On Reclaiming Myself

Ok- the Year of Terrible Things is over, months and months over.

Get told by my husband he doesn't love me like that? Check.
Lose my marriage, the house, and the cats? Check.
Light myself on fire? Check.
Watch my retirement fund do a disappearing act? Check.
See one-fifth of my IT team get laid off? Check.

That's all in the past. All the pain and torment associated with each of these things is over. The greatest thing to come of all that pain above is that it absolutely REQUIRED me to grow as a person and gain more character than ever. I had basically two choices through all this: I could fold up and either become a hateful beeyotch/meandering nonentity, or I could learn from each of these things and emerge strong and self-sufficient.

I chose the latter.

And my choice has served me well. I didn't choose that end right away. I went through months of grief from all of these things and made poor choices as a result. I isolated (well frankly when 20 percent of your body had been lit on fire, it's pretty hard to NOT isolate). I absorbed myself in the pain and didn't come out of bed for days at a time some weeks. And I drank....which is like chaining a suicidal depressive to a chair and forcing them to watch Magnolia over and over and over again.

I don't do that anymore. I don't lay in bed for days. I don't drink, period. I am actively involved in a church I believe in, groups of friends who support me and make me feel good about myself and vice-versa, and I eat healthfully and excersize. I stare my demons in the face now and realize most of them are figments of my own imagination, anyway. I am seeing a really nice guy who, when I ask him to tell me what he likes about me, he says things like "Everything. When you love someone you love the whole package." This pretty much sums up how I view myself today. I have TONS of shortcomings. Too many to list here, in fact. But despite my imperfections, I care about and love myself deeply now.

No longer do I plot out weight loss plans and tell myself I'll be satisfied with my appearance after losing X pounds. I go to second hand and thrift stores and outfit myself exactly as I am today in wonderful clothes that make me feel good, and don't cost a fortune. I no longer beat myself up for making social faux pas. I go to the people or situation where I messed up and do what I can to make it right, and let go of what I cannot make right.

The biggest thing that makes me reclaim myself better than ever before is that I no longer attempt to make people like me, or try to please people (including my ex) to the point where I lose myself attempting to gain their good graces. In some circumstances there is absolutely NOTHING I could say, do, dance, or give to right a past wrong, or change a person's poor view of me into a good view. I have accepted the fact life is messy. That we cannot "all just get along" sometimes. And that is OK. That's just how it is. This was the most uncomfortable lesson I had to learn in the past year....to be able to let go of situations and people that are not salvageable. That some end results I desire so badly I'd do anything to get them are just plain impossible.

Over the past two months in particular I have regained a sense of self I have not felt since I took a year off from boys between my first and second years of college, quit my day job and took a weekend job, and did whatever the hell I wanted to do, wore what I wanted to wear, ate what I wanted to eat, and hung out with whoever I wanted to hang out with. That year is still the best year to date in my memory. Every day I woke up looking forward to the adventure ahead, completely free from obligation to anything but my own goals and desires. I wrote poetry, starred in college theater productions, debated heatedly whether Trotsky was the fallguy of communism because he was truly compassionate? or also evil, and so on. I got hooked on speed punkrock and threw clay on pottery wheels at 7AM because the art instructor knew he could trust me to clean up after myself. I hung out with the maintenance crew at the school because they had ALL the dirt to share. :) I got straight As that year, with the exception of Astronomy. I took a second trip to London on a two-week theater tour that I funded, as I did with my school, 100% of my own earnings. I absolutely loved that year in my lfe, because I called all the shots.

Now...flash forward from 19 to 38. I am now that same 19 year old, but with a helluva lot more life experience, none of the anxiety attributed to youth, more earning power, and a lime green couch people either love or hate. I have let go of the pain, lost dreams, ideas of what life should have been instead of what it is. It is what it is, and I am so goddam lucky that I have basically a second chance now as a result of the downward spiral that stuck me pretty hard.

I hold absolutely no resentments towards anyone, nor do I plot out ways to make anyone miserable or feel like I'm responsible for someone else's happiness. Well okay that last part is hard to get rid of- at times I still feel responsible for other people's happiness. I'm working on that one. But one thing I have done for certain.....I have reclaimed my identity as my own.

Relationships no longer define me. Money does not define me. My weight or physical appearance does not define me. What I think of myself defines who I am and how I act and what I say. I can gratefully say today that despite my laundry list of shorcomings, I am a GOOD PERSON, with many positive attributes and many passions and interests that are in no way related to the shortcomings.

I'm glad to be who I am and where I am today. Very, very glad.

Why I Dig Ray Bradbury

Most fiction authors, unfortunately, dig themselves into a hole. They rely on their personal experiences more than their imaginations. Or alternately, they hold a personal philosophy or worldview that funnels them into working their scenes and characters around said view to support its claim. Even others find Their Formula, and stick to it as closely as a mathemetician does to his or her known theories with only a few variables, which can be predicted halfway through the solution.

Ray Bradbury is an unexpected romp. The closest author I have found to date to come close to his fancy flights is Tom Robbins, but even Robbins leans predictably on surreal imagery and paced oddities similar to Edward Albee's theater of the absurd.

Pick up any of Bradbury's short story collections if you've never read him. My favorite is Golden Apples of the Sun. The variance of character, theme, and musical pacing of his prose is evident in the 90 degree turns he takes from one story to the next. There is only one string of commonality among all his stories I can locate: his mastery of wonder.

There are very few individuals who are as unabashadly open to the sense of wonder normally reserved for the first eight years of life for most of us. Before our Radio Flyer wagon days are over for good, most humans wake up every morning with a wonder, overflowing with anticipation over what this day could possibly have in store in it. From the adventure of finding cereal for breakfast or being treated to some sort of suprise from Mom you cannot possibly guess, to whatever outdoor game and weather in store for the day, to any kind of treasure find you'll come across in the street, digging in the dirt, or just laying in grass inundated by sensory overload....as children every moment is an adventure into an infinite realm of possible outcomes. Ray Bradbury is now in his 90s and yet, he has lived every day, and continues to live every day, with the same sense of wonder as an eight year old kid.

His more recent works does lack the flyaway luster of his prime years, but is still nonetheless art of writing at its finest. One cannot live nine decades and keep the same pace and flightpaths. And for that I am glad, because if he did remain the same, he would lose the very core of him that makes him a unique talent.

His work, even within the same book, cannot be classified in a specific genre. He is typically pigeonholed into "science fiction" or "classic literature" but I can tell you why both of these are inaccurate. Science Fiction does not work, because although a lot of his work deals with space, space travel, and the future, the stories dealing with these topics use them as merely a vehicle to explore the human condition at its present state. I do not consider him "classic literature" because his prose could be written in any time period and be just as effective, nor does he take on gigantic themes or make huge philosophies. The largest thing that disqualifies him as a "classic" writer is an absolute lack or pretension. Anyone who has learned to read can pick up a Bradbury story and follow it from beginning to end. You need not be well-versed in other authors, or rely on a slew of footnotes to help you through imagery and metaphor to grasp the entire picture. Bradbury merely relies on one common denominator in his audience: You must be a member of the human race to understand this story. That pretty much covers all of us, huh.

Anyway, I ran across a quote of his last night so he's on my mind. The last thing I read of his was his recent sequel to Dandelion Wine, Farewell Summer. The ending completely took me aback, shocked the hell out of me. I am giving no spoilers about either of these books, because they must be experienced firsthand by you for them to make their complete impact. Any descriptions I would give would be an offense to the original prose.

Ray Bradbury is a one of a kind, in his own class and defying classification and thankfully as such, canonization. He reminds me how to be human, and to never, ever lose the sense of wonder of a new day.

20th High School Reunion Day Reflections

So, today is the day those who still live near my childhood city get together and celebrate 20 years of High School Freedom. I am in the Pacific Northwest, so I won't be there to hug old friends, get to know the A List popular crowd as PEOPLE instead of ICONS, and put aside old notions of who my classmates were at 18 and replace them with realistic, compassionate pictures of how they are today.

I think about my high school years with a mixed bag of happy nostalgia and nervous anxiety. When you're 15-18 years of age horomones are surging, you're almost but not quite an adult, and as such...life is confusing, spiked with extreme highs and deep lows, and the worst thing that someone could ask you is "What do you want to be when you grow up?" because you honestly have no effing clue since the options are wide open and you're just trying to get through the day without embarrassing yourself.

My favorite memories of my high school days are the times when I was in a theatrical performance and working my ass off with the cast and crew for weeks and weeks to put on a decent show. From preparing for audition and the ecstacy of seeing my name next to a character on the roll posted to the theater door, to the curtain call and hearing clapping through the curtains....it was all wonderful.

Our director, Mr. Cummings, was insanely devoted. After the initial reading we would get out blocking instructions and very careful character studies and a detailed history behind the words of the play. Then, after the first two or three weeks, Mr Cummings would go dark. He'd not say a word, and let us run through the lines and the blocking. We'd goof off, thinking oh- it doesn't matter, Mr. Cummings isn't paying attention. Then...oh my god...THEN somewhere in the fourth week or so, he'd go military on our asses. Someone would goof off or miss a few lines, and we'd hear our director scream, "NO!! You should know your lines by now!! We've been at this X time now. The next time someone forgets their lines we're going back to the beginning!!" He meant it too. The two weeks before dress rehearsals, it could be 8PM, us at it for three or four hours, in act three four pages to the end, and if someone messed up...we'd hear it. We couldn't see him because he'd be either up in the lighting booth, or somewhere invisible since the spotlights were on us, blinding us from the seats in the auditorium. We'd hear hte four worst words a tired kid actor could hear...

"ACT ONE!!! SCENE ONE!!!!"

And we'd go through it all over again. Glaring at the poor child who forgot their lines.

But it paid off. Come opening night, we'd be as prepared as possible, and do the best we could with all the hard work behind us. I especially enjoyed being in comedies, and I was a gigantic ham. I was usually cast in the batshit crazy roles: the 80 year old medium who's lost her cookies, the 20something insane asylum inmate who finds blood fascinating...that sort of thing. Good times.

Oh yes, and then there were the Friday Night football games. I'm about to confess something that I need to apologize to the cheerleaders for. When our team would get a touchdown, the cheerleaders would throw Jolly Ranchers into the bleachers. My friends and I sat at the top bleachers, freezing our asses off but having a GREAT time. When the cheerleaders would throw candy up at us, we'd return the favor and chuck our Jolly Rancher stash back at them. These were the Big Hair days, so the cheerleaders' bangs would be a wall of Aqua Net, and our goal was to hit the hair. When we landed one, it would bounce off and the cheerleader would look kind of stunned, as if she started wondering if it was begining to rain. To all football cheerleaders, I sincerely apologize. Please know we were just kids, and frankly, I did it because I was jealous as hell for not being pretty enough, popular enough, or coordinated enough to do what you guys did every Friday night in front of hundreds of spectators.

Oh boy- the other big wonderful memory is the forensics meets on Saturday. Forensics is a high school activity that trained you to act, interpret poetry, improv a political speech on the fly, or any number of other categories honed in on training you for a communications/public speaking/entertainment role. Senior year, I chose storytelling and had a freakin' blast with it. You never knew which story you would tell, until thirty minutes before the round. There were something like 50 or so possible stories to tell. I loved getting Hansel and Gretel. I told it as Gretel, from her point of view, to mix it up. That year I made it to the final round at the State level....beating out 85 other competitors and snagging 5th place in the state. But it wasn't the actual performance part that made forensics so memorable and fun. It was the shenannigans on the bus (like Bob W. stuffing my Opus penguin doll down his pants because I promised if he did it, I'd go get it back), in the holding cell, er...gym or auditorium or cafeteria between rounds and waiting for results (like getting hit on by a boy for the first time ever- thanks Patrick, watching some dudes from Brookfield East put on a Monty Python sketch, comparing Dr. Who scarves, an dso on), and then the marathon of Mountain Dew drinking at Burger King afterwards.

Good times. I hold on to the good times, and cannot believe 20 years have passed. My friends have kids now who are just a few years from the age I was 20 years ago!! But, I have no regrets. I am ready to pass the HS baton to the next generation with much vigor. I have good memories, but I do not miss the glory days of youth. Being 38 comes with its own rich benefits, and I wouldn't trade today for anything.

In good company

I had a wonderful Memorial Day. I thanked the veterans in my life, said prayers for the fallen ones, but other than that I really didn't make it a 'holiday.' I did laundry, got a new pair of running shoes, jogged the dog, did a little grocery shopping for the week. Took a nap, read a book, chatted with a few friends and the guy I'm now dating on the phone for a little bit.

I guess what made this day unique for me, comfortable even, was making little choices for myself that made me feel in control of myself, safe and loved. Just little things- like taking the time to slice strawberries in Corn Flakes, go on that sweaty jog, make a shopping list and STICK to that list and my budget. Tired? Take a nap. Wound up? Excersize. Hungry? Eat.

I have found that I really enjoy being alone. Being alone is not the same thing as being lonely. I've been lonely inside marriage, with roomates, even at large parties. I'm not alone anymore. I feel like I have my feet solidly on the ground with my life faced in the correct direction these days.

There are many transitions to take place in my life as the months pass. As recent as last night, I've felt myself impatient with change, change that will take me closer to family, closer to the things I gave up while married, closer to a more enlightened self that will continually require less and less material items with which to 'make' me happy. Today, however, I recognize I'm exactly where I need to be. With myself, finding my way around the course of the 24 hours ahead of me the best I can. I am grateful that the past is in the past, and I can enjoy today.

I'm in good company.

Sad

I'm sad. There is no tragedy in my life at the moment other than the typical stuff a human being experiences in general.

I have many reasons to be happy. I'm three weeks smoke-free, thank god, and when I get to this phase I can pretty much make it to six months and beyond. It's that first week that is really difficult! I'm getting more fit day by day; I can see it in my face and in my body and the way my clothes fit. I am really (literally) embracing the life of being a Singleton. Honestly, that part of me feels free. The burns have healed and only hurt about one out of every 16 hours or so, and the pain can be lessened with Claritin or Benedryl. I pulled out and am using my old jogging gear again and boy, is ROM happy to be exercising to the point of exhaustion again.

My career prospects look good. I have so many friends and family who I've reconnected with over the past tragic year and have come out stronger as a result- both in believing in myself and rejoining a community. I've got a spiritual life now at Saltwater Unitarian Universalist church, and a handful of new friends who would drop (and have dropped) anything to answer a call or a request, and I would do the same for them.

I've gotten back in touch with a very dear old friend from when I was a mere fifteen years old. He was my first love romance. Our lives went in different directions for a very, very long time so I was thrilled to meet up with him again a few months back and have shared many late night conversations that have made me laugh so hard I nearly pee myself, and have been able to rectify past wrongs that haunted me.

When I go to the therapist, practically every time she comments on the 'life' that is back in my eyes and in my body, even in how I carry myself now. When I saw her the year or two before the marriage split, she said I looked 'dead' in my eyes. I understand what she was talking about. I fully recognize that the divorce was the best thing for both he and I, and that now we both have a better shot at finding happiness. And I truly believe that finding one's happiness is a moral guage. As Ayn Rand's philosophy suggests, achieving your happiness is tantamount to living a moral life, because it is only through living one's own moral values fully does one have the ability to become truly happy. And I was not happy for a very long time. And now I recognize fully that a large part of that unhappiness was due to the fact I was spending my energies on activities and things that had no place in my own moral sphere of being. And now I'm living in it.

And yet...I'm sad. I'm sad because I'm at a bit of an impasse...the old phase of life has ended, but the new phase has not yet fully been realized. I have taken all the steps I can to this point to 'make' the transition occur, but there are several financial, emotional, physical limitations that only I have so much power over at this point to change.

I can handle this sadness. It is nowhere near the self-hate I imposed on myself through much of my young adult life, the suicidal meltdown of 1998, the two years of slowly getting back on my feet and recognizing people like me have obstacles that others may not have when it comes to self-actualization and finding a sense of peace and life purpose. It's just a blip of emotion on the radar. I remain in complete control of my behavior and actions.

I'm reflecting on the mistakes I've made over the past year, the behavior and words based in anger, jealousy, rage, and despair. I feel guilty about my mistakes. My head recognizes guilt is a futile waste of creative effort, that ALL humans make mistakes, and therefore I am human. My head recognizes that at the time of my mistakes, I was acting in accordance with what I knew to be true at the time, to the best ability I had at the time. Looking at past error, it's really easy now to see what went wrong because the mistake taught me something I did not know at the time I made the error. It's just that the distance between my head and my heart seems to be light years at times.

So I suppose in all fairness I should also reflect on the correct moves as well. For every day I made a vile error in judgement, I had ten or more positive ones. I got in touch with some very scary feelings I avoided for ages, very scary realities, and dealt with them to the best of my ability and I'm still standing. I have full control of my financial, physical, and emotional health.

So why the sad? Growing pains, I suppose.

Happy

Just a little post here to say I'm overall happy. I've spent quite a great deal of time exposing all my turmoil through The Year I Got Divorced And Lit Myself on Fire. It's been one helluva long road, but I'm good. I'm going to continue rebuilding my life into something I want, I construct without anyone else's requirements usurping my own, and all denial-factor at subzero.

Yup, been on three dates now so far in the past month. Exploring and taking steps towards being much closer to family. Taking iniative and investing time, energy, and emotion into budding relationships with friends, both old time friends, and new ones. Getting a grip on my finances. Taking self-care to a better level. Paying attention to what the doctors tell me.

I let people in my heart. All the way in. I get to do this in a group-recognition way every Sunday morning at the Unitarian Univeralist congregation of which I'm a part, and many times during the week. Even when I talk with a stranger in the grocery store line, or a little-known coworker on the elevator ride up to the cube farm, I am letting that person in my heart, by recognizing them as a human being, and for that moment, celebrating their moment in time with me, where at that moment we recognize the best in each other. A few Eastern religions encapsulate this in their 'aloha' term when approaching or leaving a meeting: Namaste. I celebrate the spirit in you.

Ultimately I think the source of happy now is that I've stopped all that noise around the divorce- completely. I imagine getting back into dating was a large part of it, as was accepting finally It Is So Over. In order to put that final coffin nail in the dead marriage, I had to forgive and let the eff go. I had to forgive myself for my errors, and completely let go of the hurt he caused me. And recognize neither of us ever intended to cause badness to befall on the other.

Life is too short for resentments. I ain't slinging no dead seabird around my neck, thankyouverymuch.

Food tastes better these days. Smells of all kinds are more intense, my sleep deeper, my waking moments more present minded, my tone and pace more even and calm. I still have many weaknesses and faults, but I accept them and do not make the sum of these against the sum of my good qualities to come out with a Grand Total of whether or not I'm worthwhile. I have absolutely nothing to prove to anyone, including myself. My sole task in present minded living is to walk peacefully, not cause harm, and be as present as possible in my own life so I don't end up missing it. I can't relocate the years I missed while wrapped up in busybrain syndrome or denial of various sorts, or other non-realities. But I do have today, and hope for tomorrow. And that makes me very happy. This is a very nice change of pace from where I was a year ago May 3. Christ, a year ago I had absolutely no clue that before that month was out, my life partner would say bye-bye, I'd be living alone for the first time in my life, that'd I'd be going through gigantic grief leading to unparalleled anger and despair, that I'd land on my feet over time and would be actively dating and realigning myself to values I'd lost long ago.

So yeah, I'm happy.

First Date

When my now-ex husband and I first separated living together, last May, I was crazy-sad. Then ran the gamut of despair, vengeful, depressed, and seriously questioning my worth as a romantic possibility. That continued from May 2008 to March 2009 pretty much, to varing degrees.

In this period of time I have been flirted with, and asked out on dates which I turned down. I was not ready. I was still pining for a dead relationship that would never be revived, and not accepting of this fact. When I learned he had been seeing someone nearly immediately after the split (or before, I have no idea of the details nor do I wish to know, really) I tumbled into an oh-crap-I-really-am-THAT-ugly-and-unloveable kick.

However, when the spring fully hit the Seattle area, and daylight hours extended past 6PM, I began to get some more energy back. I was able to forgive, and finally consider moving on. I started talking to more guys. I stopped sleeping all weekend and slogging through daily activities like I was underwater. And, this weekend, I had my first date.

Understand please, I had been with the same guy since I had just barely turned 20 years old. Before that, I spent my entire 19th year on a no-relationship rule, because I wanted a full year of complete independence from anything other than what I wanted to persue. This means I hadn't been on a date with someone who was NOT my now-ex since I was a teenager. I hadn't been on a date with someone other than him since I was 18 years old! YIKES.

I played it cool like Fonzie when I finally gave this guy my home number, and set a real time-and-place-and-plan instead of just vaguely saying okay, sometime, we'll hang out together okay? He had given me his number months ago, and I never used it. We live in the same apartment complex, so we would often run into each other coming or going. I was flattered by his attention, but not ready to let go of my past and just DATE already. But as of springtime-hitting a couple weeks ago, I became ready.

Speaking of getting ready, the two hours before the I'll-pick-you-up-and-we'll-go-to-the-restaurant was a whirlwind of activity for me. After dinner we planned to watch a movie at my place, so I had to really clean house. I tell you, having a date over on a Friday night really motivates a person to ensure there's no chocolate yogurt on the kitchen floor and the toilet is spic and span!! I only had two hours to clean and get ready for the date, so I was flying around the apartment picking things up, because I had neglected to do so for over a week. I was left with 30 minutes to doll myself up. As I did so, I recalled the last time I did this for a date, I was listening to a Dead or Alive dance remix (Brand New Lover), and Aqua-Netting my female mullet high enough to touch the roof of my '84 Toyota Carrolla when I drove. Eek. I was a bit nervous, but smiled at the memories this ancient first-date-makeup ritual.

This guy is considerate, charming, interesting, and funny. We had a really good time, and I was suprisingly low-key. The greatest difference between my last date as a teenager, and this first date as an adult, was a complete absence of the anxiety and self-doubt and dire need for the guy's approval. I concentrated on being exactly who I am. I did not run out and do what I could to impress the guy. I was just me. He's already seen me in my pajamas with two-day-mussed hair and no makeup, anyway; we ran into each other while I was recovering from the fire accident and could wear nothing but gigantic mumu-style PJs to avoid friction on the mummy wrap.

There were no awkward pauses in conversation or uncomfortable innuendos. He remained himself as well, but it was obvious from our appearance and manner that we were both treating it as a 'date', right down to my makeup and his cologne and nice pressed shirt.

I walked into this date as just that. Only a date. I am in no way looking for a boyfriend or a husband-replacement. The hole in my heart I obtained from the insta-divorce with my ex is NOT going to be filled by another person. I have learned my major contribution to the death of our relationship was completely losing myself to his desires and goals, and over time, losing touch with what *I* wanted from life to the point where I effectively denied to myself my goals were ever different from his. I had lost much of my identity without realizing it, building an arsenal of resentment which also remained only semi-conscious. And I lacked the conflict-management and personal intimate conversation skills to verbalize and stand up for the things in my heart that went unfullfilled.

So....the date was completely free from obligation or expectation. And also free from self-conscious awkwardness on both our parts. We laughed a lot and learned a lot about each other. I fully expect we will hang out together again. I am only interested in keeping our relationship on a friendly-note, not romantic-note. After slowly losing myself and changing myself to fit a relationship (obviously without success even), there is no way in hell I'm about to fall into a serious romantic relationship anytime soon.

I remain in a transitionary state for the moment, until some of the goals I've set, which are purely driven by my own need to fill my life with activities, people, and creative endeavors, get met. And when I'm ready to open myself up to romance again, beyond the date twittering, I will have a solid footing on what I *need* and are non-negotiable items. For example, never again am I going to allow a single romantic relationship usurp my family relationships as priority. Any serious relationship I get into in the future is going to make room for and enhance my family relationships, not remove me from them. When I get involved in a relationship again, I am going to be 100% clear on who I am, and not make any chameleo-morphic routines to force myself to fit into their environment and mindset. I will be very well-equipped with self knowledge and assurance at the time I'm ready to seriously fall in love again.

I spent very little words on the date regarding my past relationship. He also is divorced, and he shared just as many words as I did. Our discussion of the ex's lasted a shorter time than our comparison of favorite coffees. Granted, when you are a Pacific Northwesterner you spend as much time discussing coffee nuances as wine enthusiasts contrast grapes. But still, my point is that I am moving on.

I can honestly say I am at the point now where I have accepted the marriage is over. Friendship with my ex is tenuous at best, icy-cold at worst. There's still quite a bit of healing to do before the two of us could spend time together as friends, if that's even possible. We both damaged each other pretty badly. But I've let go of the resentment now, as well as the pain. I've forgiven both him and myself. I know right down to the marrow of my bones he never intended to hurt me, just as much as I never intended to make our relationship so much a part of my identity that I lost myself in the process.

I look forward to dozens of dates in the coming months, and am in absolutely no rush to find The One. Even as a teenager I viewed boyfriends as The One, and never really truly "dated." I would latch onto the current boyfriend with total committment and a mindset that this was The One. It's high time I play the field to get a wider breadth to understand men and how they operate. This first "adult" date showed me how much I've grown since my last First Date. I learned I am no longer looking for, nor desire, a White Knight who can whisk my troubles away and/or impress with his intelligence, wit, or personal drive to succeed. When the Right Match comes along, that match will integrate with family well, he will have the same experience-over-stuff mentality as I do, and share my yearning for, well for lack of a better term, spiritual connection with life itself and the wonder of each new day and its possibilities.

The best thing to come out of this first adult date? It is a milestone in my progress to move on already, and get my head and heart out of the past. I am not missing any more todays becuase I am too busy mourning yesterdays. I can't do jack-shit about what has happened already. But I sure as shit have control with what I do in the present moment, and direct my future to things I know will make me happy.