Holding Out Hope

It’s too hot to go for a midday walk so I thought I would make myself a cup of something and sit down to write. I already did a morning workout with one of my British Peloton coaches (set to dance music that was a perfect way to start my Saturday morning). Later this evening I will be meeting up with a new friend. She is a cat whisperer who was recommended to me as a potential cat sitter to look after my munchikins while I was in Nashville. Although she wasn’t available to provide the level of support one of my cats needs now that he’s struggling with a chronic illness, we immediately bonded and agreed to meet up once I was back in town. With nothing else on my plate until my outing later today my laptop has been calling to me.

Dating is the topic that’s on my mind today. I have been doing a fair amount of dating since getting vaccinated, and one of my recent interactions got me thinking. I was on a second date with someone when he asked me what kind of men I found myself attracted to when I was younger. I laughed as I thought about how to best answer that question. There were oh so many bad choices that it’s hard to know where to begin. There was the asshole fraternity boy in college. It’s a damn shame I wasted my college years on that one. There were loads of artists and intellectuals, one of whom I kept meeting at random over the course of a year after we split up, only to have him then run away with his tail between his legs because he couldn’t man up and be fully invested. There was the Turkish guy, also known as, “Turk the Jerk” who was chauvinistic and immature. He harassed me via Facebook Messenger for months after our last encounter because he thought he would win me back. (He didn’t.) There were some nice guys, but not quite charismatic or ambitious or passionate enough for me. There was the guy who liked to complain to my friends that he needed someone who would go camping with him. He was a decent enough person, but according to my family I became boring and pretentious when I was with him. He also couldn’t handle when my illness was at its worst (which was about a year after we started dating). I think he cried more about my health issues than I did. Hell, I think he cried more than I did in general, and that’s saying something because I break down into tears on the regular and sometimes for seemingly no reason at all. But nothing – absolutely nothing – is better than the rock star dude I dated when I was in my early 20s. He’s Japanese and really didn’t speak much English during the time we dated. Being the ridiculous twenty something that I was I thought we didn’t need to communicate through words because we had music. When he broke things off with me after dating for only a few months, he did so by saying, “It over! It over! I sell my soul to rock and roll. I no want girlfriend no more. It over. It zero!” At that moment, as I looked at him, I wondered what the fuck I had been doing with this zero. Years later, I went to have an antique guitar fixed up and couldn’t quite make out what was so familiar about the guy behind the counter who processed my request. Then it hit me – it was the zero guy. There he was, about ten years later, still trying to be special in the music industry and failing. I’m not going to lie: It felt good to have that man serve me.

As I have gotten older a different type of guy has emerged. The man who started me down this path of revisiting my past relationships is exactly the kind of guy who demonstrated his discomfort with modern women. So many men still assume women exist to placate their needs and egos. They think we’re here to appeal to their male expectations and satisfy them sexually, without having a right to expect reciprocity. They certainly don’t like the idea of a woman who earns more than they do. In fact, after I finished telling the story of the zero guy, my date asked me if my sex life has improved as I have gotten older. Damn straight it has! As Murphy Brown once said, “Every single time.” Rather than find this confession alluring, my date seemed offended that I would prioritize my own satisfaction at all, even as he conceded that it is biologically necessary for a woman to “go before him.” At this point, it was clear there were multiple strikes against me. I ate my entire pizza (it was a cauliflower crust, FFS). I also ate two scoops of ice cream. I showed up on a date wearing jeans and sneakers, as I had for our first. I play with the big boys at work (one even suggested calling me “dude” to emphasize my ability to fit in with the rest of the crew). As a result, I tend to be unabashedly forward about who I am and openly shared with my suitor my opinions about world events – even challenging his own. And now, I had the audacity to express that I like to enjoy myself during sex and do prioritize my own satisfaction.

I learned a couple of days later that while the man was on that second date with me, obviously judging me and looking on in horror as I downed about 1,000 calories in one sitting (to put it in context, I didn’t eat much of anything else that day), he was simultaneously making arrangements to meet up with another woman. Apparently, this woman was very persistent and invited my date over to her house for “a drink” after he was finished up with me. Why not meet him out at a bar? I’m sure we can figure out why. She used whatever she could to tempt this man to end our date early and spend time with her instead. 

When I later had a phone chat with the man in question and learned about this sequence of events, the date told me he had a gut instinct about the other woman that he couldn’t ignore. (I smirked inside because I knew which part of his “gut” was responsible for that instinct.) He also said that perhaps he was making a mistake in his decision to pursue this other woman, and that he didn’t see time with me as wasted. How generous of him to tell me his time wasn’t wasted! Here’s the problem with that – mine was. When the guy said you never know what the future could bring, I responded that I did know, because he wouldn’t get a second chance with me. I also told him that he wouldn’t find someone better than me, but if he thought he found someone better for him then I agreed with his decision to pursue that, because I will also find better.

Here’s the thing I want to point out about the story. Yes, I made loads of mistakes in my past. (Perhaps you read about my coming to learn that my ex-partner, whom I thought was the one person to care, turned out to be an ass.) I have forgiven myself for my bad choices and don’t intend to dwell on them. Instead, I believed everything I said during my phone conversation where I learned another woman was selected instead of me. I believe the guy won’t find a better person than me. I believe he won’t find someone smarter, or more compassionate and generous. He won’t find someone more sensual, open, funny, passionate, and independent. He won’t find someone prettier than me or more ambitious than me. I don’t doubt there are plenty of women who are more compatible with certain men than I, but those women are not more special than me. I have never been able to utter those words and truly believe them, but today, I finally do.

Here’s to holding out hope that someday I will find a partner who can appreciate everything I am. Until then, damn it feels good to look in the mirror and like what I see. My wish is that each and every one of you can also get to that point (if you’re not there already). Let’s celebrate our individuality and never, ever settle for less than what we deserve. I’d rather be a zero than sell myself out to the highest bidder.