The holidays are quickly approaching and this year I'm just not very excited. It's not a reluctance to celebrate or anxiety about getting my Christmas gift shopping done on time. Instead, it's about the sad fact that my mother has stopped keeping Christmas; at least the kind of Christmas I remember or recognize. So this year I won't be going home.
When I was a child, Christmas was the most exciting time of the year. The only negative memory I have of the joyous season comes from the year I was 5 and in kindergarten. I made a plan with two girls in my class to exchange gifts. I got my mom to buy them both presents with the joy of knowing there would be two presents for me on the last day of school before Christmas break.
Unfortunately, the two girls, even at 5 years old knew a chump when they saw one. They bought gifts for each other, but nothing for me. Of course, that didn't keep them from taking my gift home. I was devastated, and walked home from school in tears, completely unconsolable for hours.
At home, Christmas was wonderful. Our livingroom would be so full that at least 2 or 3 days before Christmas it was almost impossible to enter the room. For days the house would smell of rum cake, pine, and a wide range of holiday treats, candles, and wonderful tasty items delivered from friends and family afar. While we were not rich, our family would save up to make an abundant season.
It hasn't been that way for a very long time. I cannot recall the last year there was a gift under the tree for me from my mom or any of the other people I go home to for the holidays. That doesn't stop me from going home with a bag full of gifts in tow. In the last 10 years, I have made peace with knowing that there would be no gifts in return. I've lobbied my mom to make the effort to no resolve. And once again I am tasting the disappointment.
So this year, I'm skipping Christmas. I'm keeping the holiday by purchasing gifts and sending cards, but going home is not on my radar. Since keeping Christmas isn't important to the family; this year I can't rustle up excitement for everyone. Maybe a quiet, lonely Christmas this year will make a disappointing Christmas more palatable next year.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Wednesday, October 6, 2010
I'm No Demi!
If God has a sense of humor; there's a good chance that I am now and will forever be his favorite punch line.
A couple of weeks ago I scolded myself for worrying so much about losing my young man whom I care a great deal for to someone else instead of enjoying my friendship with him. I finally made a deal with myself to stop worrying, and stressing, and to simply enjoy the ride. I finally realized that I missed out on enjoying the moment because I was living outside of it. Turns out that people like me are never wrong to worry.
I asked him to attend a co-worker's wedding, and he happily agreed. I fully admit that I have been looking forward to the event. Part of me really hoped that it would be a turning point for us, and bring us closer, maybe to the point of making it real. Last night I fell asleep earlier than usual; before midnight. When I woke up at 3:30am there was a text on my phone from him. He was explaining that people had been asking if we were dating and that he was ending things between us; and we should only be friends. He took my sleeping silence to mean I was angry. When I finally replied it was too late and he never responded.
I am numb. There will be no tears, I won't allow it. It's never a good time to find out that someone you care about is ashamed of you. It is however time to admit that I've been a fool. I actually believed that he cared about me and we might have a future. I allowed myself to hope that this time it could work out. I wasn't just a little wrong.
I can't blame anyone but myself. I've suspected for some time that he was ambivalent about things. I chalked it up to simple worry; believing that he cared too. I convinced myself that I was brave at my age for letting someone his age know that I was attracted to him. When he showed interest, I imagined he wanted something real with me. Instead, almost two years later, I've moved backwards. No personal conversation or phone call; but a simple, unimportant, uninventful text message. A simplistic ending to a two year foray into an alternate reality.
I used to think it would be ok to have my heart broken a million times because it meant that you always got over it and healed., and were better in the end. As Hemingway said, "Isn't it pretty to think so."
A couple of weeks ago I scolded myself for worrying so much about losing my young man whom I care a great deal for to someone else instead of enjoying my friendship with him. I finally made a deal with myself to stop worrying, and stressing, and to simply enjoy the ride. I finally realized that I missed out on enjoying the moment because I was living outside of it. Turns out that people like me are never wrong to worry.
I asked him to attend a co-worker's wedding, and he happily agreed. I fully admit that I have been looking forward to the event. Part of me really hoped that it would be a turning point for us, and bring us closer, maybe to the point of making it real. Last night I fell asleep earlier than usual; before midnight. When I woke up at 3:30am there was a text on my phone from him. He was explaining that people had been asking if we were dating and that he was ending things between us; and we should only be friends. He took my sleeping silence to mean I was angry. When I finally replied it was too late and he never responded.
I am numb. There will be no tears, I won't allow it. It's never a good time to find out that someone you care about is ashamed of you. It is however time to admit that I've been a fool. I actually believed that he cared about me and we might have a future. I allowed myself to hope that this time it could work out. I wasn't just a little wrong.
I can't blame anyone but myself. I've suspected for some time that he was ambivalent about things. I chalked it up to simple worry; believing that he cared too. I convinced myself that I was brave at my age for letting someone his age know that I was attracted to him. When he showed interest, I imagined he wanted something real with me. Instead, almost two years later, I've moved backwards. No personal conversation or phone call; but a simple, unimportant, uninventful text message. A simplistic ending to a two year foray into an alternate reality.
I used to think it would be ok to have my heart broken a million times because it meant that you always got over it and healed., and were better in the end. As Hemingway said, "Isn't it pretty to think so."
Thursday, September 23, 2010
Maybe We’re All Just Emotional Teenagers at Heart
I’m somewhat at a loss today. Last evening upon arriving home I noticed cryptic messages about a classmate of mine. From what I gathered in the carefully chosen words and the messages to “call me, I can’t talk about it on facebook" she died suddenly – leaving friends and family stunned and amazingly saddened.
I finally reached out to another friend who was with me the last time I saw “R” and she informed me that she did indeed die suddenly – due to committing suicide. She followed it up by telling me that the cause was a relationship with a guy.
The last time I spoke to her was the weekend of our 20 year high school reunion. We stood outside a restaurant in the rain after lunch just chatting. She laughed the loudest, and talked the fastest. She was her usual wild and upbeat self, planning outings and happily being in the middle of the event.
I’ve always believed that the person laughing the loudest, and putting themselves in the middle of the action is most often the most depressed and lonely person in the room; and once again I am proven right. The majority of my shock is reserved for the fact that she actually did it, and that at our age I thought we were past this. I thought that after the age of 30, we were no longer children, and no longer prone to the mental mood swings that plagued us in our teen and twenties; leaving us to believe that we would die without them.
Yet here I sit on a Thursday morning, mourning a childhood friend who was so sad and depressed that she regularly hid it behind wide smiles, loud laughter, and did such a good job that nobody saw what was going on behind the funky style and the over exuberance. Yes, I am stunned, because today, we’re all once again emotional teenagers at heart.
I finally reached out to another friend who was with me the last time I saw “R” and she informed me that she did indeed die suddenly – due to committing suicide. She followed it up by telling me that the cause was a relationship with a guy.
The last time I spoke to her was the weekend of our 20 year high school reunion. We stood outside a restaurant in the rain after lunch just chatting. She laughed the loudest, and talked the fastest. She was her usual wild and upbeat self, planning outings and happily being in the middle of the event.
I’ve always believed that the person laughing the loudest, and putting themselves in the middle of the action is most often the most depressed and lonely person in the room; and once again I am proven right. The majority of my shock is reserved for the fact that she actually did it, and that at our age I thought we were past this. I thought that after the age of 30, we were no longer children, and no longer prone to the mental mood swings that plagued us in our teen and twenties; leaving us to believe that we would die without them.
Yet here I sit on a Thursday morning, mourning a childhood friend who was so sad and depressed that she regularly hid it behind wide smiles, loud laughter, and did such a good job that nobody saw what was going on behind the funky style and the over exuberance. Yes, I am stunned, because today, we’re all once again emotional teenagers at heart.
Sunday, August 22, 2010
30-Something; The New Middle Age!
What a strange age this is to be single. I sometimes feel as though I live a life that is the exact opposite of what it should be. Most of my contemporaries are married, career driven parents with mostly quiet, settled lives. I am anything but that. Standing in a bar the other night with several 20-something friends, I couldn't help but be reminded of the arc my life has taken. There are things I know that my younger single friends have yet to learn; but may never actually learn because they are too busy feeling sorry for themselves for the things they assume they should have, but don't.
I'm old enough to date 50 year olds; without them being considered dirty old men and young enough to date 25 year olds, without attracting attention. I'm old enough to see many of the guys I once dated get divorced, lose their hair, look old, and thank God I wasn't the one they married.
I'm young enough to still dream about a traditional future with the husband, the perfect house, and the perfect life, but old enough to know better than to believe it could happen. Young enough to pass for 20-something, sometimes, but old enough to be scared to death and dreading that 40th birthday alone.
I'm young enough to daydream about having that 25 year old's baby, while old enough to no longer fantasize about the changes a baby brings. Young enough to wish I had more in my life, but old enough to not be jealous or envious of what I thought I wanted because others had it. Especially now that I realize those things didn't make them any happier than I am now.
30-something is a blessing and curse, that perfect age when you can still feel your youth, but are forced to accept the fact that it's fleeting. If youth is wasted on the young, 30-something is that age when you rush like hell to get the most out of how much of it is left. The middle ages, long before you become middle aged.
I'm old enough to date 50 year olds; without them being considered dirty old men and young enough to date 25 year olds, without attracting attention. I'm old enough to see many of the guys I once dated get divorced, lose their hair, look old, and thank God I wasn't the one they married.
I'm young enough to still dream about a traditional future with the husband, the perfect house, and the perfect life, but old enough to know better than to believe it could happen. Young enough to pass for 20-something, sometimes, but old enough to be scared to death and dreading that 40th birthday alone.
I'm young enough to daydream about having that 25 year old's baby, while old enough to no longer fantasize about the changes a baby brings. Young enough to wish I had more in my life, but old enough to not be jealous or envious of what I thought I wanted because others had it. Especially now that I realize those things didn't make them any happier than I am now.
30-something is a blessing and curse, that perfect age when you can still feel your youth, but are forced to accept the fact that it's fleeting. If youth is wasted on the young, 30-something is that age when you rush like hell to get the most out of how much of it is left. The middle ages, long before you become middle aged.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Something to Look Forward To
When all else fails, grow something; so you always have something to look forward to.
I haven't been in a good mood lately. Ever so often you come to moments in your life when you feel as though you are spending more time in the rain than in the sunshine. The clouds are over my head and I feel as though they are following me as I try to step out from under them. I am feeling my age, and I don't like it.
I stood in my makeshift garden this morning pruning and watering and taking the time to enjoy how well most of my plants are growing. Each passing day brings more to see and look forward to. But with each passing day of my own growth, I've been feeling a bit old. I had dinner and drinks with some friends recently and I felt out of place. Partially because I felt as though I was being left out of the conversation for a great part of the evening, but also because I would have preferred to be anywhere else with just the someone special I care about, than hanging at the bar with the group.
It's the truth that growing older isn't something that most people look forward to past the age of 21 or maybe 25. Up until that point, getting older has positive perks. We go from looking forward to turning double digits, and entering our teens, to turning 18 with the right to vote to gaining permission to drink alcohol or get to free and clear recognition of being an adult. It occurred to me that a few years ago that I am closer to 50 than 20; and that stings. Don't get me wrong, at the age of 38, I feel more beautiful and generally attractive than I ever felt in my teens and twenties. In fact, I feel more in control of my attractiveness and I love and appreciate my body more than ever before, with a level of confidence that even surprises me sometimes.
With that said, ever so often I can't help but feel old. People tell me all the time that I don't look my age, but I see the years looking back at me in the mirror and it troubles me. I am wildly attracted to a much younger man. He is handsome, smart, fun to be with and every moment I spend with him is filled with doubt. Waking up next to him causes me to ask myself what he really sees when he looks at me. My friends constantly remind me that getting emotionally involved with him would be a mistake because it can't go anywhere, and for him, it's just fun. They see what I fear; the whole world of opportunities lays before him, while choices in my life grow smaller. He has decades before the necessity to settle down occurs while the window on my reproductive life has slowly begun to close.
That simple measure of being able to bear children proves womanhood in a way no other thing can; and after 26 years, sometime within the next decade that ability with pass from my hands; and I am afraid. I'm afraid of what that means. It doesn't bother me that I don't have children now, but I don't now doubt my ability to do so. Right now, I am woman, in every way that counts and matters to the rest of the world, but only for right now.
They say you should grow something so you always have something to look forward to. Each spring we watch as plants renew and rebirth themselves, while each summer we watch as they bear their fruit. Each day there is something new and exciting to look forward to. I'm struggling to find something to look forward to in my own growing process. If this is the most beautiful time in my life, what comes next? How do you find the willingness to be curious about the next step without being afraid to embrace it?
I haven't been in a good mood lately. Ever so often you come to moments in your life when you feel as though you are spending more time in the rain than in the sunshine. The clouds are over my head and I feel as though they are following me as I try to step out from under them. I am feeling my age, and I don't like it.
I stood in my makeshift garden this morning pruning and watering and taking the time to enjoy how well most of my plants are growing. Each passing day brings more to see and look forward to. But with each passing day of my own growth, I've been feeling a bit old. I had dinner and drinks with some friends recently and I felt out of place. Partially because I felt as though I was being left out of the conversation for a great part of the evening, but also because I would have preferred to be anywhere else with just the someone special I care about, than hanging at the bar with the group.
It's the truth that growing older isn't something that most people look forward to past the age of 21 or maybe 25. Up until that point, getting older has positive perks. We go from looking forward to turning double digits, and entering our teens, to turning 18 with the right to vote to gaining permission to drink alcohol or get to free and clear recognition of being an adult. It occurred to me that a few years ago that I am closer to 50 than 20; and that stings. Don't get me wrong, at the age of 38, I feel more beautiful and generally attractive than I ever felt in my teens and twenties. In fact, I feel more in control of my attractiveness and I love and appreciate my body more than ever before, with a level of confidence that even surprises me sometimes.
With that said, ever so often I can't help but feel old. People tell me all the time that I don't look my age, but I see the years looking back at me in the mirror and it troubles me. I am wildly attracted to a much younger man. He is handsome, smart, fun to be with and every moment I spend with him is filled with doubt. Waking up next to him causes me to ask myself what he really sees when he looks at me. My friends constantly remind me that getting emotionally involved with him would be a mistake because it can't go anywhere, and for him, it's just fun. They see what I fear; the whole world of opportunities lays before him, while choices in my life grow smaller. He has decades before the necessity to settle down occurs while the window on my reproductive life has slowly begun to close.
That simple measure of being able to bear children proves womanhood in a way no other thing can; and after 26 years, sometime within the next decade that ability with pass from my hands; and I am afraid. I'm afraid of what that means. It doesn't bother me that I don't have children now, but I don't now doubt my ability to do so. Right now, I am woman, in every way that counts and matters to the rest of the world, but only for right now.
They say you should grow something so you always have something to look forward to. Each spring we watch as plants renew and rebirth themselves, while each summer we watch as they bear their fruit. Each day there is something new and exciting to look forward to. I'm struggling to find something to look forward to in my own growing process. If this is the most beautiful time in my life, what comes next? How do you find the willingness to be curious about the next step without being afraid to embrace it?
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Father's Day Lessons on Losing
Yesterday, my half-sister's Facebook status update said she was so happy she had a father who was always there for his daughter when she needed him; and thanked him for being her Super-Man.
Most of the women I know love their daddies, with a love that rings of caring, trust, but most of all presence. For them, he's the man who provided for them, loved their mother, and sometimes softened the blows of an often harsh world. I cannot share their view.
For me, Father's Day is a ticking time bomb. It is a day that reminds me of loss; that my father chose not to be a part of my life. Seeing my half-sister's update angered me. It angered me because even at 38 years old there's that child inside of me that is jealous. A girl who fiercely argued when I told people that I had a father, but I just didn't know where he was; the same girl who smiled politely when friends excitedly introduced their fathers and I realized that I was the only one who didn't really have one.
It was what brought me to a moment of clarity; an epiphany. I was sick, laying in a hospital bed, and it occurred to me that if I died my father wouldn't know, and he'd hear it from someone in a passing conversation. So I decided I no longer wanted to need a father. Wanting a father who ignored my existence just made me feel worse than not having one. Even now when I'm attracted to a guy, I jump right in, but wonder how long it'll be before he grows tired or restless of me and leaves.
Right now, I'm losing someone that I care very much for. He's slowly slipping out of my life and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't want to be sad and I was sure I was finally old enough not to care. I was wrong. The child in me is peeking out, and she's feeling something that's become the norm, loss.
I truly believe we have to learn how to lose. I feel like a loser; because my father taught me how. He confirmed that some girls get abandoned. He proved that some men don't stay, and he reminds me every Father's Day that some women simply fade into the background, and cease to matter to the "men in their lives."
So this Father's Day, a girl I barely know is telling the world about an amazing father that I only know as a cheater who abandoned me. And another woman has become the focus of attention of the man I care for. The emotional toll makes me feel like I'm wearing a sign that says "Father Knows Best & I LOSE!!!"
Most of the women I know love their daddies, with a love that rings of caring, trust, but most of all presence. For them, he's the man who provided for them, loved their mother, and sometimes softened the blows of an often harsh world. I cannot share their view.
For me, Father's Day is a ticking time bomb. It is a day that reminds me of loss; that my father chose not to be a part of my life. Seeing my half-sister's update angered me. It angered me because even at 38 years old there's that child inside of me that is jealous. A girl who fiercely argued when I told people that I had a father, but I just didn't know where he was; the same girl who smiled politely when friends excitedly introduced their fathers and I realized that I was the only one who didn't really have one.
It was what brought me to a moment of clarity; an epiphany. I was sick, laying in a hospital bed, and it occurred to me that if I died my father wouldn't know, and he'd hear it from someone in a passing conversation. So I decided I no longer wanted to need a father. Wanting a father who ignored my existence just made me feel worse than not having one. Even now when I'm attracted to a guy, I jump right in, but wonder how long it'll be before he grows tired or restless of me and leaves.
Right now, I'm losing someone that I care very much for. He's slowly slipping out of my life and there's nothing I can do about it. I don't want to be sad and I was sure I was finally old enough not to care. I was wrong. The child in me is peeking out, and she's feeling something that's become the norm, loss.
I truly believe we have to learn how to lose. I feel like a loser; because my father taught me how. He confirmed that some girls get abandoned. He proved that some men don't stay, and he reminds me every Father's Day that some women simply fade into the background, and cease to matter to the "men in their lives."
So this Father's Day, a girl I barely know is telling the world about an amazing father that I only know as a cheater who abandoned me. And another woman has become the focus of attention of the man I care for. The emotional toll makes me feel like I'm wearing a sign that says "Father Knows Best & I LOSE!!!"
Friday, May 14, 2010
Laws of Attraction
My junior year in high school I met one of the nicest guys in the world. He was cute, a whiz at math, and I was happy to get his help with homework after school. After getting to know him, I began to really like him, and I hoped he would consider taking me to his senior prom.
One afternoon as I was getting dressed for a basketball game with my fellow cheering squad members I heard a girl "B", a senior, ask about him. Another girl mentioned that he was a friend of mine. "B" smiled and promised her friend that she would be getting to know him and that he would be her date for the prom.
I smiled to myself because as far as I was concerned, next to me she didn't have a chance. I thought I was cuter, thinner, and on top of everything else; I was already his friend. I never told him I liked him, but I was confident that she was no competition; and he was going to ask me to his prom.
Weeks later I quietly swallowed my pride and publicly stifled my hatred for that girl. In a very short time she managed to get to know him, start dating him, and announced him as her prom date. I was sure that every time she mentioned him in front of me she was taunting me, and it worked. My 16 year old ego was bruised. I despised her and her ability to get near him.
I learned a serious lesson from this incident. When it comes to love, nothing is guaranteed. When it comes to attraction, assume nothing. But most of all, it taught me never to underestimate any other woman; no matter who she is or what she looks like; especially if she's determined to have something. Attraction and chemistry, like love are blind.
As an adult, I carry that lesson with me every day. A friend recently told me not to worry that another woman may be expressing interest in someone that I care for. I wish I could easily believe him, but I know better.
People find each other every day who surprise us. Plain girls marry flashy guys and gorgeous woman date regular guys to the shock of many. Attraction is chemistry; sometimes with no rhyme or reason required. So no matter how much assurance my friend offers, I can't help but feel uneasy. They say you can't fight city hall, try fighting attraction.
One afternoon as I was getting dressed for a basketball game with my fellow cheering squad members I heard a girl "B", a senior, ask about him. Another girl mentioned that he was a friend of mine. "B" smiled and promised her friend that she would be getting to know him and that he would be her date for the prom.
I smiled to myself because as far as I was concerned, next to me she didn't have a chance. I thought I was cuter, thinner, and on top of everything else; I was already his friend. I never told him I liked him, but I was confident that she was no competition; and he was going to ask me to his prom.
Weeks later I quietly swallowed my pride and publicly stifled my hatred for that girl. In a very short time she managed to get to know him, start dating him, and announced him as her prom date. I was sure that every time she mentioned him in front of me she was taunting me, and it worked. My 16 year old ego was bruised. I despised her and her ability to get near him.
I learned a serious lesson from this incident. When it comes to love, nothing is guaranteed. When it comes to attraction, assume nothing. But most of all, it taught me never to underestimate any other woman; no matter who she is or what she looks like; especially if she's determined to have something. Attraction and chemistry, like love are blind.
As an adult, I carry that lesson with me every day. A friend recently told me not to worry that another woman may be expressing interest in someone that I care for. I wish I could easily believe him, but I know better.
People find each other every day who surprise us. Plain girls marry flashy guys and gorgeous woman date regular guys to the shock of many. Attraction is chemistry; sometimes with no rhyme or reason required. So no matter how much assurance my friend offers, I can't help but feel uneasy. They say you can't fight city hall, try fighting attraction.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
In the Pit of My Stomach
In the pit of my stomach lies a thing I know without knowing, and a feeling that I can't describe.
There is someone that I care about; that I've cared about for some time, but I'm scared to admit that I worry the feeling isn't mutual. Truth be told, I'm not sure how much I feel for him, but I know I care enough to be a little jealous when he shows interest in someone else.
I'm at a loss because just last month I learned that someone I've always cared for moved on. I never asked him the questions that I should have; and I wasted a lot of time wishing for someone who could never see me for all that I am.
Now I know that I need to ask the hard question and put on my big girl pants and deal with the answer. I'm not sure I'm holding on to my new friend because I want more; even though I suspect he won't give it to me, or because I'm afraid there won't be anything else; and something is better than nothing. While I've made peace with my single situation, I'm saddened by the thought of being completely alone again.
There's something I suspect in the pit of my stomach; a feeling that I can't fully describe. It's a question hanging in the air, and an answer I suspect I already have.
There is someone that I care about; that I've cared about for some time, but I'm scared to admit that I worry the feeling isn't mutual. Truth be told, I'm not sure how much I feel for him, but I know I care enough to be a little jealous when he shows interest in someone else.
I'm at a loss because just last month I learned that someone I've always cared for moved on. I never asked him the questions that I should have; and I wasted a lot of time wishing for someone who could never see me for all that I am.
Now I know that I need to ask the hard question and put on my big girl pants and deal with the answer. I'm not sure I'm holding on to my new friend because I want more; even though I suspect he won't give it to me, or because I'm afraid there won't be anything else; and something is better than nothing. While I've made peace with my single situation, I'm saddened by the thought of being completely alone again.
There's something I suspect in the pit of my stomach; a feeling that I can't fully describe. It's a question hanging in the air, and an answer I suspect I already have.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Through the Looking Glass
My 25 year old cousin is getting married. As luck, and God, and good grace should have it, she has met the one, and she is the one for him. In the last couple of weeks we have scanned wedding magazines, examined venues, and finally picked the all important wedding dress. It is an unspeakable joy to share in this amazing time in her life; but a burden as well.
I can't help but think of Alice in Wonderland standing in the mirror looking in and finding out that she could actually step inside. In real life the looking glass is invisible and stepping in is more in line with being a witness. I am a witness, not a participant. As time goes by I am the engagement party host, the wedding guest, the pseudo aunt to the new baby. I am the girl on the side of the picture, peeking in just before the flash.
Somehow, the life I daydreamed about for the last three decades has passed me by. The next generation in the family has started living, loving and procreating, while I've simply existed.
When I was young, I was the good girl. I listened to my mother, I tried to keep to a moral code, I didn't push the envelope, and truly believed that if I followed the rules I would be rewarded with the life that comes with all of the accouterments of proper living. As it turns out, I was wrong. Many of the girls who broke the rules are now married with children.
It has become my lot in life to stand on the other side looking in. As time has passed on I find myself spreading congratulations when someone gets engaged, hunting gifts when someone gets married, picking out onesies and baby toys for the new sweet little person who has entered this world. Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that so many people with joyous occasions are in my life and that I am allowed to share in their magnificent wealth of love and joy. But ever so often when the world slows enough for me to sit back, and the quiet is enough for me to hear my own thoughts, I am left to wonder about looking at the pictures instead of being in them.
I can't help but think of Alice in Wonderland standing in the mirror looking in and finding out that she could actually step inside. In real life the looking glass is invisible and stepping in is more in line with being a witness. I am a witness, not a participant. As time goes by I am the engagement party host, the wedding guest, the pseudo aunt to the new baby. I am the girl on the side of the picture, peeking in just before the flash.
Somehow, the life I daydreamed about for the last three decades has passed me by. The next generation in the family has started living, loving and procreating, while I've simply existed.
When I was young, I was the good girl. I listened to my mother, I tried to keep to a moral code, I didn't push the envelope, and truly believed that if I followed the rules I would be rewarded with the life that comes with all of the accouterments of proper living. As it turns out, I was wrong. Many of the girls who broke the rules are now married with children.
It has become my lot in life to stand on the other side looking in. As time has passed on I find myself spreading congratulations when someone gets engaged, hunting gifts when someone gets married, picking out onesies and baby toys for the new sweet little person who has entered this world. Don't get me wrong, I love the fact that so many people with joyous occasions are in my life and that I am allowed to share in their magnificent wealth of love and joy. But ever so often when the world slows enough for me to sit back, and the quiet is enough for me to hear my own thoughts, I am left to wonder about looking at the pictures instead of being in them.
Actually, I met Someone
When I was six years old I met the boy by which every boy, now man would be judged against. He made my heart skip and my breath catch; and nothing less than that would be acceptable. We grew up across the street from each other in different worlds, but that never mattered to me.
An optimist by nature I never allowed myself to believe that those different worlds would change the outcome of my ever hoped for happy ending. We lost touch for a decade and a half, but I was later compelled to find him again. I expected to find him with a perfectly packaged life and when I didn't I must admit that I was hopeful again. For four years and four months I've been his friend, his lover, his most ardent supporter sitting silently in the background waiting for my turn. Somehow, I always believed that no matter who came and went that one day my chance would come.
I envisioned the day when he would finally look up and "see" me. See my beauty, inside and out, see my heart, open and willing, see my truth, that even at 80 or 100 years old, to me he would always be the sweetest and most beautiful boy in the world. Through every disappointment, let down, or momentary struggle I believed in that happy ending. Until. . .
I believed until those four words came across my screen. "Actually, I met someone." I've grown to know him, so I know it's serious. I've taken stock of the man he is and am forced to admit he's finally ready to love again, and he will love someone else. It isn't enough to admit that I am vacant of the proper words to fully express what I feel. I told him I was glad for him while my heart sank, and the still present lump appeared in my throat. When I told a close friend that he'd met someone and she might be the one, she replied, "SO" and said that she didn't see why it mattered.
My head knows that if she turns out to be the "one" I should be happy for him. My heart isn't so quick to follow suit. Being happy for him would mean rejoicing in the one thing I could never hope for, him being with someone else. . . Forever. Being a good person would mean wishing him well and moving on, but I might not be that good a person. I want to be, but it's harder than I could ever have imagined.
Maybe it's the fact that the older we get, our pool of choices shrinks as well. Maybe it's because to hope means that you can't really leave yourself room for doubt, because doubt is the enemy, doubt is defeat; so I kept hoping. For the last four days the sun has been shining and the temperature has been beautifully warm; but for me it's a little darker, and a little colder. That day that I never allowed myself to believe would come may be fast approaching, and while I've always believed in the happy ending, I'm finding it a bit difficult to throw a party for this one.
I promised myself that one day I would be happy for him. . . eventually. I'm not sure how long that would take, after all, who ever hoped for their perfect happy ending, for someone else.
An optimist by nature I never allowed myself to believe that those different worlds would change the outcome of my ever hoped for happy ending. We lost touch for a decade and a half, but I was later compelled to find him again. I expected to find him with a perfectly packaged life and when I didn't I must admit that I was hopeful again. For four years and four months I've been his friend, his lover, his most ardent supporter sitting silently in the background waiting for my turn. Somehow, I always believed that no matter who came and went that one day my chance would come.
I envisioned the day when he would finally look up and "see" me. See my beauty, inside and out, see my heart, open and willing, see my truth, that even at 80 or 100 years old, to me he would always be the sweetest and most beautiful boy in the world. Through every disappointment, let down, or momentary struggle I believed in that happy ending. Until. . .
I believed until those four words came across my screen. "Actually, I met someone." I've grown to know him, so I know it's serious. I've taken stock of the man he is and am forced to admit he's finally ready to love again, and he will love someone else. It isn't enough to admit that I am vacant of the proper words to fully express what I feel. I told him I was glad for him while my heart sank, and the still present lump appeared in my throat. When I told a close friend that he'd met someone and she might be the one, she replied, "SO" and said that she didn't see why it mattered.
My head knows that if she turns out to be the "one" I should be happy for him. My heart isn't so quick to follow suit. Being happy for him would mean rejoicing in the one thing I could never hope for, him being with someone else. . . Forever. Being a good person would mean wishing him well and moving on, but I might not be that good a person. I want to be, but it's harder than I could ever have imagined.
Maybe it's the fact that the older we get, our pool of choices shrinks as well. Maybe it's because to hope means that you can't really leave yourself room for doubt, because doubt is the enemy, doubt is defeat; so I kept hoping. For the last four days the sun has been shining and the temperature has been beautifully warm; but for me it's a little darker, and a little colder. That day that I never allowed myself to believe would come may be fast approaching, and while I've always believed in the happy ending, I'm finding it a bit difficult to throw a party for this one.
I promised myself that one day I would be happy for him. . . eventually. I'm not sure how long that would take, after all, who ever hoped for their perfect happy ending, for someone else.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Not Quite the Same Sweet Boy
One night when I was 20 years old, my boyfriend drove away from my house into a snow-filled night on his way to the home of his new girlfriend. I remember looking out the window after him, tears falling from my eyes as Prince's "Diamonds & Pearls" played on the radio in my bedroom. It was years before that song and "Lonely Heart" by Boys II Men could play without making me think of him. I'd be a liar if I didn't admit that it took me quite a while to get over that heartbreak. No young lady wants to lose her boyfriend to a woman considered prettier and more exciting.
I recently got back in touch with my first college boyfriend after more than 15 years. In the past 15 years he's spent 10 years in the military, and eventually married the girl he met and began dating while he was still dating me. So 15 plus years later I can't help but have strange feelings upon hearing that she cheated on him and wants to end the marriage leaving him devastated.
I'm sad for him because I once loved him during a very vulnerable time of my life. I'm sad for him because the man he is now seems so sad and broken, missing the smile and charm I remember. I'm sad for him because I wouldn't wish the pain he's going through on anyone.
As we sat one day talking and sharing a meal, I noticed that his eyes were focused primarily on his plate; refusing to look up. He later told me that he was a bit ashamed of being a husband whose wife was so unhappy that she cheated on him. I think about the fact that he married the girlfriend that came after me. I wonder, would I have been a forever wife? Would I have been happy? Would we have had the children they didn't?
There's something about an old boyfriend that left you behind. Years ago when he broke my heart I wished that he could feel the way I felt and hurt the way I hurt. Sadly that day has come, and I can't help but note that it didn't make the world a brighter place or make my life better. My mother always says that people who hurt us get what's coming to them and even though we might not see it, we'll hear or know it happened.
Words and wishes have powers, and today I'm left to wish that a wish made by hurt young woman on a snowy night didn't come true after all.
I recently got back in touch with my first college boyfriend after more than 15 years. In the past 15 years he's spent 10 years in the military, and eventually married the girl he met and began dating while he was still dating me. So 15 plus years later I can't help but have strange feelings upon hearing that she cheated on him and wants to end the marriage leaving him devastated.
I'm sad for him because I once loved him during a very vulnerable time of my life. I'm sad for him because the man he is now seems so sad and broken, missing the smile and charm I remember. I'm sad for him because I wouldn't wish the pain he's going through on anyone.
As we sat one day talking and sharing a meal, I noticed that his eyes were focused primarily on his plate; refusing to look up. He later told me that he was a bit ashamed of being a husband whose wife was so unhappy that she cheated on him. I think about the fact that he married the girlfriend that came after me. I wonder, would I have been a forever wife? Would I have been happy? Would we have had the children they didn't?
There's something about an old boyfriend that left you behind. Years ago when he broke my heart I wished that he could feel the way I felt and hurt the way I hurt. Sadly that day has come, and I can't help but note that it didn't make the world a brighter place or make my life better. My mother always says that people who hurt us get what's coming to them and even though we might not see it, we'll hear or know it happened.
Words and wishes have powers, and today I'm left to wish that a wish made by hurt young woman on a snowy night didn't come true after all.
Monday, January 25, 2010
Still Searching for My First Great Love
My 6 year old niece makes a point of giving her father hugs and kisses with a frequency usually reserved for young, new loves. It makes sense since this love is her first of many, and the one that will teach her about loving and being loved.
At 37 years old facing being 40, and still single, I am amazed if not a little jealous. Not for my niece's affections, but because I never had that relationship with my own father. I usually answer questions about him with a simple retort that we no longer speak; and I rarely mention that I have half-siblings.
My half sister sent me a friend request on Facebook right before the holidays. I allowed the request to sit dormant as I contemplated what it would mean to be in contact with the woman that my father lovingly raised when he walked away from my life. Accepting my half-sister's friend request leaves me wondering about the what ifs in my own life.
I look around me and I can't help but notice that the majority of my married friends were raised in two parent homes or with very involved fathers. I heard a comedian say that he tells his daughter that she'll know real love when she meets a man who loves her as much as her daddy does.
If our fathers are our first great loves, what happens if we never have that "first" great love affair, and how do we know know real love if daddy didn't show it.
At 37 years old facing being 40, and still single, I am amazed if not a little jealous. Not for my niece's affections, but because I never had that relationship with my own father. I usually answer questions about him with a simple retort that we no longer speak; and I rarely mention that I have half-siblings.
My half sister sent me a friend request on Facebook right before the holidays. I allowed the request to sit dormant as I contemplated what it would mean to be in contact with the woman that my father lovingly raised when he walked away from my life. Accepting my half-sister's friend request leaves me wondering about the what ifs in my own life.
I look around me and I can't help but notice that the majority of my married friends were raised in two parent homes or with very involved fathers. I heard a comedian say that he tells his daughter that she'll know real love when she meets a man who loves her as much as her daddy does.
If our fathers are our first great loves, what happens if we never have that "first" great love affair, and how do we know know real love if daddy didn't show it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)