What do these hands say to you? Hold that thought.
They say we should dance like nobody's looking and love like you've never been hurt. Well, my dancing is just fine but ... it's two weeks to the day since I packed my shit and came home to sort it all out and lick my wounds.
Color it sorted. On the bright side you learn a lot about yourself when you try on a new relationship after a long time alone.
I had given up on match.com. The only man I'd met in the past year who seemed APPROPRIATE and fun and spiritual was visiting Fort Myers Beach from SEDONA. I figured "if I have to relocate for the real thing, will do."
So I had changed my match range to 3,000 miles thinking nobody will notice.
Someone noticed. A local sent a sweet email that concluded with "and I'm within 3,000 miles." I laughed out loud. My sense of humor - EXCELLENT. And the happy, relaxed smile in his photos took my breath away.
The little voice in my head that said "but he looks a little drunk or buzzed" ... I shoved that aside because he was absolutely dreamy. I told myself to buy the marketing - this was obviously a relaxed, happy man.
I wrote back "how cute are you!!!"
And the wheels started turning - despite the fact that part of me didn't want to try again. I didn't WANT to love like I'd never been hurt.
We met for a Starbucks coffee that lasted through dinner at Outback. We ate outside. The night was cold, but he was warm. Conversation was great, his eyes were great. He was so tall. So handsome.
Then he caught a cold that lasted three weeks. We couldn't kiss or hug, he was afraid I'd get it. We watched TV and hung out. When I finally got a hug, I thought I would die of happiness. Then I caught his bug, of course.
We spent a few more weeks with him attaching, detaching, sizing things up. Then we took the plunge and did something I still wonder about. I hated to leave him and he hated to see me go. He didn't just give me a drawer - he cleaned out half of his LARGE closet AND a chest of drawers.
I was blown away by the leap of faith. I was welcome in his home. My dogs were welcome to bond with his dogs. We were a family ... for a while. It was wonderful. Mostly.
He lives exactly one block from my ex-BF's Florida home. That is one block from the place where I was yelled at, criticized, ridiculed, humiliated in front of friends. That is the lawn where the ex threw my possessions onto the grass and ordered me out the night before I was supposed to start a new job.
I had been screamed at in the driveway of the nearby Subway for not knowing what he wanted on his sandwich. I had been yelled at, roared at on nearby crossroads for my driving - he had jumped out of the car to storm home in a rage. There were old wounds at every turn.
The ex had missed a lot of what happened because he was in blackouts. His moods flipped like letters on Jeopardy.
I didn't realize the scars hadn't healed completely. I discovered to my horror - three years later - that I was still a beaten dog, braced for blows that never came. This was my first "real" relationship since that time.
It took a while to calm down and relax. But I never relaxed completely. Something wasn't quite right.
Dreamy had his own scars and there were a lot of them. If I put my hands on my hips, he pretty nearly freaked and - like me - braced for blows that never came. Same reaction for any instance of using the word "should" or the expression "why don't you." A dark wall shot up and took a while going back down.
One time I asked if he wanted to talk - he seemed upset and I wanted to see why - and we went outside by the pool. I leaned back and pressed my fingertips together. It wasn't a conscious thing, I was really genuinely interested in what he had to say.
Plus it felt good on my hands and wrists, I type a lot.
He said "your fingers say you're judging!" And I thought "no I'm not!" And I said "No, I'm anxious to hear what you have to say." I put my hands on my lap and tried not to be alarmed at how sensitive he was.
I just looked up my exact body language and that hand position is called "steepling." Per Forbes ... "Steepling your fingers means you are confident and focused."
I learned more about my personal peculiarities in my two months at his house. After going through loss of everything I owned from an intense battle with Lyme Disease, I have a new sense of the value of things. I buy carefully and avoid waste at all costs. CALL ME CHEAP.
I was sick for a long time, so I worry about the food I eat. Garbage in, garbage out. CALL ME ONE OF THOSE IRRITATING ALMOST VEGETARIANS.
I love the environment - I am a recycler. I have seen videos of the plastic ocean. CALL ME A SEA HUGGER.
I am aware of my ability to annoy people with the limitations I put on myself, so - from day one - it was like I do things this way, you do things your way. "I'll feed myself, you feed yourself." It was fine; I would still buy and prepare steaks for him.
The affection was forced on his end, but I was happy waking up with him, kissing his shoulder, taking the dogs out into the suffocating heat that can be morning in Florida. It was great having coffee over the paper, sharing one roof, knowing he was in that house somewhere. Staying up talking til all hours.
The spontaneity was great too - we'd decide to do something fun at the drop of a hat. We knew we had a tendency to spend too much time "on the couch."
The differences came from the core. I knew up front he believed in God but saw Him as the enemy. That was disturbing. That was a red flag.
I would say we were blessed to have amazing lives and he would grunt.
We had our scars. I was ready to run at the drop of the hat; having been thrown out so many times just one block away. He ran from life by altering his reality.
I am no stranger to mood swings and/or blackouts. They always preceded the worst of what I experienced one block away. I know the emptiness in the eyes, the black curtain that drops like death.
Two weeks ago I saw it and ran. I was suddenly unwelcome. I had not meant to end us, I just wasn't going to hang around someone else's house through "awkward". I remember saying "I don't DO awkward." I was certain the distance would do us good and we would fix it.
In hindsight ... he told me up front he was prone to depressions. I didn't want to hear that, so I didn't plug it into my memory banks. Well, I rummaged around I found it. I found other supporting comments and behaviors that I deliberately ignored because I enjoyed him so much.
We exchanged emails in the days that followed. I apologized for my assorted weaknesses and weirdnesses and made sure he knew the door was open, would always be open. His first emails were confused, then angry - then ultimately hostile.
I stopped rising to the bait and accepted we were over.
At one point, very, very confused and hurt, I did something I've never done before. Something very Buddhist. I pictured his face in my hands and my cheek against his in an act of unconditional love. And my pain went away.
He was supposed to meet my family in July. My mother wrote to tell me they had decided to give us the downstairs bedroom - cool, with company I don't have to sleep on the metal rails that are the hideabed.
But I had to confess we broke up. Another failure. Alone in paradise. Again. Still.
I was expecting something disparaging about my selection process. (Which is actually more of an acceptance process.) Instead she wrote back "it's a good thing you lived with him. You learned a lot in a short period of time."
I learned I do have the capacity to love and be with someone, that it is something I want in my life.
It's hard getting used to being alone again. Hopefully the real thing is still out there somewhere; having a hard time being alone.
