A friend recently asked me, with the sincerity of two glasses of wine and fed up with my quips about how my dating life is a desert (tumbleweeds and all), what it is I’m looking for. I gave my honest answer, which seemed so obvious it was unnecessary to say, which is that the thing I fear most is the thing I want most. I want to be seen, understood. I want someone to, gulp, get me. And to like what they get. What’s more, I want to understand and see that person. And like what I see.
My friend, rightfully, asked why that’s my biggest fear. (Oh, so I wasn’t getting away with that, ok.) With tears pricking behind my eyes threatening to set fire to this otherwise easy-breezy evening, I confessed that most of the people in my life that have really gotten me are gone. “I didn’t know that. It actually explains a lot.” I resisted the urge to make a joke like “that’s showbiz, baby,” but just barely.
So, not only do I have deeply rooted abandonment issues, I also grew up in the era of The Chill Girl. To be deemed “not like other girls” was what we all strived for. We weren’t going to call boys out on their shit, we prided ourselves on being ‘hard to offend.’ I’ve only now, divorced and in my mid-30s, proudly resigned from being a Chill Girl. I’ll never play that role again. Which is both empowering and shrinks the dating pool.
When I first started dating again, I was ready for little more than fun and casual. The last thing on my mind was a committed relationship. Luckily for me, I ran into an old friend (to whom time had been kind like wow he looked good). And we started something easy, light, and pretty much all about sex. Mom, you’re welcome to stop reading.
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