Rebellious Thoughts of a Woman

Sprinkling of Vindication

As a counter to the guys who do the internet dating equivalent of hanging up on me when they see my picture, today someone called me "radiantly beautiful." Yes, I know, I'm not supposed to be thinking about a relationship while I'm still living in this absurd situation, but the desire to be desired comes and goes in cycles, and this one hasn't worked its way out yet.   

Show Compassion for the Unhappily Married

The Rosh Hashanah sermon that the rabbi at my synagogue gave was about being more understanding to people who are unhappy or troubled in their marriages. The “come away” was not to judge people in this situation, which I guess means not to make them feel that they are failures, or that they are not properly mature to commit to a commitment, or that they are not deserving in compassion because they didn’t do what they are “supposed” to do. I was surprised by what he said, I had thought that people understood that when a person, or a couple, gets divorced it’s not because they didn’t try, but because it didn’t work. It’s like those people who think women rush to get an abortion without considering the various alternatives. If you are aware of the options, you can assume that the people in the midst of the problem know the options as well.

Judging others, shouldn’t that be a sin? I mean if gossiping is a big no-no, shouldn’t this be even bigger? Who put you in charge of deciding what is right and good for people? As far as I know, even therapists don’t tell people what to think or where they have gone wrong, they ask questions to get the client to consider the situation from other angles, to consider themselves from other angles.

I’m assuming that when someone tells someone else that she is unhappy in her marriage that the person she confided in is a friend or someone with whom there is a modicum of friendly feelings, so why would that person then go out and judge? Am I being naïve here? Do I assume too much from people, you know, that they care about the people they are talking to the same amount when they are face-to-face as when they are apart?

And why in this day and age are people judging others so harshly? Do we not get it that marriage is hard, that raising children is hard, that working is hard, that getting by day to day is hard? And you know what, even if the person did not work at her marriage and just decided that she didn’t want to be in it any more, isn’t that a valid enough reason to end it? And isn’t knowing that someone is unhappy enough to wish her happiness?

Is it jealousy or envy? Are the people who stayed in their unhappy marriages the ones who condemn those who break the commitment because they wish they had the strength to go—and not the weakness to stay? Is this similar to the most vociferous gay bashers who are often latent homosexuals who are afraid of their feelings?

Perhaps the expression “the grass is greener on the other side” has been transformed to “the grass is dried up on my side so why don’t you come over.” That sentiment must truly be sinful, and the antithesis of everything that we are taught, in whatever faith or non-faith tradition in which we are raised.

Sometimes our grass becomes poisonous and we need to change our diet. Sometimes our grass doesn’t grow enough to provide us with the sustenance we need, so we must move on. Sometimes our grass turns out to be Astroturf. Yes, compassion, I guess it is like fertilizer, helping new grass sprout within the soul of a marriage-saddened person. Why not spread some fertilizer this year instead of lawn mowers.
 
* * *

First Birthday Party for One

I went to the first birthday party of an adorable third cousin the other day. At the party was the birthday boy’s aunt who, after a disastrous first marriage, remarried last month. Also present was a friend of the birthday boy’s father, who will be getting married in April. There was wedding talk. At the party were also the infant children of friends, the 5-year-old child of a friend, and the teenage children of the birthday boy’s mother’s cousin. There was looking at children standing, running, sliding, and, generally, being children. And there was me, unaccompanied by any children, no wedding dresses to discuss, and no spouse to get me a bottle of water, hon, thanks.

I have begun to get used to and accepting of this situation, a post-modern version of the spinster aunt. Am I simply an “unaccompanied woman,” since that’s what I am and that’s certainly how I feel? While I have no intention of getting maudlin here, I need to acknowledge that not having children who are of an age that they have no choice but to come with me and without any leverage (or desire) to force them to come whether they like it or not, and not having a someone to fill in the gaps between going from group to group is lonely. And I wish it weren’t.

In what has become an awful habit, I check out the men in different settings to see if any would be click material if not married. And, as is generally the case, no one has click potential. In my defense, I must say that I don’t get out much. Both of these facts lead me to what is becoming a coming to terms that I will probably remain unaccompanied. Or maybe I am mentally preparing myself to be alone so that I won’t be disappointed (too much) if that, indeed, becomes my reality.

Who the hell cares if I’m lonely? That’s something that I need to deal with, by either stewing in my own juices or getting out more. I have often been alone (what a shock, a writer who likes to be alone), but this lemon tree in my front yard is not even letting me savor the richness of solitude. It’s being at a party knowing that I once had the accoutrements but now do not that is especially difficult. Those could be my kids eating the sushi and listening to grownups talk about wedding dresses. That could be my spouse who rubs my back as he listens to me talk to someone about our wedding 23-years ago. And that could be me, making sure my children get a slice of cake with rainbow frosting and say thank you when we leave. And that could be me, telling hubby that we need to stay for a few minutes. But it’s not.

No. This is my reality. And you know, all of those people, no one made me feel alone, I did that. I need to grow into my life, and shed my expectations and disappointments. I’m getting there. After all, I didn’t fake cancel going to the party because I didn’t want to be alone. And I didn’t come late and leave early (well, I left early, but that was the time the party was supposed to end). This is it babe. Deal.

* * *

Love Songs

Why do I listen to love songs?

 

Looking for Love on Craig’s List: Why Don’t Relationships Begin

Coffee man and I have independently agreed that this is not to become a relationship. Before I go any further, I would like to state that I was not the relationship coward; I was the one who, on Wednesday morning, emailed him stating this conclusion from our date on Sunday. A little while later he got back to me to affirm that conclusion. I wonder if the fact that I spoke up and he did not is why this was yet another case of a non-click.

Was he planning to not get back to me and let me come to my own conclusion that it ended before it began? And me, while I was expecting to hear from him regarding his suggestion that we do something more exciting next time we go out (instead of dinner, although I was wary since he didn’t state a specific day, which is what he had been doing up until then), was thinking about how to tell him that it’s just not going anywhere. But there was no way that I would not tell him that, it seems so cowardly and not where I am in this mature woman’s desire to be upfront as much as possible in my relationships with boys. So, his reticence and my upfrontness (okay, brash, maybe I have become brash?) did not make clarions call.

After contemplating our few dates, and the few dates with men who came before him, I have realized that dating is not about one person being boring or uninteresting, it’s about how two people who are probably (possibly) not boring and uninteresting appear to be that way to each other. There was nothing “wrong” with him, and (I hope) there was nothing wrong with me (except my brashness, and I am sure that there are some who would find charm in my New York-Israel-Virginia personality combo), it was just the two of us that flopped and foundered. I had always thought to term people who didn’t click with me as being boring, but I finally get it, that interpersonal chemistry thing, it’s no one’s fault.

An hour before our final date (of four) I picked up my younger daughter from a friend’s house (note: after the age of eleven it can no longer be referred to as a “playdate,” rather it is hanging out). I talked to the boy’s father (yes, one of her BFFs is a boy) for a few minutes. We talked, laughed, and joked. And then I went inside and talked to his mother, who seems to like to talk and laugh as much as I do. What ensued was the mommy-mommy talk that gives the kids at least another twenty-minutes of “hanging out” time. In that time we covered: Sarah Palin, teen pregnancy, gossip from Alaska (thanks Carly), Bat Mitzvahs, chicken wings and chicken wing places, Baja Fresh, dating, silent auctions, and how incredibly tall my daughter is getting and why does she have such long legs unlike her mother. Our conversation covered more and was livelier than my date, by far.

It’s not that I want to date my daughter’s friends’ mothers, but why is it that it’s so much easier to find women with whom I click and not men? Is it the whole “similarity of experience” thing, where we virtually speak in shorthand, we get each other so well. Or is it that my daughter has already done a pre-screening and if her friends pass the test to flow with her personality, the parents will flow with mine as well? I once wrote an essay titled, “My Daughter, My Pimp,” in which I talked about how all of my friends at that time were mothers of my older daughter’s friends (this is the daughter who minutes ago called me “the biggest fucking bitch” because I cancelled her Netflix subscription because she is so defiant and nasty, so we are going back a long way). So I know that there are people I get along with, and I don’t think that it is “faked,” those doorway friendships, so why is it so hard to find a man with whom I can freely talk and joke?

I’m not kidding here—I want to figure this out. Is it just that I have not met any clickable men? Is it that I don’t do a good Craig’s List screening? Is it really that men and women are so different in outlook and mindset that only the attraction enables them to overcome those natural differences? TM (Transition Man) and I had great email and in-person conversations, and I always wanted to be touching him (up until the end when I was too pissed off and hurt). Is it that without sexual tension there is no conversational click? Or is it that without an attraction I don’t (or am unable to) “put out” in the conversation?

Is this a chicken and an egg scenario? Or is it my libido dictating? If there’s no physical click, then there’s no mental click. I guess that makes it easier to say “ciao baby.” But if just feels harder, to not find someone to talk to or tryst with, repeatedly. Maybe I need to ask my mommy friends if they know of someone. But I’m thinking that if they knew someone they would already have suggested them. Oh, well. I still believe that there’s a click in my future.

* * *

Looking at Marriage in a Glass Half-full/Half-empty Way

Know you can be longed for even before you brush your teeth.

Know that every breath of yours is perceived as poisonous.

* * *

Looking at Marriage in a Glass Half-full/Half-empty Way

Say I love you.

 

Whisper I loathe you.

 

* * *

Looking at Marriage in a Glass Half-full/Half-empty Way

Tell the tale of how you met to all you meet.

 

Dread recollecting your romantic beginning.

Another Question (in three parts) Concerning Love

Is love a metaphor for life?

        And does that mean that love is life condensed into a relationship?

        So does that also mean that we live as many lives as loves we have?

 

* * *

From Lost in Love to Lost Love

From lost in love to lost love has been a mournful journey. It’s so hard to remember the initial joys when so much sadness and disappointment has weighed you down, but there would not be such a depression in the fabric of your life if the joys hadn’t been so elevated. So, rather than focusing solely on the end, try to remember where you have been—when you had first been in love. It may make the lost love a little more acceptable since it has not only brought the current sadness but the prior joy.

 

* * *  

Questions Concerning Love

Why do we want love?

Why do we long for love?

Why do we search for love?

Why do we lose ourselves in love?

Why do we find comfort in love?

Why do we grow in love?

Why do we lose love?

Why do we cast aside love?

Why do we relinquish love?

Why do we diminish in love?

Why do we question love?

Not a test, just some thoughts to get the mind wandering. Questions to add?

 

* * *

Looking at Marriage in a Glass Half-full/Half-empty Way

Have someone “take advantage” of you (in a playful, sexual way).

 

Have someone take advantage of you (in a mean, legal, financial way).

It's Finally Over: Banish Despair

Recall dreams that you had before you became embittered and poisoned with a narrow-minded focus on your pain. Bring back the laughter and joy that were once part of your life—you know it was there—and let it invade you, pushing out, even temporarily, the pain you are living through. This pain is—must be—only temporary, there must be an end. As there is no pure happiness, so, too, there is no pure unhappiness. Let the smiles and joy filter in, past the veil of disappointment.

 

* * *

Why? Because.

Why?

Is there a reason to hate yourself or your life? Is there a reason to relinquish your demand for a life to love?

 

Because.

Because in spite of all the pain I have lived through, because of love or its loss, I want to again walk arm in arm down a street and be proud of who I am and who I’m with.

 

* * *

Why Do I Want to Be Loved?

I want to be loved because it will make me feel

• comforted and protected by someone else’s concern.
• excited about who I am (since I have excited someone else about who I am).
• needed since this loved one now depends on my caring about him and for him.
• enlivened by the passion I experience and incite.

Looking for Love on Craig's List: Dumped in the Bathroom

I'm not sure what lesson must be learned from my last date, but it is one that was not learned with a smile and I have not yet been able to find the humor in it. Disregarding the fact that the gentleman in question was a half-hour late (he did tell me that he might be running late), he seemed to be a nice man. Well, that is until he completely veered from the story told in his ad. The ad, in part, stated:

This has been quite a week. The long term demise of my long term relationship finally came toppling down.

However, all is not lost. With this frustrating period now just ending, I would love to have an adventure.

At first he revealed what has become a disconcertingly common theme: that his wife abused him. (Words people, words do hurt.) And, of course, they should have divorced a long time ago. Oh why, why do we stay in dead marriages? What’s with the “for the good of the children” b.s.? Someone has just got to realize that it is not good for the children to think that marriage is about how two people stop loving each other and in place come to dislike (even hate) each other, and how family meals and vacations are not about enjoying themselves but about not getting into arguments. What is good for children in that?

Okay, back to the gentleman and his oops detail; and I mean OOPS! His wife has cancer; she was diagnosed a year ago. Big OOPS! Oh, and (at least here he gave some credibility to his role as husband and human being) he is not pursuing a divorce nor a separation, since he would “be there for her” as she battles the cancer. So why didn’t he just say that he needs a night out with someone to listen to him without the "relationship over" detail? And why didn't he go to the "casual encounters" section?

 

I had originally thought I could just listen and talk to someone who’s also getting out of a long-term relationship and see where it goes, without too many expectations (in fact, that was a positive point for me). But this, this was certainly not what his words alluded to. I think I’m a compassionate woman, but there’s a difference between laying yourself out to be used to soothe a man’s psyche (seems like I’ve been there before) and a grownup cooperative, mutually beneficial relationship (or whatever it is where you both get something out of the relationship and one is not used to bolster up the other with no compensating sentiments). Maybe I’m harsh, lacking in compassion, and maybe that’s why I had the relationship I did, but I think that I gave mr. ex what he needed for years, but I did not get what I needed, and I am very leery of being used again or letting myself put someone else’s needs ahead of my own. (Is that bad to say? Are we really supposed to listen to those love songs that say we should love unconditionally and forever and put our beloved’s needs ahead of our own? Has anyone noticed that most of those love songs are written by kids in their teens and twenties and they know not of the realities of love and life?)  

Alright, at this point I figured we’d have a couple of drinks, I’d listen to him and the evening would come to an end. I would think of it as a night out with a friend, who really needed it, no more. But those drinks were strong, very strong. After one and a half (if I have a drink, it is generally just one), I tried to elegantly walk to the bathroom, past the prostitutes at the bar, and into the handicapped stall—I needed space. And, it turned out, time. The lovely tiramisu that I shared with a friend at lunch came up, as did those nuts in a dish.

Each time I thought I was ready to go back, I decided to stay and, well, nurture myself. When I finally made it out, I found the table empty: empty of glasses, empty (thankfully) of the check, and empty of a man in a confused state. Gone gone gone. I sat down at the empty table, wondering how he had just left (why couldn't my ex-husband do that?). My mother, upon recounting this tale to her a few days later, wondered how he had left me—without ensuring that I got home safely. My response was, “I’m a big girl.” Maybe now she really gets it that I don’t have a man to look after me; that I am the "man" who looks after myself. He certainly was not responsible for my getting home safely.

After I told the waiter that, no, I don’t want another drink, I sat there for a few more minutes, waiting until I felt ready to drive home.

Back in the handicapped stall, I got a call from the gentleman of the hour. “Where are you?” he asked. Apparently, people really do believe that in real life people walk out on their dates with nary a word. He, apparently, thought that I had left and was home snug in my bed. As I was about to revisit some more tiramisu, I told him that I had drank too much, was still in the bathroom, and excuse me I have to go.

I finally made it to my car, feeling sober, in more ways than one. I drank some of the cold coffee from the morning and ate part of a donut. That and a piece of gum and I was on my way, slowly, home.

At 8am the next day I got a text message from him that I am a nice girl (I am 47, I am not a girl, but that is a topic for a separate post) and that he apologized for leaving, that he thought I had left.

All the best to him and his wife.

Regarding the lessons learned, I think I figured them out. One: I will not be looking for love on Craig’s List anytime soon—if ever. I think the ease of it and the lack of any commitment (money) required makes it rife for people to act on whim. Two: my rule about not dating anyone with a more complicated home life than mine definitely seems to be one worth upholding. Three: one drink needs to be a rule, not a habit. And four, don't let other people's actions bring me down; sometimes it really is about them, not me.

 

Humor: nope, I still haven’t found it. This still seems sad, sad for both of us.

Looking for Love on Craig's List: Nice Guys

I just returned from my fifth date in about two months (with four different men). Yeah me! Well, not really. They were nice guys, but not one of them offered the faintest spark in me—or, it seemed to me, in themselves. They seemed bored with who they are. Bored or tired, perhaps, all heading into or in the midst of their midlife crises. And for me, a newcomer into their lives, it does not offer a welcome environment.

 

Tonight’s date was with Andrew. Now why would a 54-year-old man who is losing his job and his apartment in two weeks and who is contemplating moving out-of-state in two weeks be looking for love on Craig’s List? And does he really expect some damsel to save him from his distress? He is a nice guy, but what am I supposed to say to a man who asks me if I think he should shave his head? And when I asked him why he wanted to shave it, his response was that his hair was so gray. Again, what am I supposed to say? I, of course, said the wrong thing. I said, then you will need to shave your beard, too. Immediately his hand went up to his goatee and stated hesitantly, it’s not so gray. No, of course it’s not, and it’s not. But I really didn’t feel the desire to be exposed to his turmoil. I mean couldn’t he at least try to reel me in before firing down on me his absolute sense of dejection? Luckily my car was close by and it was about to rain. I walked to the car in a very weary state. But, at least I had a good dinner (I paid for my meal, not wanting to feel that I had added to his burden in any way).

 

A few weeks ago I had a date with Mark. I am pleased to state that upon learning that his home situation is even worse than mine, I knew to run run run! But not after we had a great conversation comparing war stories. I wish him all the best with someone who will offer him the compassion he deserves. Unfortunately, I need a break from giving and would like to be on the receiving side of care and compassion for a change.  

 

Now, last night’s date was with Terrence, who is single. Single as in never married; some men say that they’re single which is a euphemism for divorced or separated; apparently some men think if they ignore or deny their past they can invite a better future into their lives. Whatever.

 

It’s not that Terrence’s being a caddie in any way had a negative impact on me. He had dropped out of the rat race, either temporarily or permanently, and was thoroughly enjoying his stress free life. What got to me was that he said that on his last day off he went fishing with a buddy. I don’t know, for me he just seemed to be disconnected from people, from the world, from the things that—to me—make a life worthwhile. Maybe he’s looking to meet the woman with whom he can connect, but it seems that a woman would not change him, just get in sync with him. I don’t want stress in my life, either, but I do want to feel that I am having an impact, that my life is not merely a place-holder.

 

And then there is Frank, with whom I had two dates. Frank is another forty-something, never-married man. We had a nice first date, although I did have the feeling that the exchange of stories was as deep as our conversation would get, I still decided to give him a second chance. On date number two my intuition was proven to be as sturdy as ever. When I commented on having eaten wonderful Egyptian hummus with beans in an Arab restaurant in Jerusalem when I was living in Israel, I received a nod. Not a question about life in Israel. I mean everyone—everyone—asks if I was afraid living there. And I always—always—comment on how I felt safer there than in New York. But nary a word or comment from Frank. A few minutes later I commented on having met an acquaintance in a coffee shop that morning, who, it turns out, has a husband who is the apparent twin of my ex-husband. Again, the nod. Not a question. Not an inquiry. Okay, maybe he doesn’t want to pry, which is fine for him, but not for me. I have no desire to be with someone who exhibits no curiosity, for whom life seems to be about which restaurant to eat in and what to order.

 

So here I am. Home alone. After all of these dates I realize how hard it really is to find some one who is on the same path and current as I am. I don’t despair of finding him, I just hope that I won’t be so bored by the whole dating process that I end up boring him away.

 

* * *

 

Note: All names have been changed to protect the truly innocent (men who did not know that they were going on a date with a woman who blogs about her life).

 

* * *

 

 

Gestures of Love

In the “Shoop Shoop Song,” Cher harmonizes that you can tell if a man loves you by his kiss:

If you want to know if he loves you so
It's in his kiss
(That's where it is oh yeah)

Sorry Cher, but I disagree. A kiss is nice, but it is so expected, so practiced, so run-of-the-mill even. (Not that I object to kisses, but not as a testament of one’s love.) For me, one of the tenderest of gestures, and therefore a true sign of love, is the hand on the small of the back. And if the hand is open, with fingers splayed, well, that’s truly it for me. What more could a woman want than a man’s gentle touch on a non-sexual part of her body, indicating that he is there beside her, with her, protecting her, but in no way attempting to encircle, suppress, direct or bed her.

A man’s hand on the small of a woman’s back as he and his love walk side by side down a street or as they stand beside each other indicates that he wants to be in her presence, that he respects her, that is enchanted by her, that he loves her—for who she is. There is no need to add his presence (or even his kiss) to her, she is a standalone goddess, and this is how he shows his reverence. You don’t change a work of art to appreciate it, it’s very existence is what takes your breath away; and, to me, that is what that gentle gesture indicates.

If a man casually cradles his palm into the small of your back, wow, tingle time. It’s about care and protection. He’s protecting you without tackling you. He’s touching you just enough for you to know that he is there without overpowering you with his presence. And there is certainly none of that arm around your shoulder so that you fit into his armpit thing.

Not only is it absolutely sensual in a non rip-my-clothes-off way, but it is like the perfect perfume, gently easing into your senses without your being aware of it, and you are enhanced by it without even realizing it.

It’s a morning whisper of affection in public. Hey, babe, I’m here beside you, quietly before the day begins. Getting centered in my day by being with you. And how are you?

Can anything beat that?

 

When I see a man beside a woman with his hand there, at the small of her back, I think I see the embodiment of love, the kind that is compassionate and caring. The kind that I want.

A Man

There is thunder, there is lightning. It's a hard rain a' falling in the middle of a humid May day.

I was lying on my love seat, not doing any of the things I need to be doing, but doing, instead, what I really needed to do. And the door bell rang. Buzzz buzz. I am not expecting anyone. One daughter is in her room, the other is at at friend's Bat Mitzvah. Again, buzzz buzz. Maybe it's a realtor coming to see the house? I went downstairs. I could see a figure beyond the glass door. I opened it; there was a man standing there.

It took me specks of time to recognize that man. It was my ex-husband. When I realized who it is I turned around and went upstairs. His response was "oh." A man in an orange polo shirt, hair just cut. He has no wings. He has no halo. He has no fire coming out of his mouth. Just a man. And there was nothing in my heart when I saw him: not hatred, not remembrance of lost love, not anger, not pity. Merely recognition. 

A sad encounter on a hard rainy Saturday.

Controlling Men: He Won't Let Me

If he says No, I say run. If at any time your response to something that you want to do is he won’t let me, referring to your boyfriend or your husband, know that you are in a controlling relationship—and they are inherently bad relationships.

Maybe I’m exaggerating. Maybe not.

Think of the opposite situation. Could that same man, who flagrantly says No to you, say, at any time, No, I’m not going to do whatever because my girlfriend or wife says no? If not, you need to assess what it is that you get out of the relationship. If you want someone to guide you, well then good for you, you found him. But, even in this situation, you need to make sure that you don’t relinquish your decision-making process; it’s one thing to get suggestions, it’s another to have that person decide for you, or for you to feel uncomfortable if you don’t want to do what he suggests. Controllers are not suggesters, they are deciders who don’t like their suggestions not taken. And it’s hard to live with someone who doesn’t like to be contradicted, because that’s how they see non-compliance.

I had lunch the other day with a woman in her seventies who had lived through a controlling marriage for over fifteen years, divorcing the controller more than 30 years ago. When I was telling her some of the things that my ex has done or said, she had parallel stories. And she began many of her stories with the same awful expression that has run through my head: he wouldn’t let me about various things, important and not. Not that I ever thought that I had a unique situation, but hearing her talk of living through the same experiences a generation earlier made me feel so sad, so utterly dejected that this cycle is so obviously a cycle and not an aberration of time or place.

Some of the most basic no’s had to do with: where I was going, what I was doing, and what I was wearing. Sounds pretty comprehensive, all-encompassing even.

It took a while to realize that he was controlling me. I can’t decide if it was a good day the day I realized that his concern was really his controlling me. It let me mentally break free, finally, but it also set in place years of anguish—both in the future as I would work my way out of the marriage (and his increasing nastiness once I said the biggest NO possible to him) and as I re-evaluated our past, taking off my lovely rose-colored glasses.