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.
Saturday, April 30, 2016
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)