Brave Heart

THEN:
Setting: Oak Grove Intermediate School lunchroom, Fall 1990 (6th grade)

Me (peering anxiously across the lunchroom at a boy): Oh my gosh.  Are you sure he got the note?
My BFF (exasperated): Yes.  He got the note that you wrote.  I gave it right to him.
Me: Well, did he read it?
BFF: I don't know!  You really like him, don't you??  (sing-song)  Leah and Jimmy*, sitting in a tree...
Me:  Shut up!

I'll save you from the ugly, nit-picky details of the rest of the tragedy and cut right to the end:  No, Jimmy didn't like me.  He never responded to my note asking him if he liked me.  It turns out, 20 years later, that he's gay.  I guess I can pick 'em, right!?!

*not his real name (duh!)

PRESENT DAY:
Setting: Diamond Path Elementary School hallway, Spring 2013

Me (peering anxiously across the hall at a boy): Maybe I should just ask him out.
BFF (via text message): Yes, you should.  Put an end to this already!
Me: But what if he has a girlfriend? 
BFF: Then at least you'll know!

Luckily for me, this one turned out a lot better than my 6th grade foray into asking boys out.  This time, he said yes!  He's not gay, nor does he have a girlfriend.  He's tall, well-built, and has sparkly blue eyes that dance when he laughs.  We met for coffee a few days later, then he took me out on a "real" date the next week.  That night, he arrived at my door step in a starched, pressed shirt, with three roses for me in his hand, and a shy, sweet, boyish smile on his face.  I think I picked a good one!  (For the record, my mother was horrified at my blatant disregard for The Rules!)

We both have every reason to be afraid.  As divorced parents, we each have had our share of past failed relationships, and we have so much to protect now--not the least of which is our kids....or our hearts.

But love is about taking chances.  Indeed, relationships in general, whether they be platonic, familial, or romantic, require a great deal of risk. The issue, then, is determining whether love is an all-out gamble or a calculated risk.

Most of us (some studies suggest up to 80% of people) are unreasonably optimistic about our own futures, even when we have no reason to be and evidence presented would indicate the opposite.  We fully believe that statistics don't affect us--that we won't become victims of cancer, bankruptcy, or crime.  For this reason, we eat junk food, spend foolishly, or leave our cars unlocked with keys in the ignition.  Our frontal lobes underestimate these sorts of risks as so to decrease stress and anxiety.

But when it comes to love, we hesitate.  We sit back, trying to gauge the temperature by merely peering out the window.  We see partly cloudy weather, rather than a mostly sunny sky, and decide it's better to stay indoors.  Why are we willing to put our cars at risk for theft, but not to take a chance and ask someone out on a date? 

I contend that a great deal of the answer lies in courage.  How willing are you to roll the dice and accept the outcome, even if it's snake eyes?  What if I would've asked out the guy at my kids' school and it turned out that he declined because he had a girlfriend?  At least then I would know.  And knowing provides a sense of relief and calm.  There's a reason why people say that knowledge is power--the power to make myself happy.

And just as it takes a great deal of courage to get into a relationship, it requires the same amount to get out of one.  I have a few friends right now that are contemplating divorce or break-up...and they are merely sitting next to the window, trying to decide if conditions are right by seeing only what's on the other side of a 9 square-foot piece of glass.  This is not to suggest that they're not doing a legitimate cost-benefit analysis; rather, it is to say that the analysis is done and while they know that they're not in the right place, they're afraid to make a move that, ultimately, appears to be in everyone's best interest.

I was scared to death to broach the topic of divorce with my spouse.  Knowing it would forever alter us and our children, I labored over the decision for months on end.  But once decided, I gathered my courage and talked to him...and a weight was lifted off my heart.

Whether it be asking someone out, treating someone right, or moving on...there can be no shortage of bravery in our hearts.  Have the courage to try for happiness.

Consequences

Three years ago, when my then-husband and I made the decision to get divorced, I knew there would be tough moments in my future.  Heading into a split like that, you try to prepare yourself as much as possible for difficult times: the holidays alone or the nights when you don't get to play Santa or Tooth Fairy.  Today, I had another one of those lonely moments.

The kids and their dad are on their way this morning to spend the next ten days in Florida with his family.  It is going to be a fantastic experience for my children: nearly a week and a half in the warmth of a strong southern sun, spending time with extended family--including their only cousin.  It is a true blessing that their father is able to take them on this trip.

At the same time that I am so happy for them, I can't help but feel a twinge of sadness.  Times like these always make me reflect back on why I got divorced, and whether or not I made the right choice.  As I talked to the kids on the phone this morning, I could picture them at the airport, their eyes alive with excitement and their small bodies wiggling happily in their seats.  I tried to picture myself there with them and their father, but the image wouldn't come.  I felt entirely separated and distant from this man who at one time was my life partner.

Eight years earlier, we had stood side by side and tied the knot in front of our pastor.  Now, it took two lawyers, a judge, and a court clerk to finally untangle the knotty mess.  I remember sitting in the courtroom during our final divorce proceeding, my heart pounding out of chest, and looking past both our lawyers to get a glimpse of my soon-to-be ex-husband.  Dressed in a button down shirt and the khaki pants that I had bought him years earlier, he appeared stoic with zero expression on his face.  I had tears streaming down my cheeks--tears of fear, of anxiety, of sadness.  As the judge pronounced our marriage "irretrievably broken," I felt a small part of me die...and another small part of me reawaken.  

Divorce is not without consequences, of course...but to assume the word "consequence" is purely negative is to make a poor conclusion.  When the storm of divorce was over, I dared to raise my head to survey the damage.  What I found was that the rain and wind had stripped away anything weak, leaving a bare landscape ready for new life.  While I had been trying to make things fit and work in our marriage for years, I was filled with anxiety and frustration.  Once we made the difficult decision to call it over, I felt released and ready to become someone new.

Or...maybe just someone I had always been. 

On Loneliness

Mark Twain once said that "the worst loneliness is to not be comfortable with yourself."  I think most of us would agree that loneliness is one of the worst feelings in the world.  Solitude is the celebration of being alone; loneliness is being alone when you don't want to be.

We all handle our emotions in different ways, and loneliness is no exception.  Some people eat or exercise, some people watch tv, listen to music, or read.  Still others among us try to resolve loneliness through substitution--by finding someone else to fill the void while what they really want is somewhere else.  A healthy way of doing this is to find a friend to hang out with when our feelings are the most raw.  A good night out with the gal pals often cures me of my worst anxieties.  We find commonality in our emotional experiences, laugh at our own frailities, and lift each other up out of the mud.

But sometimes people choose sex as a mask for loneliness.  They find that being intimate with someone can be a temporary bandage on a wound.  Getting lost in someone else, tangled up in them and the sheets, definitely dulls the pain of loneliness.

But it can have devastating effect on the other person, especially because of the high likelihood that they don't know they're being used as a cover.  In talking with a few dear friends tonight about a friend's experience as the mask, no one would admit that they had engaged in a one-night stand for that very reason.  Still, it went unspoken between the lines.  "I was younger" and "alone" and "selfish" were frequent sentiments.

Being a social scientist...I commenced a survey.  I asked my male friends the question of why a guy would not call back after a sexual encounter on the second formal date (the fifth informal date, if you include working out together on several occasions).  I received back lots of answers, from "he's probably just a jerk" to "maybe he's seeing someone else, too" to "what if he's embarrassed about something."  And yet, they all basically admitted that, at one point or another, they had done the post-sex disappearing act and had felt badly about it.  

As I was talking it over with my bestie, she said that her guy friend had admitted to using a girl once when he was lonely.  And that's when it hit me: that loneliness can make us do some pretty stupid stuff.  Hurtful stuff, even.  Sometimes we hurt ourselves by diving face-first into a pint of Ben & Jerry's, and maybe other times we hurt others by presenting a false front on our emotional state.

A friend once told me that "only after a person has seen themselves at their lowest, most depressed, and vulnerable can they rise to the heights that they are capable of."

So guys (and girls, I suppose!): next time you feel lonely, I challenge you to spend a Friday night alone, with yourself, making friends with the person inside your head.  Grab a spoon, a pint of ice cream, and a cozy blanket to wrap up in.  You might just find that you can turn loneliness into solitude.

Fear & Loving in Minneapolis

Someone once accused me, not too long ago, of being afraid of commitment.  At the time, my immediate reaction was to laugh.  How ridiculous! I thought.  I'm the person who sits and analyzes relationships, writes about it, thinks about it.  

But the statement stuck with me and I found myself really considering the idea.  Am I afraid of commitment?  If so, why?  Even now, writing this post, I'm struggling with what I've already thought through on the topic.

The easy answer is that, as a divorced woman, I think that love and relationships are perhaps too difficult.  But I reject that answer nearly as quickly as I present it, because a difficult thing has never been something I've shied away from.  And of course love and relationships are difficult!  It's not easy to find the person with whom you would share everything, compromise some things, give up others. That person who makes your heart flutter, even years after the first kiss.  The man whose face you never tire of looking at, whose flaws are known and still loved, whose scars make him even more incredible.  You know--that Mr. Right. 

So I tried to examine what other reasons I had that would be stopping me from getting into a relationship.  It's certainly not the men.  My goodness, there are some great guys out there.  Beautiful, strong men--and I'm not talking physically.  I mean that these men have put their hearts and emotions out there, risked looking foolish, in order to make their intentions known to me.  And one by one, I've found a reason to duck away.  

Instead, almost without fail, I seek out the guy who is clearly not right: the player, the faker, the tough guy, the empty one, the unavailable.  And when it all goes upside down inside of a week or two, I might shed a tear or two but ultimately, there's a small part of me that's almost relieved.  

It's like eating a steady diet of empty calories and wondering why you're never satisfied.

Is it just that I'm not ready to be in a relationship, or is it that I'm truly afraid?  If I'm afraid, what exactly causes the fear?  Can the fear be conquered or is it a fatal flaw?  Am I just too picky, expecting too much?

After all, two is better than one.  I'm not such a fool that I can't see that.