Now is a Better Place to Be Than Then...

I feel as if I'm on a sabbatical.  I've been learning about gratitude and the art of being okay with being alone.  Two totally different subjects, but in the time I've spent here alone, I've felt so grateful.  Grateful for my physical health, that is beginning to return, for my mental health, my sense of humor and ability to laugh at my ridiculousness, my fortunate life, my children and of course, my amazing friendships.   Excuse me while I mush a bit.  This sabbatical has made me sentimental.  

So many of my friends are cheerleaders.  They stand beside me, they encourage, they never let me feel like a loser.  I'm so grateful for these friendships. I have to give Facebook a lot of credit.  In the last two years, Facebook became a gateway to reconnecting my past with the present.  The re-connections I've made have blessed me in so many ways.  A friend who has lived in Japan for 25 years+ has been a lifeline.  Facebook gave her to me. 

I recently hosted a few old high school chums at my "treehouse" getaway.  We spent hours on the dock, sitting on the deck, drinking wine, dining on delicious food and getting to know each other as adults.  We weren't friends in high school.  We knew each other, but ran in completely different circles.   These girls, were considered part of the "popular kids".  I'm still not sure where I fit into all of that, but I know I wasn't considered part of the "elite" crowd.  There is a line from "The Jane Austin Book Club" that says..."high school is never over..."  It's true, but yet,  it isn't.  I still look at these women as  "girls".  I feel like a young girl when I am with them.  They don't seem any older to me...just wiser, more seasoned with compassion.   I am delighted they like me.  I know this sounds strange.

I'm not sure how or why the anarchy of high school royalty is formed, but it is real.  Ask any one who wasn't a part of it.  We go back to our reunions (or we don't) to either prove something or to say "screw 'em...I never want to go back".  However, my experience in HS wasn't terrible.  It wasn't without it's traumas and dramas, but generally, it was okay.  Not spectacular, and I guess that is a good thing, as I would hate to have had that be the best years of my life and want to relive them over and over.  But the feelings associated with HS return with every reunion I've attended.  What I've discovered as an adult is, that except for that evening of the reunion, it doesn't matter anymore.  We all made our own lives and we are either happy with the outcome or we aren't.  And...we accept what life has become for us.

The interesting part is we all lived a life.  After 30 years, there are marriages, children, divorces, deaths,  grandchildren...in some way shape or form, life made us the people we've become.  Unless we are in complete denial, most of us became real.  We are no longer trying to fit in or trying to impress anyone.  Having just left a long term marriage and trying to look like I had the perfect life, the surprise of reacquainting myself with these women from my past,  who weren't really a part of my adult life until now, it feels good to be myself with women that knew me in my youth. It feels good to be with women who knew me alone and not as part of a couple. They remember 'me'.

The three of us took a walk along the dirt road behind the treehouse the other day and talked about these feelings of reconnection.  For the two of them, it's probably not such a big deal, because they were always friends from way back when.  But for me,  it's affirming.  It's hard to describe.  I grew up in this area.  I've been a fixture here my entire life. Our parents knew each other, we know so many of the same people.  You make a mistake here and trust me, people know it.  Does our history connect us and put us under the scrutiny of judgment?  Or does it connect us and give us grace?  In the case of these women, it gave me grace.  I have made friends with old friends.  Although we can laugh about our HS days and memories, it doesn't define who we are anymore.  I feel blessed to call these women my friends.

I revisit a lot of the same topics sometimes, and I know I've shared a backhanded compliment someone gave me years ago.  I still love it and I still use it.  The person said to me, "You're not as shallow as I thought"...I love that.  I got a text yesterday from one of these women I spent the weekend with.  She said, "You are so down to earth".  I'm sure my parents would disagree as maybe would some other family members, but, I was so blessed by those words.  I still dream big, I still want great things, I still believe in lasting love...I don't think that makes me NOT down to earth, I think it makes me hopeful.  Thank you for those words...it made my whole day. (You know who you are...) :-)

I've made many acquaintances over my lifetime.  I've had people come and go, and  I rarely meet someone I don't like.  I'm open, (probably too open) and  I'm more real today, than I've ever been.  I'm learning to be the most true,  authentic self  I've ever been.  Many of the friends I've kept close to me, I've known for 20+ years.  When we've lost touch and reconnected,  we've been able to pick up where we left off, as if no time has passed at all.  These people are like precious gems.  If you are still in my life, it's because you are so very valuable to me.  Facebook brought many wonderful people both into my life and back into my life.  My new, old girlfriends?  We grew up.  We are wives, mamas, grandmas...we are women connected because of our past, bonded by life and because we are women that know how to love, nurture, feed each other and be cheerleaders... 
 The days of high school ARE over...and now is a better place to be, than then...

Decisions...Decisions....

It has been almost a year since I decided that my marriage was over.  I spent a year previous to that decision trying to decide... in pain, riddled with guilt and trying to make a decision.  It was a year that I feel was wasted.  Or was it?  I've asked myself a million times if I could have saved myself and others close to me, the terrible toll of the pain and anguish?  Would things be any different if I had just walked away without that terrible year of indecision?  The price was huge.  Was the outcome already decided, but I didn't have the strength to end it?  I wasn't brave enough to pull the trigger two years ago.  I wasn't strong enough.  Did I spend that year trying to get everyone used to the idea?  Had I already made that decision?  I still don't have the answer to that question.  I know that once I made peace with the possible consequences, I still wasn't prepared for the fallout.

And now, here I am, almost a year later, spending six weeks in the area I grew up in, finally facing  the reality of what I left my children and their dad to deal with.  I am ashamed of my actions, ashamed at how afraid I was to face the people that thought they were my friends.  I've been defensive and angry, hurt and tormented by my own guilt.  I was my own worst enemy.  But in this year,  I've learned to be kinder to myself.  And... although forgiveness is harder, forgiving myself for my choices.

I have made phone calls and dates to purposely deal with what I left behind.  This is a small town.  People talk.  I'm not puffed up with so much self-importance that I think I was the topic of too many conversations, but those who heard the rumors of my impending divorce, talked.  It's a pride thing.  I didn't want to defend my actions.  I was embarrassed.  I was so committed to the lie of the "perfect family" that I didn't want to admit that not only did I fail, but that I had been failing for years.  I had been perpetuating a myth out of my own insecurities. 

And, I've had so many firsts.  So many hard firsts.  First Christmas, first Easter, first Mother's Day, first flat tire, first date...everything was a first.  And I've had so many lessons.  Not just in humility but in friendships and navigating the world alone.  I've been sick twice this year.  Twice.  The woman who was supermom, super woman, super human...run down and sick.  I was rarely sick before I left my marriage.  This last one, took me down.  I don't recall ever feeling quite so alone in the world.

I miss the feeling of security, and I don't mean financial security.  I mean the security of feeling safe.  I used to tell my kids, that no matter how harsh the world treated them;  their refuge, their safety, was family...it was home.  I ran from my refuge and I don't know where it is anymore.  Leaving the safety net was hard.  I never feel sure-footed, I question every decision, because for the first time ever, I am making every decision alone.  I ask myself a lot, what would I do if something happened to my parents?  Who would be my emotional support system?  Who would care?  When I was so ill a couple weeks ago, I felt like I had no one to call in the middle of the night.  It wasn't true, but it felt that way.

I made a decision to rent a cabin on the lake I grew up on.  Far enough away from my mother's place to feel independent, but close enough to meet her for lunch in town.  Not too remote, although internet and cell service are non-existent. (Thank God for the next door neighbor's wi-fi that I am now able to pirate)  Across the lake from me is a tiny grocery store, bar and grill.  I call this place my tree house.   There are about 75 steps down to the lake.  My lungs are still screaming every time I climb back to the cabin, as I am still sick.  But, I feel myself healing.  In the few days I have spent here alone, I am feeling peaceful.  I fall asleep to the sound of crickets and water lapping on the shore.  I wake to birds chirping and a view of the still water.  I sleep like a stone. The one bar bar of cell service I get, allows me to text, but not have a phone conversation.  I spend about an hour on the water in the morning in a kayak, walk my dog several times a day and read.  So far, my hardest decision has been whether to drink another cup of coffee in the morning.  I brought along several books.  Two mindless fictions and three self-help books about finding courage, finding love and the study of body language.  I get bored easily by the psycho-babble but it gives me lots of food for thought. And I am quiet. 

I've spent years feeling lost and wanting things to be different.  I spent a year trying to figure out what I wanted to do but not knowing how to do it.  I spent the next year confused, sad, depressed and mostly alone.  I am spending this next year preparing for the next portion of my life. I am learning who I am without someone else to give me my identity.  My tree house getaway is helping me.  It was a good decision to be here and one I made by myself. I am relishing the quiet of my heart, and learning to listen and trust myself.  I am beginning to make decisions without agonizing over every  one.  I listen to the words of others, but ultimately, it is me making the decision that is best for me.  I give myself good advice mostly, but I still can't figure out if I need that next cup of coffee...

Can I Be Frank?

I have thought a lot about what I wanted to write about next.  Sex is always a great subject, and my readers may think I'm a bit obsessed with the topic, but it is just so fascinating!   Think of what risks people take just to get laid... Kingdoms abdicated, presidents impeached...plus, I'm not getting much these days, so that could explain a lot.   Dating is also an entertaining subject as well, and there is still so much to say about that topic, but I've reached a point where I'm just going to sound like an angry feminist on that one now.  Still, I've figured out a few things recently in regard to both of those subjects, but for today I'm going right into sex.  So can I be frank?

I've thought about writing about sex in a way that would lend itself to great discussion.  Specifically, about sex and aging.  I think about that, well, because I am aging.  I talk about sex a lot because I believe with all my heart that it is the key to true emotional intimacy in a loving, committed relationship.

I went to a wedding this past weekend.  I was a guest of a friend who knew both the bride and groom. 
It was an interesting ceremony.  Unlike anything I've witnessed before, but then, I had to think about the ages of the bride and groom.  I'm not sure if it was a first time marriage for the groom, but I heard it was for the bride.  She radiated happiness.  She was 44.  I guess she knew what she was doing.  At 44, I think you know who you are and what you want.  It's the young ones that get married that I want to protest when the priest says..."If anyone here objects to this union, speak now or forever hold your peace..."  How come no one ever speaks now?  I don't.  I just think to myself...'suckers...

At any rate, that is not what I'm speaking about now.  I had the opportunity to meet two very delightful couples that sat at our table.  They were obviously older than me, somewhat older than my parents, but both couples, very youthful in appearance and in life.  I watched them interact with each other.  I watched how they laughed and enjoyed each other.  Both couples had been previously married.  Out of the four of them, at least two had been married multiple times.  No one was married now,  they were... 'living in sin'.

What I find very interesting about this particular generation, my dad's generation, (plus maybe a few years), are the social stigmas that no longer exist for them. The ones that existed when they were young.  Let me explain...When my mother and father got married, she was pregnant.  They had to get married.  They couldn't live together, grow up a little and decide whether they should get married.  Even if they hadn't been pregnant, they couldn't live together.  That wasn't the social norm of the day.  You either got married, or my mom was an unwed mother with a big scarlet letter on her chest.  Oh, couples were still  having sex as singles alright, but you either got caught or you didn't.  It wasn't acceptable to be having unmarried sex. Obviously, not the case now.

So in just 40 years or so, things have drastically changed.  These couples are not only living together, but in all likelihood, having sex.  Even now.  Haven't we all thought at one time or another, that our grandparents could not possibly have been having sex at their age... could they?...Ewww.....!  But not only did they, but they probably did right up until they were dying and absolutely couldn't. There was a study recently that STD's in nursing homes were on the rise.  Someone's getting some....
I take my hat off and bow down to them.  Having reached my middle years, I not only still want to have sex, I want to have a lot of it, when I meet the right person, of course.  Thank god for Viagra.

So, back to these two couples.  One couple, were clearly in a new love relationship.  Unmarried, and happy to be that way.  Living together.  They had many of the same interests, they were affectionate and clearly, at this point in time, happy they had found each other.  Awwww....

 The other couple, they laughed a lot together.  I couldn't tell how long they had been together, but they teased and poked each other, and I could tell, they really enjoyed the fun that each brought into the relationship.  It was really heartwarming to see, that at this stage of life, they were still living it to the fullest and enjoying each other.  I think they have a lot of sex.  I don't know for sure, but I would be willing to bet money on it.  I'm definitely going to ask. 

I think of my grandmother and how sometimes she would flirt shamelessly with my husband.  I never minded, of course, but I would see the young woman in her,  that still felt young in her spirit; young enough to still want sex.   I think of myself and my own mortality these days.  When you are 30 and busy raising kids, you kind of resent sex on the nights you feel exhausted and...obligated.  At least I did.  And it got so mundane.  So routine.  I would look at the clock at 11 pm and think..."I want to catch the weather at 11:15...'it can be done..."  How sad is that?  How true is that, for couples that have been together for so long?  Why don't we take care of each other so that we have great sex, with  great enjoyment and fulfillment in each other for years to come?  Maybe it takes the second marriage, or the end of our lives to know and understand what it means to let go of societal expectations, and appreciate how wonderful life really is...and how great sex still is and can be.  (You can laugh now, but I will probably get a lot of hits on this blog today because I keep using the word sex)

 And now that  sex is in short supply for me these days, I find I miss it desperately.  (I guess I should have thought about this when I thought I wanted to watch the weather instead huh?)  And, I think about being in a relationship, because it is in such short supply.  I want what these couples seem to have found the second (or third) time around.   The key will be research.  (This is another place to insert a laugh.)  As I sat at the table with these couples, I also sat with my friend Matthew.  He and I are the perfect couple.  We laugh, we talk on a very deep and emotional level.  He is a perfect gentleman.  He listens to me, he is kind, considerate, funny, a great dancer...for he and I, we have what I think those other couples have, except for one thing...he's gay.  He is my Will and I am his Grace.  If only sex wasn't an issue...

I'm going to delve deeper into this.  I'm going to ask my new friend about her sex life and I'm going to find out how they met.  Maybe she met him online?  I'm going to find out if she feels if, at her age,  she is settled and found what she wanted all along, but it just took this many years to find it? Of course, with that generation, you never know, some things may have changed, but she might just tell me it's 'none of my damn business'.... The couple that were married on Saturday?  I wish them well.  I think they will be fine.  I think they both knew what they are getting and will be very happy.  I wonder if they have very much sex?  Maybe I am obsessed, something anyway....

Running Back to Home...

Over a year ago, whenever anyone asked me what I was doing in Arizona, my answer was always, "I ran away..."

That's not how I answer that question now.  Now I am working.  I am writing.  I have created a life.  A new life.  It doesn't feel like running away anymore.  It feels like home.  The past few weeks I have been traveling for my job, for pleasure and for personal business that can no longer be ignored.  I had to go back to my hometown and take care of things I left unfinished.  I've been running for sure, and now I have to go back.  I've had a few moments of overwhelming sadness.  

The moments of sadness are not as many anymore.  They come and go.  But, when they come, it slams me to the ground.  I'm always surprised by it.  So many people have asked me why I'm sad when I was the one who left.  My kids especially don't understand the sadness.  As I was driving through town, my hometown, I am swamped with memories of a life that seems like it belonged to someone else.  I know every inch of that town.  I have been there forever.  I see the changes that it continues to make.  I still drive through the town without thinking about where I am going.  It is instinctual.  I'm never lost, but I feel confused by the familiar. 

The other day, I had my hair done at my old salon. I ran into people I haven't seen for 8 months...they seemed excited to see me, but I see the questions in their eyes they are afraid to ask.  They look down at my hands to see if there is a wedding band there.  They don't know what to say to me.  I don't know what to say to them either, except, "I'm doing well".  I speak to them as if they know my marriage ended, because while they may not know everything, they know enough.  It's a small town. 

The hardest part of going home is running into people.  I've known so many of them for so long, they feel they deserve to know why.  They are confused.  They are grieving the loss of this marriage too.  As I drove across the state yesterday, I thought of all the people I left behind without a word of explanation.  The friends I thought were friends who turned out to be...not so much.  I thought of the shock they might have felt when they heard, he and I no longer were... 

I left no closure for them.  I cut everyone off because I couldn't face them.  I didn't know who to trust anymore.  I was self-preserving.  That's what I told myself.  It was easier to run and pretend I was fine among strangers, than to cry and show my weakness to people I've known my whole life.  And now I'm back. 

I want to face the demons that still haunt me.  I want to explain to people that didn't understand why.  I know I don't owe anyone an explanation  or justification for what happened in my life, but the need to be understood is strong.  The need to defend myself and my actions hang on.  I grew some thick skin, but it's uneven.  Some spots are thinner and weaker.  I learned who my true friends are when I left, but I also left behind those that thought I cared enough about them, to say goodbye and were hurt when I left town without a word and cut them off completely. 


When you go through a divorce, you split your life in half.  The things you took for granted are suddenly gone.  The sadness I can't seem to explain is for the loss of a lifetime of memories that everyone remembers.  It was a lifetime.   My friends only knew "us".  I alone, am someone they don't know anymore.  Together, we were their friends.  Separately, I am unfamiliar to them.  Starting over in a new town is easy.  I am known as Tam.  I am known as myself.  I am not part of a half that has always been whole.  I am whole on my own.

When I went back East a few weeks ago, I realized how very homesick I was.  Everything looked like home.  The leaves in the oak trees, the tulips just starting to come up.  The smell of cut grass.  Everything was green, not brown like the desert.  I ached for home.  I was ready to be here.  Now I am here.  My heart hurts here.  I feel sad here.  I am afraid here.  I walked into the empty house that used to be "our" home and I cry as I hear the voices of my children arguing, laughing and playing outside.  I remember the holiday dinners I use to serve on the china I am boxing up.  I stand on the porch and remember the summer mornings sharing coffee together before our days started.  It hurts and I don't want to remember.  The temptation to run again is strong.  But I have things to finish.  It's another hurdle I have to jump before I can move forward. 

The instinct to keep running is always there.  I take a break every now and then to catch my breath, but right now, I have to forge on, even though I am afraid.  I refuse to be paralyzed even though my biggest fear is rejection.  And so, I keep facing the demons.  I sometimes wonder if it has been worth it?  But with every person I run into, they smile, hug me and ask me no questions.  They seem happy to see me again.  My animal instincts keep me wary, but as a lover of people, I am happy to see them as well.  Most of them.  Has it been worth it?  I think so.  My life is different.  It has changed a full 180 degrees.  I am happier.  It is foreign ground to run away to a new place.  It feels familiar to go home.  Scary now, but familiar.  There is a country song with a line that says "Who says you can't go home?"  I know that I can...I am here and I'm still alive.  Now, whenever anyone asks me what I'm doing in Arizona, my answer is always....I am living!

The Art of Kissing Frogs....Part Two...

Tonight, as I sit here and type, I am listening to the most beautiful, romantic, Italian music. I am smitten with this artist and was only recently turned on to him in the last few weeks.  I am obsessed with learning the words in Italian.  I've played them so much, I'm close.  Now to translate.  It's not as hard as I thought it might be.  Music is powerful.  It fills my heart with hope and wistful yearning.  I don't think I'm so different from other women, when I say, I want to be swept away.  But at the same time, I am at the age where I know being "swept away" can be very intoxicating, but also leave you with a horrendous hangover if you only have feelings of passion and lust instead of a solid foundation to build on.

I lived a whole life on wistfulness, imagining, wishing for something different.  We had lots of passion for many years.  But it seemed the only real things we had in common were our children.  I wished for someone I could have deep, philosophical, engaging conversations with.  I wanted someone that could feel the pulse of my heart and want the same things I did. Someone that had a innate sense of wanting to know more of the world. Share rich experiences and adventures.  Love the differences in people and celebrate life every day.   When you are 20 years old and pregnant, you don't think about these things being important.  All you know is...you love him.  All you know is the day to day of responsibilities of working hard to pay the bills, raising children and putting your dreams on hold, because there is always something more pressing to take care of.  Not necessarily more important, but, when you are being responsible and doing the right thing...everything is more important than taking care of each other.

Since separating from my husband, I've had to learn to be alone.  I've always enjoyed my alone time, but actually living life alone is a whole other ball game.   The loneliness comes in waves.  Time is a precious commodity, but when you have too much time to fill, you get into your head more.  At least I do.  Whether that is a good thing or a bad thing, I'm not sure, but I continually think, or (maybe obsess, is a better word) about what I am looking for in a future companion.  I love the thought of having someone in my life.  I hate the thought of sharing my space.  I love the thought of nights of raging passion, but hate the thought of sleeping next to someone again.  I love the thought of nights snuggled on the couch watching a movie with someone, but hate the thought of losing control of the TV remote.   I love the thought of cooking with someone, but hate the thought it would be expected to make dinner every night.  Even though there is comfort in the familiar rituals of life, is it possible to have a relationship that doesn't turn ordinary and lackluster?

I've put the online dating thing on hold for the time being.  It was difficult.  As I said in  my last post, it was soul stealing.  It's not that I don't think there are good men out there, I just think with online dating, it's too forced.  You have men that are seriously looking for a lifetime relationship, and men that are looking for "a casual friend".   I actually had a man turn me down after I wrote in an email, that 'I wasn't interested in getting married in the near future.'  His response was, "I noticed you aren't interested in getting married.  I'm actually hoping to be married within the next 6-8 months."  Wow.  Another one wrote me an email asking  "Do I like massages"?  Great, I love massages, but this is your line? 

When you are lonely, you are susceptible to falling for the BS they write in their bios.  At least at first......I had one recently that went through every line of my bio and analyzed, broke it down and categorized the things he felt we had in common.  Flattering, but creepy.  My favorite emails are the ones that can't punctuate or spell. Come on Jethro....

My favorite two stories of online dating were in the beginning.  Kate tells me I made "Rookie Mistakes".  (Gawd, I don't want to be a seasoned pro at this...)  My very first online date was a "meet and greet" at a coffee shop.  His pictures looked reasonably attractive.  The moment I laid eyes on him, I knew there was no chemistry, no attraction whatsoever.  He didn't even have to speak.  After ordering a coffee, we sat down to talk.  His first mistake?  He sat next to me on the couch. Like in my space bubble.  He then filled my ears with banal talk about shutters and pixels, high resolution etc.  He was an incessant blinker.  I couldn't concentrate on a single word he said.  I was too distracted by the blinking.  Pretty soon, my mind was wandering...I really needed a manicure and a pedicure.  Badly.  Being that it was my first official date, I didn't know what protocol was on timing.  I needed to stop him.  I stood up abruptly and said, "I'm sorry, this isn't going to work, not now, not ever."  Apparently, blunt honesty is not appreciated, but I did get in a mani and pedi.

The next date, and remember, I've only had one previous to this one, was worse.  Much worse.  First of all, I felt talked into it.  If you remember, one of the biggest problems I've had in my relationship is my inability to say 'no', stand up for myself and say what I want.  This guy, who was almost old enough to be my dad, talked me into meeting him for a coffee date.  According to him, we had a 95% compatibility rating.  I don't give a shit about algorhythms anymore.  If I'm not attracted physically....ain't never going happen.  His age was the biggest issue for me.  He was too old.  I know how old I am, I'm under no illusions that I'm going to be with a 30 something in a lifetime/committed relationship, but please, 65? I also know, that my choices are not what they use to be, but I still have lots of offers.  Including 20 somethings.  Just as I have no interest in a 20 something, I have no interest in a 60 something.  I barely have interest in a  50 something. But, I digress.  So yes, 65 was too old.  Upon meeting him, I was completely and utterly turned off,  not to mention pissed off.  His photos in his bio were about 15 years old.  Clearly, he was not toned and athletic as his bio said.  As per protocol, we ordered coffee.  I sat across from him and listened to him tell me that he had now been single, longer than he had been married and after several knee surgeries, and pressing health issues, he was at the point where he really wanted to find his lifetime partner.  I'll bet.  To make it even better, he (of course, they all do) brings up sex.  His words were something like this: "If and when we are intimate..." okay, I don't remember the rest of the sentence.  I just heard the when we are intimate part and I wanted to bolt.  To make it all the more entertaining, he had the hiccups the entire time we talked.  Not slightly....but, bad hiccups.  I was very nice, as I always am, and told him I didn't mind if he wanted to hold his breath to try and get rid of them.  I thought perhaps, he would do a slight inhale and no big deal.  Oh no.  He took a gigantic breath in, closed his eyes and turned his head to the ceiling.  His entire face and ears turned purple as he held this pose for about 45 seconds.  He lets out a loud exhalation and nearly blows me off my chair.  Omg....what the hell was I doing there?

A few more dates like this and becoming a lesbian was a real possibility.  I was discouraged, but again...loneliness won out again.  I gave it another stab.  I had a few decent dates, no sparks, but nice men.  Then, another really bad one.  I should have known by his profile name "Onion Ass" that there was something seriously wrong with him.  I guess I just thought he was really sarcastically funny.  I told him in an email, that I was certain I was going to hate him (thinking I was being funny) but I was intrigued by his humor. 

After agreeing on a date, time and place, I show up, looking my best and as always, hopeful.  He was 15 minutes late.  As I got up to leave, thinking I had been stood up, my phone buzzes.  It was him texting me.  The text read like this: 'just jumping in the shower, 6 right?  Are you scared?' Uh...I wasn't....but now?  I'm fuming.  I'm not waiting until 6 pm when the agreed upon time was 5.  I stood up again to leave.  Another buzz.  "Just kidding, I'm inside at the bar".  He had been watching me out the window.  Creepy.  I sit down again.  Dumbfounded.  He allows me to sit there another five minutes.  Finally, I get up to leave AGAIN, and he walks through the door. 

Right.  Let me describe my first impression.  Scruffy, unshaven, and not in the rugged, handsome way.  More like the "I just got off a drinking binge and I'm hungover and didn't have time to shower and shave, unshaven way.  Baseball cap, stained T-shirt, faded shorts that looked to be plaid at one time and flip flops.  He couldn't look me in the eyes,  as he described without stopping;  his daughter in Juvenile detention for meth use, his ex-wife, who is serving time in prison for dealing meth, his DUI and time spent in Tent City, which turned out to be such a great experience because he met so many interesting people.  I'll just bet.  After 15 minutes of this, I put up my hand and said "STOP!  You have to stop right now!  You are a shitshow and I can't stay."  I said that.  Then I got up, paid my bill and left.  A new low for me. 

These are the most memorable.  The ones that make you question your decision to leave.  Was being married so bad?  I have had moments of doubt.  I've had lots of "firsts" as a single woman.  First Christmas, First Thanksgiving, First Easter, First Mother's Day... by myself, not as a family.  I'm learning what it is to create new memories.  Writing my own history and figuring out how to do it differently; the way that isn't the "old way".  It isn't easy, but it's getting easier.  Meeting men in this shallow dating pool, helps you to know what your values are and what you want.  But, is it out there?
I'm not ready for anything serious.  What I want short term, is friendship.  Companionship.  Someone to share a glass of wine or a concert with.  What I want long term is the same.  Eventually, I will be ready to share my bed all night.  But for now, I'm not.  My subscription runs out at the end of this month.  I won't be renewing it.  Not for a while at least.  The prize in the cereal box is at the bottom.  It will be the last place I look, where I least expect to find it.  No one keeps looking after they find something.  It will come.  Patience Tam.

The Art of Kissing Frogs....

I haven't wrote in a couple months.  I use my writing as therapy, in case no one figured that out.   I process my feelings and thoughts through my writing.  I spent a winter of discontent trying to heal, find forgiveness for myself and learning to forgive others for what I held against them.  I cried a lot.  Every time I wrote, I was a blubbering ball of wadded up tissues, red, puffy eyes and a nose so full of snot I couldn't breathe.  Pretty.  By the time January 1st hit, I was tired of being sad.  I put on my big girl panties,  and began to heal with it.  I was ready to start new and put that damn year of sadness behind.  I felt like I'd come so far.  I thought I had arrived. And I really have.  I am happier, I have loads of friends, I am busy, I am working, (albeit part time) I am doing well, I am doing really good.   Then I started dating.  A sure way to put things in perspective. 

The trouble with starting to date when you think you might be ready, is... you don't know you aren't, until you start.  Putting 28 years of marriage behind you, is not easy. I carry more baggage than I was wiling to admit.  I have a huge fear of commitment.  A fear of making another mistake. I have a longing to make a connection and break the pattern of repeating what feels normal.  The trouble is, what feels normal, I know is not healthy for me, but the pattern is there.  Embedded deep.  My brother said it best to me this past week.  He said, 'You want to believe that every small connection you (I) make, instantly goes to my head of potential boyfriend material.'  It's true.  I immediately want to jump from A to L .  That is, until the second date, if there is one. 

I understand why my mother made such a quick decision to remarry. Let me put out the disclaimer at this point, that I have no desire at this time to remarry, let alone, anyone in the wings that I'm contemplating.  I just understand why she did.  The desire and longing to have companionship and consistency in one's life is huge.  The waiting, the need to move forward, the feeling of "time running out" on you, the impatience and feeling of limbo is frustrating.  The loneliness.  The worst part, is I'm not even divorced yet and that alone, is a strike against you in the frustration of wanting to move on.

I understand now, why my friend Kate (and just about everyone else) keeps saying to me, 'you're not ready for a relationship'.  They are right.  If, statistics and studies are correct, it takes about two years to really move on from a divorce.  Two years from separation?  Two years from filing?  Two years from final papers?  Two years from what?  Am I just practice dating at this point?

In order to get myself out there to practice, meet new people, be exposed to new people, I gave online dating a whirl.  I knew lots of people who were doing it, so, I thought, what the hell?  It's worth a try.

I've had hundreds of offers to go on dates.  The sorting and answering the email alone, is like a full time job.  It can be addicting at first.  Then, at some point, tiring.  In the two months since I joined this online dating service, I've gone on lots of dates.  Lots of first dates.  Only two second dates, and one third date.  It's like picking up a stone and flinging it back into the water.  And so far, not one has really given me pause to think..."aha....he could be it..." Not one.  At least not after the first date.  The funny part, is how very hopeful I still am.

I have met a few nice guys.  The date can be going really well...I think.  I'm analyzing their words.  I'm studying their face, trying to imagine if I could see myself with them.  Because I'm trying to break old patterns of what I'm attracted to, I look for clues as they speak.  If I'm not physically attracted to them immediately, I do a little self-talking.  "He may not be your "type" physically, Tam, but, could you grow to love someone like him"?   Could it be one of those situations, where a person grows on me?  All of this on a first date.  Instead of enjoying the person and the evening, I'm looking for the flaws.    This is why, I think it takes at least two years to move on and be ready, you don't know yet. 

  This dating stuff can steal your soul.  I feel like mine is being slowly drained from my body with every date I've gone on.  I'm lucky.  I am a sought-after date in the world of online dating.  Lucky in the way that I have lots of choices.  Unlucky in the way that, I have too many choices.  I've had weeks where I literally had a date almost every night of the week with different men.  You may have a date that went fairly well, but you're thinking, "Well, he's nice, but, maybe the guy tomorrow night will be better".  Maybe, but the flaw in this type of serial dating is: A) I'm not getting married after a first date, so why not give this guy a chance if there is potential for friendship?  And, B) I have this horrible little quirk of mixing up their names and the facts they've shared with me on the phone.  Oops!  My bad.

On a first date, you ask the same questions of each other.  Only to repeat the same answers on the next first date.  Every date is a lesson in what you're not looking for.  Every first date has the potential to be wonderful, and  before every first date, I am excited.  I am hopeful.  I am not jaded.  I am bright with excitement and I glow with anticipation.  Then you sit down across from them and you know right away, uh...no.  Sometimes it's just a feeling, other times it's zeroing in on a physical flaw...like their face seems too long, or a weird mole on their face, or a mustache...(Ugh, I threw up in my mouth just a little...)   But usually, it's something they say.  One date actually revealed that he had intimacy issues.  On a first date!  Another told me he had trouble controlling his anger.  Geez....let me think about that one...A man that has never been married sends red flags.  No kids?  Probably selfish.  Too many baby mamas?  (Yes, I said "baby mamas) Too many exes.. Danger Will Rogers!  Danger!!

Sometimes, the date goes alright and I think, "Hmmm, should I give it another try? "  Bringing up sexual intimacy on the first date?  Automatic elimination.  If a man  tells me how 'beautiful, special and unique' I am, over and over again...I am annoyed.  I got it.  Is there anything else we can talk about, besides my amazing beauty?  Seriously.  If a date talks continually about himself and never asks me any questions, I am soooo not having a second date.  I actually asked one of those, if he had anything he wanted to ask me?  His response was "Nah, I already know everything about you".  Same guy actually asked me if I would write him a report and let him know in an email how I felt about the date.  GAWD!   I feel like I've heard it all and I've barely gotten started.  Kate said to me last week as we walked the dogs, "If you're feeling this way, imagine how I feel, I've been doing this my whole life..."  Soul stealing.

And things have changed in the world of dating these days.  You would think if you date within your own age parameters, especially if they were over the age of fifty, that a man would begin to evolve, learn from his previous relationships.  That The game would be unnecessary.  Oh no...that is the same.  I don't know what's worse really, the guy that likes the game, or the guy that wants a commitment right out of the gate.  Isn't there a happy medium?  There are textbooks written about The game.  The rules.  The do's and don'ts.  The secrets to landing your perfect man.  Puhlease.  It's a crapshoot at best.

I honestly believe, it's not about landing a man, it's about, what you can do to make it last if you find him.  If dating has done anything for me, it's shown me how very different men and women really think.  Coming out of a long term marriage, I have some very strict, non-negotiables.  One of them being, that, right now, as in, right now, I don't care how hard I fall in love with someone and vice versa...there is no way I'm sharing my space or giving up my space.  I fought too hard for it, and I'm not ready to give it up.  I don't care how lonely I am.  The man I give my heart to, will get that and work to earn my trust and know he doesn't need to control me or live with me to have my heart.  Then maybe, I will be ready to do that again someday. 

And speaking of control, one of the patterns I recognize I have to break, is allowing myself to be controlled.  I'm not talking about control in the sense of financial or telling me what to do.  I'm talking about the more subtle ways of control.  Emotional control.  Passive aggressive control.  These are the most dangerous types of men.  It's hard to detect at first.  My problem in the past, was always the fear of saying my truth, and worrying about the wrath to follow.  The consequences of being honest.   The silent treatment.  The "No, I'm not mad, because you said that, but I'm going to treat you like shit for 5 days as punishment..."  That kind of control is the kind I live in fear of repeating.  Therefore, if I think I get even a small whiff of it on a first date...I run like hell.  But the sad part of that, is I'm so afraid of it, so afraid I can't stand up to it yet, that I avoid a second date, just in case I am right.  But, I might not be right.  But then again, maybe I am.  See... not ready for relationship yet.

I don't want to bring the baggage of my past, to my next relationship.   I used to think of people's baggage in the form of children.  Baggage comes in many shapes and sizes.  Obviously, 28 years of marriage has had an impact.  It's not fair to my next relationship to simply expect that he will be like the man I was married to for so long.  He needs to have a clean slate.  This is the work I must do, in order to be ready.  I must think like a virgin.   

Almost every date I've gone on, the subject of relationship comes up.  In my limited experience of dating, I find it interesting that the men want to pin you down for that second date.  Second date is one more date closer to sex.  They aren't sure how many dates it will take, but they know how the online dating thing works.  They know I have options, and they are anxious to close the deal.  I'm already on to that.  It doesn't work.  I've gotten too strong and confident to let flattery go to my head.  Remember, I understand "why" my mom married too quickly, doesn't mean I will follow in her footsteps.  I may be new and a bit naive in the dating world, but I'm getting savvy, and I'm not anxious to repeat the mistakes of my past or my parent's.  

And, I realize, I have just gotten started.  I know I'm not divorced yet.  I know the two year point of any marker has not yet passed.  I also know that even If, all of a sudden, HE walked into my life, AND I recognized him to be The One, I could not, would not, even contemplate remarriage for several years.
If he loves me on the terms I have to have, if  he understands the scars that have formed over my wounds and shaped the topography of my thoughts and heart, if he wants the same things and all things are like synchronicity, then...he will wait.  He will know, that he already has me.  I can wait for that one.  I will wait.  In the meantime....another frog down. 

I could go with this subject for hours.  I have been cataloging my "adventures".  It's worth writing about.  It's worth the laugh.  I think my next blog might be part two.  Stay tuned.  In the meantime, I commence forth, weeding out the Mr. Wrong's, looking for Mr. I Can't Live Without, and maybe finding happiness with Mr. Wonderful Most of the Time.

It's good to be back and writing again.  I got my mojo back,  I just needed something to bitch about I guess.

Daddy Issues....

I haven't blogged for about a month.  I had my reasons for sure.  It wasn't laziness.  I feel as if I've been overflowing with thoughts I've needed to write.  So I've kept notes.  This blog today is one that I have felt was an  important process in my journey.

This is a complicated issue, but one that as I look around me, I see in so many women.  "Daddy Issues" start when we are very young and continue throughout our entire life.  My dad and I have struggled in our relationship.   I didn't know I had "Daddy Issues" until I got married.  Getting married changes everything.  The psychology of this is a lot of babble.  Freud would have a hay day and probably did with a topic like this.

Last year I read a book called "Getting the Love You Want".  I read it at my counselors behest.  She felt that it could save my marriage.  After reading it, I believe she was right.  IF I had wanted it.  The premise behind the book is that, as adults, we carry wounds from our childhood into our adult relationships, looking for a partner that closely resembles the primary caretaker in our life that inflicted those wounds.  The 'old brain' recognizes this resemblance and tells the 'new brain'...this man will heal those wounds.  He understands you.  He 'gets' you.  He will make it all better.  Several years ago, I would never have read this book, let alone understand the psychology behind it.  This past year, not only did I read it, I got it.  And now, weirdly enough, I am seeing how if I don't recognize this as truth, I will continue to pick partners I think will heal me.

The book goes on to say that we are already with our "perfect partner".  The problems in a relationship aren't about your partner ignoring your requests to empty the garbage every day  The problems are being understood, listened to, validated and empathized with. If the person that meant the most to us growing up hasn't healed the old wounds from the old brain, the new partner can, and will, if a formula of communication is followed. I think if I had read the book with my ex just 4 years ago, I believe we would still be together today.

I can't paraphrase this book, but as I look over what has been going on in my life, the relationship I had with my ex, and now the "new" and improved relationship with my dad, it rings hauntingly true.  Creepily so.

If the book is true, and I believe the theory is, I have seen it come back around full circle.  Last June, I went to a marriage seminar with my husband.  It was a last ditch effort to save the marriage.  There were approximately 13 couples participating in the session.  Throughout the weekend, we all participated in exercises in front of the group.  I was quiet and observant through most of these exercises.  It was painful to watch.  Years ago, I would have willingly gone before this group and participated.  This time, I didn't want to.  I was too angry.  Too closed.  Too hurt and too far gone.

My husband asked if I would participate with him in one that was a role playing exercise.  Reluctantly, I went forward.  As the counselor directed the exercise, my husband and I sat facing each other.  He took the role of my father and I took the role of me...going back to a moment when I was 16 years old.  The memory was real and painful.  The point of the exercise was to have my husband (my dad) "do the right thing" back in that moment when my dad did not.  When I realized how vulnerable this made me in front of strangers in a small setting, I was furious.  I couldn't hide the pain of that memory, I couldn't control the emotion in my voice and I was angry to be put in that position...again.  Going back to that time frame, I felt like it had just happened again and it was almost more than I could handle.

After completing the exercise, I sat there, barely able to talk, in complete disbelief that I had just ripped a huge scab off something I thought I would never go back to again.  The room was quiet, the counselor looks at me and gently asks..."How do you feel about that Tam?"  I looked at her with hatred in my eyes and said..."like it was a joke, because it will never happen.  My father will never say those things to me, he will never be able to admit he hurt me like that and...it was a fucking fantasy..."  Her words were quiet and gentle.."You're right Tam, he will never, ever say those things to you', He will never be able to do the right thing to heal that moment'...but your husband can."  I just stared at her in disbelief.  Right.  I knew it was over right then.  I had years of proof that my father couldn't do the right thing and years of history of the same with my husband.  I wish I could have believed in it then.

 Funny thing, life.  Just when you think one thing is true, something happens that proves that truth can be very subjective.  Once I was finally able to put some space between my ex, let go of the marriage and file for divorce, I could start to see the big picture of what took place in my life.  Again, this sounds like I am blaming my ex for my own weaknesses and immaturity and inabilities to accept my own responsibility and role in the failure of my marriage. I'm done blaming, but I'm not done thinking about it.  My husband was only being who he was.  Doing what he knew how at the time he was doing it. It wasn't always the right thing, but when have any of us ever done the right thing all the time?  It was no different than me.  Both of us had such deep wounds from our childhood that we put space between those who hurt us (our families) and systematicly expelled them from our life.  He kept his parents at arms length and I did the same.  We created our own bubble of the family circle and no one else was allowed in.  We did it to keep the enemy out.  We protected ourselves, our family.  We were never going to allow that hurt in our life ever again.

By doing this, we became an island.  Our "perfect" family against the world.  The trouble with this, is that by closing yourself off from the chaos of normal family interaction, you isolate yourself from your family.  You become unapproachable.  Untouchable.  My fence was so tall, that every time my dad tried to scale the wall, he would get snagged up on the barb wire and I would triumphantly and smugly, think "See, you bastard, you can't hurt me anymore.  You can't penetrate the armor."  My ex encouraged it.  The same way I encouraged his isolation from his family.  We were both guilty. 

My history with my dad showed me I couldn't trust him to say the right thing, do the right thing or help me heal by admitting his role of my disfunction.  We are all messed up in our own weird way.  We can lay the blame for our disfunction for the rest of our lives or we can accept that "it was what it was" and move on to forgiveness.  The thing I came out of that marriage weekend was exactly what the counselor said to me.  "He will never do the right thing..."  It was time for acceptance.  I could love my dad for what he could give, or resent him for what he was unable to do.  It was the beginning of healing.  I began to let go.  Instead of approaching every encounter with my dad with wariness and defensiveness, I began to look at him as being who he was.  His actions toward me during this divorce have been shockingly supportive, sympathetic and loving.  I was afraid to trust these actions.  I held on to my pride and refused his offers of help for months.  I held on to my sanity by a fragile thread and told everyone, including my dad, I was fine.

Now, with months of sadness behind me, days of optimistic enthusiasm ahead, I've been able to put things in order, back in the closet and getting rid of the crap that was holding me back from healing.

The sadness in this for me, is that it took so long.  It took the end of my marriage for my dad and I to heal our relationship.  It feels creepy.  Thinking that now that my husband is out of the picture, my dad and my path to fixing what was wrong is finally clear.  I'm sad that my husband and I couldn't see how much we were hurting each other by feeding the fires of hurt and pain in each others lives.

My dad came a week ago and stayed with me.  He and I have not had one-on-one time together like this in years.  I was wary.  I was dreading it.  Instead, what happened was so opposite of what I expected.    During my dad's visit, we had many talks over wine every night.  He let me cry.  He saw the pain that is still there and the grief I have over the death of this marriage.  Just because I was the one that wanted out, doesn't mean it hurts any less.  He cried with  me.   He loved me.  He told me how proud he was of me.  At 49 years old, it's embarrassing to admit that I wanted my daddy to tell me he was proud of me.  He told me that what I did; leaving my hometown, starting over, getting into college, connecting with a great group of friends, securing a job...all in 5 months, was not only something he was proud of, it was "damn impressive and BRAVE. "  My dad thought I was brave.  If only he knew how scared I've been....He did the right thing, he said the right things.  He began the healing process I've always needed.  Being able to start letting go of the past hurts felt like I'd lost 100 lbs.

There was a time when I hated calling my dad.  I would dread seeing his name on the caller ID.  I knew how many days passed before I made the obligatory phone call.  I would keep everything generic so as not to stir any hurt up.  My dad was as hurt as I was by the distance.  Now, I talk to my dad almost as much as I talk to my mom.  About every other day.  We still talk a lot about the divorce, but mostly, he wants to talk about my plan to go on.  My successes.   He is making it easier for me to see what I want from a partner.  What I don't want.

Life is short.  But it can also be long.  I take one day at a time.  I don't plan to far ahead, I don't think too far ahead.  I just live.  Sometimes I fail, but it's okay, because tomorrow I will have success.  I've noticed something about myself lately.  I hear myself complaining about something stupid and I stop and find the glass half full again.  I look for the positive.  I love more.  I am embracing.  Whatever comes my way, I can handle it.  I may have "Daddy Issues", but every other day, they get better.  Every day, I am better.  Happier.  If only these lessons had come sooner...But thank God, they are here now.