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.

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.