THINGS that make her feel loved and memorize those things and make it a priority everyday to make her feel like a queen.
11) BE PRESENT. Give her not only your time, but your focus, your attention and your soul. Do whatever it takes to clear your head so that when you are with her you are fully WITH HER. Treat her as you would your most valuable client. She is.
12) BE WILLING TO TAKE HER SEXUALLY, to carry her away in the power of your masculine presence, to consume her and devour her with your strength, and to penetrate her to the deepest levels of her soul. Let her melt into her feminine softness as she knows she can trust you fully.
13) DON’T BE AN IDIOT…. And don’t be afraid of being one either. You will make mistakes and so will she. Try not to make too big of mistakes, and learn from the ones you do make. You’re not supposed to be perfect, just try to not be too stupid.
14) GIVE HER SPACE… The woman is so good at giving and giving, and sometimes she will need to be reminded to take time to nurture herself. Sometimes she will need to fly from your branches to go and find what feeds her soul, and if you give her that space she will come back with new songs to sing…. (okay, getting a little too poetic here, but you get the point. Tell her to take time for herself, ESPECIALLY after you have kids. She needs that space to renew and get re-centered, and to find herself after she gets lost in serving you, the kids and the world.)
15) BE VULNERABLE… you don’t have to have it all together. Be willing to share your fears and feelings, and quick to acknowledge your mistakes.
16) BE FULLY TRANSPARENT. If you want to have trust you must be willing to share EVERYTHING… Especially those things you don’t want to share. It takes courage to fully love, to fully open your heart and let her in when you don't know i she will like what she finds... Part of that courage is allowing her to love you completely, your darkness as well as your light. DROP THE MASK… If you feel like you need to wear a mask around her, and show up perfect all the time, you will never experience the full dimension of what love can be.
17) NEVER STOP GROWING TOGETHER… The stagnant pond breeds malaria, the flowing stream is always fresh and cool. Atrophy is the natural process when you stop working a muscle, just as it is if you stop working on your relationship. Find common goals, dreams and visions to work towards.
18) DON’T WORRY ABOUT MONEY. Money is a game, find ways to work together as a team to win it. It never helps when teammates fight. Figure out ways to leverage both persons strength to win.
19) FORGIVE IMMEDIATELY and focus on the future rather than carrying weight from the past. Don’t let your history hold you hostage. Holding onto past mistakes that either you or she makes, is like a heavy anchor to your marriage and will hold you back. FORGIVENESS IS FREEDOM. Cut the anchor loose and always choose love.
20) ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. In the end, this is the only advice you need. If this is the guiding principle through which all your choices is governed, there is nothing that will threaten the happiness of your marriage. Love will always endure.
In the end MARRIAGE isn’t about Happily ever after. It’s about work. And a commitment to grow together and a willingness to continually invest in creating something that can endure eternity. Through that work, the happiness will come.
Marriage is life, and it will bring ups and downs. Embracing all of the cycles and learning to learn from and love each experience will bring the strength and perspective to keep building, one brick at a time.
These are lessons I learned the hard way. These are lessons I learned too late.
But these are lessons I am learning and committed in carrying forward. Truth is, I LOVED being married, and in time, I will get married again, and when I do, I will build it with a foundation that will endure any storm and any amount of time.
If you are reading this and find wisdom in my pain, share it those those young husbands whose hearts are still full of hope, and with those couples you may know who may have forgotten how to love. One of those men may be like I was, and in these hard earned lessons perhaps something will awaken in him and he will learn to be the man his lady has been waiting for.
The woman that told him 'I do', and trusted her life with him, has been waiting for this man to step up.
If you are reading this and your marriage isn’t what you want it to be, take 100% responsibility for YOUR PART in marriage, regardless of where your spouse is at, and commit to applying these lessons while there is time.
MEN- THIS IS YOUR CHARGE : Commit to being an EPIC LOVER. There is no greater challenge, and no greater prize. Your woman deserves that from
Be the type of husband your wife can’t help but brag about.
Today, however, I stumbled across this gem on the Internet, and knew immediately that what he said was better than anything I had to say. The post below is from David Mikus, posted in a public note on Facebook, and so I am forwarding it on. Don't get caught up in his use of pronouns - I think these sage words apply across the board, to women and men, in any and all kinds of relationships.
Most of all, I love #7 on this list, and this quote specifically:
The feminine spirit is about change and emotion and like a storm her emotions will roll in and out, and as you remain strong and unjudging she will trust you and open her soul to you… DON’T RUN-AWAY WHEN SHE’S UPSET. Stand present and strong and let her know you aren’t going anywhere. Listen to what she is really saying behind the words and emotion.
I hope you enjoy this as much as I did. Lots of wisdom in here.
Peace and love,
leah
****************************************
Obviously, I’m not a relationship expert. But there’s something about my divorce being finalized this week that gives me perspective of things I wish I would have done different… After losing a woman that I loved, and a marriage of almost 37 years, here’s the advice I wish I would have had
1) Never stop courting. Never stop dating. NEVER EVER take that woman for granted. When you asked her to marry you, you promised to be that man that would OWN HER HEART and to fiercely protect it. This is the most important and sacred treasure you will ever be entrusted with. SHE CHOSE YOU. Never forget that, and NEVER GET LAZY in your love.
2) PROTECT YOUR OWN HEART. Just as you committed to being the protector of her heart, you must guard your own with the same vigilance. Love yourself fully, love the world openly, but there is a special place in your heart where no one must enter except for your wife. Keep that space always ready to receive her and invite her in, and refuse to let anyone or anything else enter there.
3) FALL IN LOVE OVER and OVER and OVER again. You will constantly change. You’re not the same people you were when you got married, and in five years you will not be the same person you are today. Change will come, and in that you have to re-choose each other everyday. SHE DOESN’T HAVE TO STAY WITH YOU, and if you don’t take care of her heart, she may give that heart to someone else or seal you out completely, and you may never be able to get it back. Always fight to win her love just as you did when you were courting her.
4) ALWAYS SEE THE BEST in her. Focus only on what you love. What you focus on will expand. If you focus on what bugs you, all you will see is reasons to be bugged. If you focus on what you love, you can’t help but be consumed by love. Focus to the point where you can no longer see anything but love, and you know without a doubt that you are the luckiest man on earth to be have this woman as your wife.
5) IT’S NOT YOUR JOB TO CHANGE OR FIX HER… your job is to love her as she is with no expectation of her ever changing. And if she changes, love what she becomes, whether it’s what you wanted or not.
6) TAKE FULL ACCOUNTABILITY for your own emotions: It’s not your wife’s job to make you happy, and she CAN’T make you sad. You are responsible for finding your own happiness, and through that your joy will spill over into your relationship and your love.
7) NEVER BLAME your wife If YOU get frustrated or angry at her, it is only because it is triggering something inside of YOU. They are YOUR emotions, and your responsibility. When you feel those feelings take time to get present and to look within and understand what it is inside of YOU that is asking to be healed. You were attracted to this woman because she was the person best suited to trigger all of your childhood wounds in the most painful way so that you could heal them… when you heal yourself, you will no longer be triggered by her, and you will wonder why you ever were.
Allow your woman to JUST BE. When she’s sad or upset, it’s not your job to fix it, it’s your job to HOLD HER and let her know it’s ok. Let her know that you hear her, and that she’s important and that you are that pillar on which she can always lean. The feminine spirit is about change and emotion and like a storm her emotions will roll in and out, and as you remain strong and unjudging she will trust you and open her soul to you… DON’T RUN-AWAY WHEN SHE’S UPSET. Stand present and strong and let her know you aren’t going anywhere. Listen to what she is really saying behind the words and emotion.
9) BE SILLY… don’t take yourself so damn seriously. Laugh. And make her laugh. Laughter makes everything else easier.
10) FILL HER SOUL EVERYDAY… learn her love languages and the specific ways that she feels important and validated and CHERISHED. Ask her to create a list of 10 THINGS that make her feel loved and memorize those things and make it a priority everyday to make her feel like a queen.
11) BE PRESENT. Give her not only your time, but your focus, your attention and your soul. Do whatever it takes to clear your head so that when you are with her you are fully WITH HER. Treat her as you would your most valuable client. She is.
12) BE WILLING TO TAKE HER SEXUALLY, to carry her away in the power of your masculine presence, to consume her and devour her with your strength, and to penetrate her to the deepest levels of her soul. Let her melt into her feminine softness as she knows she can trust you fully.
13) DON’T BE AN IDIOT…. And don’t be afraid of being one either. You will make mistakes and so will she. Try not to make too big of mistakes, and learn from the ones you do make. You’re not supposed to be perfect, just try to not be too stupid.
14) GIVE HER SPACE… The woman is so good at giving and giving, and sometimes she will need to be reminded to take time to nurture herself. Sometimes she will need to fly from your branches to go and find what feeds her soul, and if you give her that space she will come back with new songs to sing…. (okay, getting a little too poetic here, but you get the point. Tell her to take time for herself, ESPECIALLY after you have kids. She needs that space to renew and get re-centered, and to find herself after she gets lost in serving you, the kids and the world.)
15) BE VULNERABLE… you don’t have to have it all together. Be willing to share your fears and feelings, and quick to acknowledge your mistakes.
16) BE FULLY TRANSPARENT. If you want to have trust you must be willing to share EVERYTHING… Especially those things you don’t want to share. It takes courage to fully love, to fully open your heart and let her in when you don't know i she will like what she finds... Part of that courage is allowing her to love you completely, your darkness as well as your light. DROP THE MASK… If you feel like you need to wear a mask around her, and show up perfect all the time, you will never experience the full dimension of what love can be.
17) NEVER STOP GROWING TOGETHER… The stagnant pond breeds malaria, the flowing stream is always fresh and cool. Atrophy is the natural process when you stop working a muscle, just as it is if you stop working on your relationship. Find common goals, dreams and visions to work towards.
18) DON’T WORRY ABOUT MONEY. Money is a game, find ways to work together as a team to win it. It never helps when teammates fight. Figure out ways to leverage both persons strength to win.
19) FORGIVE IMMEDIATELY and focus on the future rather than carrying weight from the past. Don’t let your history hold you hostage. Holding onto past mistakes that either you or she makes, is like a heavy anchor to your marriage and will hold you back. FORGIVENESS IS FREEDOM. Cut the anchor loose and always choose love.
20) ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. ALWAYS CHOOSE LOVE. In the end, this is the only advice you need. If this is the guiding principle through which all your choices is governed, there is nothing that will threaten the happiness of your marriage. Love will always endure.
In the end MARRIAGE isn’t about Happily ever after. It’s about work. And a commitment to grow together and a willingness to continually invest in creating something that can endure eternity. Through that work, the happiness will come.
Marriage is life, and it will bring ups and downs. Embracing all of the cycles and learning to learn from and love each experience will bring the strength and perspective to keep building, one brick at a time.
These are lessons I learned the hard way. These are lessons I learned too late.
But these are lessons I am learning and committed in carrying forward. Truth is, I LOVED being married, and in time, I will get married again, and when I do, I will build it with a foundation that will endure any storm and any amount of time.
If you are reading this and find wisdom in my pain, share it those those young husbands whose hearts are still full of hope, and with those couples you may know who may have forgotten how to love. One of those men may be like I was, and in these hard earned lessons perhaps something will awaken in him and he will learn to be the man his lady has been waiting for.
The woman that told him 'I do', and trusted her life with him, has been waiting for this man to step up.
If you are reading this and your marriage isn’t what you want it to be, take 100% responsibility for YOUR PART in marriage, regardless of where your spouse is at, and commit to applying these lessons while there is time.
MEN- THIS IS YOUR CHARGE : Commit to being an EPIC LOVER. There is no greater challenge, and no greater prize. Your woman deserves that from
Be the type of husband your wife can’t help but brag about.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Trade-offs
Sometimes, Truth just sneaks up on you and bites you in the ass. You don't even know that the Truth is lying there, like a snake in the grass, until YEEEE-OWWW! you get caught up in one of those undeniable moments of reality.
Earlier this evening, we had a group study session--a group of four 30-something women, I should note-- and, as women are prone to do, the conversation wound its way around to men. One woman was complaining about her husband and I must have had a bemused look on my face because someone else asked what I was thinking as I was listening to the story. I shrugged and made an off-hand comment along the lines of "and that's why I'm glad that I'm single!" Pressed for further explanation, I said the same thing I always say: that although there are nights when I wish I had someone to come home to, most of the time I enjoy my single-person living space. I leave dishes in the sink when I want to. I watch what I want on television. My bathroom is always clean. I can have oatmeal for dinner if the mood strikes me. The other women nodded thoughtfully, and admitted that watching whatever they wanted on tv was a luxury seldom afforded by their husbands. Smug with myself, I sat back and continued to listen to them talk about their men.
But later tonight, as I was lying in bed alone, a moment of loneliness struck me. And then my earlier words came echoing back, carried forward on a wind of dishonesty. Because, really, does it actually matter what is on tv? Do dishes in the sink make me happy? Yes, oatmeal is satisfying--and not having to cook a real meal is sometimes deeply gratifying!--but does it make up for being alone? So while I have the ability to sleep diagonally across my bed and hog the covers, is that comparable to having someone who cares about you...and sets the rest of the other crap aside?
The truth is, I have conditioned myself to be someone who is cynical toward romance, disdainful of all things girly like flowers and diamonds, and dispassionate toward love. It's a defense mechanism, of course - and a weak one at that. Deep down, underneath the ridiculous "tough" facade, I'd really like to be swept off my feet. To have someone break through the barrier and call me on my antics.
But what I want most from a partner is an equal: someone who is genuinely interested in me and who wants to open himself to me in return. Someone who shares my passions, even if not always my point of view. A man who will hold my hand through the highs and the lows and will honor our love by making himself equally as vulnerable in our private moments alone.
Life without these things is often incredibly empty - even if I have full control of the tv remote and my bedspread wrapped around me.
But what I want most from a partner is an equal: someone who is genuinely interested in me and who wants to open himself to me in return. Someone who shares my passions, even if not always my point of view. A man who will hold my hand through the highs and the lows and will honor our love by making himself equally as vulnerable in our private moments alone.
Life without these things is often incredibly empty - even if I have full control of the tv remote and my bedspread wrapped around me.
Tuesday, July 16, 2013
Dog days and dog dates
It's the dog days of summer here in Minnesota. Steamy days are followed by sticky nights. The locals like to complain about the heat but we all know it's pure bluster, because none of us wants Old Man Winter to return any time soon. Here in the land of 10,000 lakes, we take to our patio bars like ducks to water during these hot summer days - sucking down suds and catching up with friends lost over the previous long winter.
Last night was more dog than I ever dreamed...and it wasn't weather-related. The date, Todd, and I met at a cowboy-themed bar in a nearby suburb: the patio there is rimmed with a kitschy split-rail fence and dotted with vinyl-upholstered table tops. I arrived, ordered a drink, and waited. I checked Facebook, scanned my email, and repeatedly checked text messages. Ten minutes later, I was irked. Ten more minutes later, I was ready to go when he finally showed up. I blinked at him, wondering how the bright-eyed man in the photos on the online dating website could have morphed into this sweaty, disheveled slop in front of me.
He gruffly apologized for his tardiness; evidently, he was on his motorcycle and couldn't call to say he would be late. I shook off my ire and decided to open my mind. After all, he was good on paper: a 43 year old man, divorced for over five years, and a PhD in engineering that landed him a great job with GE in the medical field. I had reason to feel hopeful.
Fifteen minutes later, I was regretting my optimism. Todd was bossy, insulting, and egotistical. And that's being generously complimentary. He blithely asserted that I was "too happy-go-lucky" and that anyone who had even a small amount of life experience would know better than to be so positive. It wasn't worth proving otherwise, and I let the comment float away. He tried again, telling me that it was too bad that I was pretty and knew it--there's nothing worse than a "woman who knows she's pretty" but in the next breath, he complimented my self-confidence. The contradiction was lost on him.
Annoyed, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I walked away from the table, I could feel his eyes penetrating through my clothes and I shuddered. When I returned to my seat, he was ready:
"You know, I can tell from the way that you walk that you must have a tilted uterus," he breezily announced.
I stared at him. I had no idea what a tilted uterus was, since no one, not even my OB-GYN, had ever said those words to me, even in the course of two pregnancies.
"Every man should be able to recognize that in a woman, because it makes a difference in how he interacts with her," he continued, oblivious to the horror filling my face.
"I took ten years of classical ballet--that's the reason for my posture and walk," I informed him shortly. What the eff is in this man's head, I thought.
"Well, I'm sure I'm right," he replied dismissively. "Knowing about the tilt of your uterus means I know how to touch--"
I cut him off. "Hmm. Interesting stuff. Anyway, so tell me about your daughter?"
Without missing a beat, he launched into a proud recitation of his daughter's accomplishments...and thereby saved me any further awkward conversation. I sighed inwardly, checked my watch, and made my exit plan.
Later that night, as I recounted the ugly details to my best friend, she laughed at my misfortune.
Last night was more dog than I ever dreamed...and it wasn't weather-related. The date, Todd, and I met at a cowboy-themed bar in a nearby suburb: the patio there is rimmed with a kitschy split-rail fence and dotted with vinyl-upholstered table tops. I arrived, ordered a drink, and waited. I checked Facebook, scanned my email, and repeatedly checked text messages. Ten minutes later, I was irked. Ten more minutes later, I was ready to go when he finally showed up. I blinked at him, wondering how the bright-eyed man in the photos on the online dating website could have morphed into this sweaty, disheveled slop in front of me.
He gruffly apologized for his tardiness; evidently, he was on his motorcycle and couldn't call to say he would be late. I shook off my ire and decided to open my mind. After all, he was good on paper: a 43 year old man, divorced for over five years, and a PhD in engineering that landed him a great job with GE in the medical field. I had reason to feel hopeful.
Fifteen minutes later, I was regretting my optimism. Todd was bossy, insulting, and egotistical. And that's being generously complimentary. He blithely asserted that I was "too happy-go-lucky" and that anyone who had even a small amount of life experience would know better than to be so positive. It wasn't worth proving otherwise, and I let the comment float away. He tried again, telling me that it was too bad that I was pretty and knew it--there's nothing worse than a "woman who knows she's pretty" but in the next breath, he complimented my self-confidence. The contradiction was lost on him.
Annoyed, I excused myself to use the restroom. As I walked away from the table, I could feel his eyes penetrating through my clothes and I shuddered. When I returned to my seat, he was ready:
"You know, I can tell from the way that you walk that you must have a tilted uterus," he breezily announced.
I stared at him. I had no idea what a tilted uterus was, since no one, not even my OB-GYN, had ever said those words to me, even in the course of two pregnancies.
"Every man should be able to recognize that in a woman, because it makes a difference in how he interacts with her," he continued, oblivious to the horror filling my face.
"I took ten years of classical ballet--that's the reason for my posture and walk," I informed him shortly. What the eff is in this man's head, I thought.
"Well, I'm sure I'm right," he replied dismissively. "Knowing about the tilt of your uterus means I know how to touch--"
I cut him off. "Hmm. Interesting stuff. Anyway, so tell me about your daughter?"
Without missing a beat, he launched into a proud recitation of his daughter's accomplishments...and thereby saved me any further awkward conversation. I sighed inwardly, checked my watch, and made my exit plan.
Later that night, as I recounted the ugly details to my best friend, she laughed at my misfortune.
"That's what you get for dating educated men, hon!"
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