Eight Weeks

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.

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

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.

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.

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.

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:

• 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. 

Two to Tango

It's often said that you can't change other people.  Being the creatively-minded person that I am, I thought for sure that I could get around that little rule if I changed myself in order to meet the needs of the relationship.

So imagine my surprise when my perfectly crafted plan washed away like a sandcastle in high tide.

It wasn't like I didn't try.  I worked hard to learn new ways to communicate, to resolve conflict, to caretake his heart and find happiness.  I toned down the sarcasm and spoke plain English about my worries, fears, and troubles.  I told him what I needed when I was hurting.  I told him how to make me happy.  I left him space to be a boy and get in trouble with his buddies.  But the more I did, the more he pulled away and refused to meet me in the middle.

I still don't know why that is.  Maybe it was him, maybe it was me, maybe it was the poor circumstances of our relationship.  I do know this: I could try to write up an after-action report and dissect each moment, searching forensically for guilt or absolution.  Or I could move on, taking lessons where they appear naturally and finding peace in the future, rather than sorrow in the past.

One clear-cut lesson is this: it takes two to tango.  You can't drag your partner around the dance floor, hoping that he'll pick up the steps in a song or two.  You can't just yank him up out of that chair and lead him to the floor; disaster is sure to ensue in that scenario.  If he doesn't want to be there, you'll only end up tripping over each other and you may even get seriously hurt in a fall.

Sometimes, partners are afraid to tell us "no" - so they go through the motions.  But that's equally as dangerous, because it lures us into false security.  When he's going through the motions, he's not really listening to the music...and the next thing you know, he missed the uptick in tempo, you trip and fall, and he just turns and walks off the dance floor.

If he's late to the dance on a consistent basis, that bears examination as well.  My last partner gave me many signs--a lot of which I missed because I wasn't ready to face them.  One big sign was his consistent inability to show up on time--or sometimes, show up at all.  It should've been the single biggest "he's-just-not-that-into-you" sign of all, but I refused to see it for what it was.  Instead, I would scold him, he'd apologize and promise to do better...and then he'd fail again within a few weeks.  If someone doesn't want to be at the dance, isn't that telling you something about the status of your relationship?  Above all, your partner should look forward to spending time with you.

I am sure that in due time, other lessons from this latest flop will become apparent.  I like to think that failure isn't such a bad thing--that learning from bad experiences is a success of sorts.  I am still working all that out--and trying to do so without letting it drag me down emotionally.  This is a big task.

There is a great TED talk given by Kathryn Schulz about failure--about what happens when we're wrong and how it feels when we think we're right.  I encourage you to spend 15 minutes and watch it:
http://www.ted.com/talks/kathryn_schulz_on_being_wrong.html

Love Thyself

As we all know, a key part of dating is about attractiveness.  How we feel about ourselves and our bodies, the confidence we draw (or don't draw) from how we appear, and what we think our partners are looking for all impacts our relationships.  I am inviting you to an honest conversation on body image...and I'll even go first.

Like most women, I struggle with how I look.  I am constantly judging myself: sneaking glimpses in window reflections, measuring myself against women on television, and spending excess time in the bathroom examining my pores.  I have a ballerina's build that has stuck with me even though I haven't danced since I was in college: a small bustline and muscular legs that NEVER fit quite right into skinny jeans.  My figure is boyishly straight.  I have hazel-green eyes, pale skin, and dark chocolate brown hair.  I'm an all-American mutt--a true mix of western European ancestry with no distinguishing characteristics.  

By contrast, my best friend is curvy in all the right places.  She's about 5'6" tall, with a perfect hourglass figure and thin legs.  Her American Indian heritage is beautifully captured in her long black hair, soft olive skin, and deep brown eyes.  Without a doubt, she is exotic.

In spite of this, I can easily remember a dozen times in the last few months when we would trash ourselves and complain about various aspects of our bodies.  We're constantly "on a diet"--a condition shared by a majority of women.  One British study found that women spend 31 years of their lives on a diet, compared to 28 years for men.  Each diet lasted just five and a half weeks.  

While I'm not advocating we just abandon trying to get healthy, I do have to wonder if all this "dieting" is good for us--physically and emotionally?  

I was watching tv this morning and it seemed like every other commercial was an advertisement for a health-related product: probiotics, weight-loss supplements, cleanses...the list goes on.  While I conscientiously avoid fashion magazines to avoid feeling like I have to compare myself to waif-thin models, I feel barraged by the media and ad moguls reminding me about diets.  Am I supposed to be on a diet? I wonder anxiously.  Am I healthy enough?  Maybe I can diet away these tree-trunk legs...

The truth is, my weight is fine.  My body mass index is fine.  I could tone up a little more, but the reality is that most of us fall into that category.  The bottom line is that we are exposed to this culture of dieting not only because America, in general terms, has an obesity problem, but also because there's considerable money to be made from it.  Did you know that Americans spend $40 million each year on diet-related products?  And yet the obesity rate has been climbing steadily since the mid-1980's.  On the other end of the spectrum, an estimated 8 million Americans suffer from an eating disorder, with almost 90% of them women.  Treatment for eating disorders can range from $500-$2000 per day.  What if we saved our dollars...and just stopped the war on our bodies and self-esteem?

And why do we try so hard to be so thin?  Arguably, it's not as much for the health of our bodies as it is an attempt to find social acceptance, especially from the opposite sex.  Women truly believe that men are more attracted to very thin women.

To that end, an article in Psychology Today magazine presents a compelling discussion on what men actually find attractive.  According to the piece, co-written by two medical doctors who have studied why women need body fat, men actually don't find ultra-thin women more attractive.  They cite the fact that the average Playboy model is 5'6" and 115 pounds, with a BMI between 18-19.  While that may seem light, compare it to the average fashion model that has a BMI of 17.1, while almost half of all models have a BMI under 17--grossly underweight according to the Centers for Disease Control.  If men were attracted to extremely thin women, wouldn't Playboy magazine capitalize on that?

Dove Beauty Campaign recently published a video wherein seven women described themselves to FBI sketch artist Gil Zamora.  A second sketch was then compiled by the sketch artist, but this time as described by a stranger who had spent time earlier in the day with the women.  The two sketches produced marked differences and underscored the point that, as Dove says, "you're more beautiful than you think."  Watch the video here.

So the next time you're standing in front of the bathroom mirror practicing sucking in your stomach (c'mon, I'm not the only one who does that!)...maybe just cut yourself a small break.  Just once.  And then think about how much better it feels to love yourself than to hate some perceived "flaws."  Because what you think might not be the way others see you.  Only 4% of women in this world consider themselves beautiful.  I personally KNOW that more than 4% of the people that I see are beautiful.  

Including you.

feedback always welcome!

leahc168@gmail.com

Invasive Species

Last night was ladies' night out.  You know the kind: we get all dolled up in too much makeup and too high of heels to head out on the town to taunt men, with the rule being that we all leave the bar together.  Always a good time...unless you're a guy trying to break into that circle....sorry, guys...

Around midnight, we descended on a St. Paul hot spot called Wild Onion.  As the girls headed out to the dance floor, I hung back to survey the crowd.  Within two minutes, the Creepazoid was at my side.

"Hi!  I'm Eric." (Or is it Erik? Or Erick? Erich?  I didn't ask.)

I stared blankly at him.  Who was this creature?  Was I in a 1996 time-warp?  He wore a plain blue v-neck t-shirt that was two sizes too small, a heavy silver chain necklace, and gel-spiked hair.  

"I love Spice Girls!  Let's go dance!" he yelled in my ear.  What guy says that?!  For that matter, what girl in a post-Y2K world would say that?!  It should also be noted that he was quick to tell me that he was sober--doesn't drink--and that he was there alone.  Red flag!  Red flag!

Before I knew it, I was on the dance floor, trying mightily to keep a healthy distance between me and the Creepazoid.  I quickly located my gal pals and gave them the pleading "help-me-out-here" eyes.  They laughed at my misfortune and we tried to make our escape from the him.

Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy.  When we found a table to sit at, he squeezed right in next to me in the booth. He was not to be deterred by our girl talk or blatant texting to each other about his obnoxious behavior. To quote Vince Vaughn's character in "Wedding Crashers"...we had a Stage Five Clinger.  As other guys came up to try to talk to us, he brushed them off and whispered to me that they were "number two" to him.  To say I was horrified is to put it mildly. 

Anyone who knows me at all knows that I HATE being a possession.  Being owned.  Being caged.  It makes my innards queasy.  And it made me think: what is the right amount of "possession" in a relationship?  Where do we draw the line between "we" and "I"?

Earlier in the day yesterday, I had coffee with a dear friend who is in the beginning stages of divorce.  As we talked about our failed marriages, we found that we had both struggled with how much of ourselves to turn over to our partners.  At the beginning my marriage, I neglected my friends and my personal needs in order to be with him, (wrongly) thinking that doing so would make our relationship stronger.  But instead, I lost sight of who I was and what I needed, which was a contributing factor to the failure of the marriage.  

An article in Psychology Today discusses this very issue, and urges partners to find ways to communicate regarding personal space needs.  Failure to communicate the needs can foster a breeding ground for "negative feelings: rejection, insecurity, jealousy, mistrust, and resentment."  When one partner moves away without telling the other what (s)he's up to, even when the motives are pure, it can cause a rift in the relationship.  Talking about space needs before it becomes an issue can head off a potential storm.

"Space" is a multi-faceted thing--it comes in many forms.  There's emotional space, physical space, and even spiritual space.  A failure to provide enough room in one of these areas will likely result in the partner taking space in another form.  Dr Vondie Lozano, a California marriage and family therapist, stated in a Wall Street Journal piece on relationships that "if you don't give them their physical space, they will take emotional space."  

But when we do give our partners what they need, our relationship is much more likely to thrive.  In romantic relationships, we seek to give comfort and increase happiness for the person that we're with.  That may come in the form of a good meal, a sweet note, or a thoughtful gift.  What if the best gift you can give your partner is the gift of personal space?  

Don't make your partner resort to this:

As always...feedback welcome!

leahc168@gmail.com

The State of our Family State

American marriages are in crisis.  And no, I don't mean because of gays.  Hell, if gays want in on this broken institution, they should be more than welcome to it.  If "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" is any indicator, maybe gay marriage could even improve things!

But I digress.  Back to boring old heterosexual marriage.  The "traditional" kind--a dad, mom, two kids, a dog, an SUV, and a sprawling suburban home.

Once upon a time, I had all that.   We were living the American dream...but it was a nightmare.  He worked a lot to make sure we could afford it all and I was over-stressed between upstarting a career and primary responsibility for the kids, who were both under age 5.  Daycare expenses were eating us alive (as they are for a majority of Americans, especially in our area), home ownership was a chore, and our jobs had us working opposite shifts.  We spent very little time together as a couple.

Not surprisingly, the bubble burst and we divorced before our tenth wedding anniversary.  While the reasons for our divorce are far more complex than I will outline here, suffice to say that the circumstances outlined above were all contributing factors to our failure.

And we're not alone.  In fact, a plurality of marriages in the United States these days are like ours was: stressed over money, work, and children.  Despite societal and technological advances that allow us to work from home, wash clothes in half the time that our grandparents did, and prepare pre-cooked food in microwaves, Americans still report being unhappy.  Why?

A major reason can be found in the way we spend our time.  A longitudinal study over four decades by three sociologists from University of Maryland (College Park) found that my generation's mothers report spending more time providing structured parenting than our moms did--this, in spite of increased hours spent outside the home working.  The trade-off?  Leisure time and interpersonal relationships such as spouses and friends. In order to achieve that "perfect" work-life balance, in other words, women are foregoing their own needs (and the needs of extended family, friends, and husbands) in favor of work and child-rearing.

Why does it take so much more time to be a parent in the 21st century?  One reason lies in the rise of "helicopter parenting" so called for its comparison to hovering, in this case over children.  It requires a great deal of time and energy to hover over a child's homework, TV selections, internet time, sports, and personal lives.  Bear in mind that helicopter parenting goes beyond normal levels of childcare: in its extreme, it's found in parents who do their children's homework, call their college students to remind them to get up for class each day, or berate a coach for not selecting their child for the varsity team.  As sociology professor Margaret K. Nelson of Middlebury College writes in a Washington Post opinion piece, this style of parenting is "is not just exhaustive; it sounds exhausting."  She continues: "Working a demanding job while paying painstaking attention to one's children leaves little time for maintaining a marriage."

But this rise in Intense Parenting also gives a socially-acceptable excuse to couples who may want to get divorced but remain married, for any number of real reasons.  "We're staying together for the kids," I hear over and over again.  After all, who could argue with a parent who chooses their children's well-being over their own happiness?  As if I could say to them, "Awww...to heck with the kids!  What about YOU?"  I'm pretty sure that response would be unappreciated.

Unfortunately for those unhappy couples that employ this reasoning, social science research has posted results to the contrary: unhappy parents do not raise happy children.  In fact, one study of 1400 families found that over 75% of the children of divorced parents were just as well-adjusted as their counterparts from non-divorced parents.  The author of this study, E. Mavis Hetherington, a developmental psychologist, notes that it is "very bad" for children "if [they] are in marriages with parents who are contemptuous of each other, not even with overt conflict, but just sneering and subtle putdowns that erode the partner's self-esteem."

So while divorce should be the last resort for a couple, those of us that have experienced it and worry about our children's well-being can perhaps find a bit of peace of mind in Dr. Hetherington's research.  The "staying for the kids"-mentality can actually have a less positive outcome than we once believed.  It's important to note, however, that well-adjusted post-divorce children don't just happen.  When we divorce, we owe it to our kids to ensure that they have the emotional and psychological tools to handle this major life disruption.  But the act of the divorce alone does not have an innate ability to ruin the lives of children.


Families are complex creations, but that is what makes them beautiful.  Love exists in all familial forms: single parents, married parents, gay parents, childless couples.  Far be it from any one of us to judge another's choices or lifestyle; rather, we can only do our best to extend a helping hand when one is needed. 

A family isn't the presence or absence of a partner, children, a pet, a car, or any tangible item.  A family is defined by love.

As always:

Thoughts/comments/ideas/rebuttal welcome: leahc168@gmail.com

Spring Clean Your Heart

Spring has sprung!!  .....Or so I'm told, from people who have been to warmer parts of the United States.  Here in the Midwest, it's been lingering at a bone-chilling 40 degrees, although I will say that the sun is stronger and stays out longer.  Still, I'm ready for green grass and daffodils.

There are lots of reasons to love springtime, not the least of which is that glorious day of the year when you can pack up the parkas, clean the house, and throw the window open to let clean, fresh air in.  As we transition from dark winter to bright summer, we look at all aspects of our lives to ready ourselves for the new season.  Diets clean up as we get ourselves beach-body ready, calendars lighten up as we make time for gardening and lawn care, and we reconnect with neighbors not seen since before the first snowfall.

As I was cleaning out my kids' room today, I got to thinking that this ritualistic seasonal activity should apply to more than just our diets, calendars, and closets.  What about our hearts?  What are we doing to prep the field so that love can grow?

I spent my 20's living in a small town in western Wisconsin.  Every spring, I saw the farm fields that surrounded our community turn from dusty, dry brown to rich, dark black after the farmers turned the soil to prepare for planting.  The seeds, laid in neat rows for miles on end, held so much hope for the future.  The right summertime conditions of warmth, rain, and nourishment yielded a bountiful fall harvest.  If the soil was bad or the rain didn't come, the seeds were stunted or perhaps failed to sprout at all.

Like those acres and acres of Wisconsin farmland, our hearts are the fertile soil in which we must sow seeds of love.  If the space in our heart is tainted with fear, hurt, sorrow, or impatience, the seeds have no chance of growing.  They will die without ever having seen sunlight.  But if we offer our hearts a bit of peace and provide room for knowledge and growth, our seeds have a much better chance of realizing themselves.

As there were varieties of crops on those vast Wisconsin fields, there are varieties of love as well.  If we plant romantic love and have not seeds of self-love already in the ground, romantic love will surely result in failure.  Promises made to a partner are meaningless if we fail to know what lies within our souls.  Discovering the habits of our hearts are the very key to unlocking our ability to fully experience love.  If we don't know ourselves, we will never have the capacity to understand another person.

So ask yourself a few questions as you ready your heart to find love, keep love, or expand the love you already have.  Turn these thoughts over in your head, as a farmer turns his fields:

• What circumstances do I need in order to be happy?  
• In what activities do I find joy?
• What can I offer to my partner?
• Am I communicating effectively?  Does my partner know these things about me?

Answering these questions will be like pouring sunlight on your heart.

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.

Thin Line Between Love & Hate

This morning, when I awoke at the grand hour of 10:00 am, I did my usual roll-over-and-grab-my-phone wakeup ritual.  (How many of us do this?  I wonder if I had a real person in bed next to me, would I still sleep with my phone?  Another topic for another time...)  As I triaged messages, quickly skimming and deciding what needed my immediate attention, a message from my girlfriend caught my eye: she needed to cancel our dinner plans.  I read on: she described her rather contentious divorce proceedings and how her ex was documenting all her time away from their kids, so we would have to delay our dinner so that she could be home with her babies.  Completely understandable, although sad that her ex felt this was necessary.

Message 2 was from another friend who is going through divorce.  He relayed to me that he had put his Facebook settings on super-lockdown because he felt his ex would use information against him in their divorce proceedings.  

The combination of the two messages got my thinking: how do we move from lovers to fighters in our marriages?  Is it an inevitable evolution--part of the separation process?

Many years ago, I married the man who I called my best friend.  We knew all of each other's secrets, insecurities, quirks.  The formative year(s) of the relationship were spent getting to know these things about each other and learning to love one another's flaws.  With time, however, we stopped being each other's confidante.  Kids, work, and other demands slowly took over the time we used to spend laughing and sharing.  As we drifted apart, it became apparent that the marriage had run its course and we ultimately agreed to split.  Just as quickly as we fell in love, we became enemies: judging each other's every movement, looking for motive, and distrustful of the person with whom we had once shared everything.  Best friends to total strangers in mere months.

And our situation is not unique.  While statistics about divorce abound (which party made the initial filing, how many go to trial, divorce by race, religion, etc), it is difficult to find good data on the subjective topic of contentiousness during the process.  In the United States, the vast majority of divorces (>95%) are resolved without a courtroom trial.  Still, that speaks nothing of the highly charged emotional state of both parties while they part ways--and part children, homes, cars, and bank accounts.  The fights, the testy exchanges, the snide remarks...who measures that?  And yet, just about everyone I know who is divorced has experienced it.

More importantly....can we move from fighters to peacemakers after the dust has settled?  How authentic can a friendship become when we're on the other side of a nasty split?

Ultimately, during a bad divorce, trust between parties gets broken.  In the situation of my guy friend who put his Facebook on ultra-private, he clearly doesn't trust his (ex-)wife not to misuse information.  My ex took it a step further and actually blocked me on Facebook, preventing me from seeing anything he does on the website--a setting that remains today, three years after our split.  Re-establishing trust, even to the small amount needed for a basic, no-frills friendship, requires a demonstrated change of behavior coupled with an honest discussion of what went wrong.  We have yet to let our walls down enough to move forward in that direction.  Instead, we make small talk at our kids' events and during hand-offs of the children, while steadfastly refusing to allow any real emotion or discussion to enter the space between us.  It's all very Minnesota Nice.

Is that what we've been reduced to?  The best friend I married ten years ago has now become a near-stranger in our post-divorce world.  Is there a happy middle ground?

Yes.

Because the greatest thing about people is our ability to change.

  

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. 

What is Romance?

Last weekend, I was lucky enough to be able to spend a few days with a great group of women.  We rented a house at a resort with the intent to pamper ourselves in the spa and spend time relaxing.  As herds of women are prone to do, we took turns dishing about the various men in our lives: what he did or didn't do, how that made us feel, what we loved and what could be better.  By the time we left on Sunday, I realized there was one main theme: Communication.

I spent the next two days talking with other friends--men and women alike--trying to define this mysterious "communication" thing.  Someone referred to it as romance, and that got me thinking: What is romance?

Romance is often intangible as a concept, but it can be found hidden in the small token efforts that make the other person feel cared for.  These little offerings--communications--tell the other person that they are valued.  Throughout all of our conversations this weekend, my girlfriends consistently indicated that what they missed in their long-term relationships were these seemingly almost-meaningless expressions of care.  The wake-up text message or a cup of coffee and a note in the kitchen can often mean more than an expensive dinner or a bouquet of roses.  

I've spent a lot of time talking with friends who are divorced, near divorce, or actively going through divorce right now.  I encourage them to take a look at their relationships and find out what went wrong.  Often, I hear that one or both partners forgot to take time out for the relationship--that the dishes piled up, the kids needed to go to soccer/hockey/gymnastics practice, that work became a priority...or that these distractions even eventually became an escape.  When we fail to kiss goodnight or say good morning, the partnership begins to die.  Relationships are built on those small moments and minor expressions of care; there is no substitute for making a daily connection with our partner.

Someone told me that he defined romance as "the desire to bare one's true self to another...[which] achieves a greater sense of euphoria (love)."  This incredible sense of personal vulnerability inevitably ties us to our partners; recognizing and respecting this naked exposure creates a bond that can never be undone.

One of my friends has been in an on-again, off-again pseudo-relationship. Without a doubt, they love each other, but external negative circumstances always seem to nose their way in, causing disruption and instigating arguments.  Whenever this happens, she will ask me the eternal question: "Why do I love him?"  For a long time, I had no answer.  Now I know: it's because you know what is in each other's hearts.  You've each been vulnerable, you've allowed each other into the most secret places of your soul...and you can't undo that confession.

Sometimes I think that we are more polite to strangers on the street than those living under our own roofs.  How many of us will force a smile for the barista at Starbucks, but then come home and grump to our partners--or worse, breeze by them without saying a word?  While our homes and relationships should be a safe place to talk through problems and experience frustrations, we can't do so to the exclusion of purposefully creating good times, too.  A short text message to say "I know it's tough at work today...hope you have a good day though!" can only create love and happiness in the other person, even if it's just a tiny spark.  It only takes a single spark to ignite a fire.


Fire is risky, and not without its dangers.  But the greatest risk can offer the greatest reward.  Even if you don't know if the gesture will be returned, what have you really lost by trying?  I challenge you to do something that would surprise your partner and put an unplanned smile on his/her face...to do something that you used to do but have since forgotten due to the daily demands of life.  It doesn't have to big grand or intense...but it does need to be authentic and meaningful...try to recall what is in your partner's heart, and speak to it.  

Friends With Benefits (?)(!)(.)

Author's note: My friend, "Jim," asked me to write about this topic.  No, we're NOT friends with benefits.  Just friends.  No benefits.  I promise.

Friends with benefits.  No strings attached.  Pillow pals.  Lots of names for what is essentially the same thing: repeated sexual encounters with the same person, without a romantic relationship or commitment.

Urban Dictionary's definition:

Friends with Benefits (verb): A healthy, fun sexual relationship between two people......Until one falls for the other, the friendship blows to pieces, and those two people find themselves worse off than they were before.

That sounds pretty accurate, given my training (none) and experience (limited).  Still, I have friends (mostly men) that swear by this act--they believe that not getting involved emotionally is better than the risks and pitfalls of a committed relationship.  

The trouble with all of it is that one person (usually the female in heterosexual relationships) ends up falling for the other.  Even with the best intentions, with the expectations clear and managed, we girls end up falling for the guy and making a mess of the whole thing.  I wondered why this was...so, naturally, I turned to the Internet for answers.

As it turns out, there's a scientific answer.  Scientific studies have shown that humans experience a hormone release following orgasm.  In women, the hormone is oxytocin--the so-called "cuddling hormone" because it lowers our capacity for fear and increases our sense of bonding.  Men, on the other hand, release dopamine--the pleasure hormone.  So while men are laying in bed, feeling happy and sleepy, women's hormones are busy convincing us that we are bonded, in love, and ready to commit to this guy.  

Mother Nature is a real *%$^, isn't she?!  That's not even fair!

This, dear readers, is why I do not believe in the concept of  "friends with benefits" (FWB).  It's scientifically impossible for women to handle.  Unless.....

1.  The sex is bad.  It's basic: if women don't reach orgasm, then the oxytocin release won't happen and the whole let's-fall-in-love-and-get-married-and-have-a-zillion-babies reaction is stopped cold.  HA!  Take that, evolution!!  Of course, the downfall is that bad sex is no fun and negates the entire reason for the experience.  Hmm...maybe this isn't a plausible answer...

2.  You avoid cuddling afterwards.  Shaking off the whole experience before the hormones can really kick in seems like it would help.  Get out of bed, take a cold shower, and WAKE THE HELL UP.  This isn't love; it's sex.

The concept gets even more convoluted when you have a real friendship with the other person.  As I was talking this over with a gal pal, it occurred to us that there's a difference between friends with benefits and acquaintances with benefits.  A friend--someone you're connected to, that you share a bond with--complicates the FWB  sexual relationship even more.  If you are invested in his/her well-being by virtue of the friendship, AND you're sleeping with him/her...how is this not dating?  How is this not a romantic relationship?  At least in the acquaintance scenario, you are not bonded by anything other than a mutual appreciation for a satisfying sexual relationship.  It seems it would be a lot more emotionally safe to keep the friendship out of it.

There.  You've been warned.  

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.

A Bear Named....

My daughter's seventh birthday was last week--her GOLDEN birthday, as she's quick to point out to just about everyone, including the hot guy at Lululemon.  (I guess he's not into single moms, since he declined to ask for my phone number.  His loss.)  Anyway...oh, to be that excited about birthdays again!  As part of her celebration, we went to the Build-A-Bear Workshop: a childhood fan favorite.  Pick an unstuffed teddy bear, stuff it, fluff it, clothe it, name it, and VOILA! a best friend for life is born.

It got me thinking...what if we could just design partner that easily!?

At Build-A-Bear, they do a cute little ritual: pick a small stuffed heart to put inside your bear before he's stuffed.  But before you haphazardly toss that little gem in there, you have to:

• Kiss the heart, so the bear knows he's loved
• Rub it on your forehead, so he's smart
• Touch it to your funny bone, so he has a sense of humor
• Tap it to your ear, so that he's a good listener
• Pat it on your tummy so he's never hungry 

...and a bunch of other cutesy, catchy little acts.  Man!  What if I could do that to a guy?!  I could custom-build a man who is smart, loving, and funny...I even get to make sure there's  a heart inside there!  Then I could take him home, tuck him into bed with me and we would live happily ever after.  Ta-da!

Oh, to dream....

Instead, I built myself a green, clover-themed stuffy.  I gave him a Harley-Davidson bandana and named him Lucky Fat Boy.

I guess that will have to suffice until science catches up....  :)