When I was younger — much younger — I thought that finding that one person on the planet that fills the void of your other half was simple. You go out. You meet a lot of people. You pick one. Or, one picks you. In my twenties, I went out, I met a lot of people, and some picked me. Four to be exact.
The first was a friend from college who, after a car wreck, moved back home to recuperate. I was the designated letter writer who kept him up-to-date on all the happenings within our group. He read more into those letters, though, than I intended and came back to town about a year later with a diamond solitaire and “plans.” I was clueless. So, what did I do? I ran like hell.
The second was a coworker who, though at the time married to someone else, proposed every few months. I thought we were just friends — not so much as a hug between us – but he seemed to think we were “meant” for each other or some such nonsense. My first instinct, again, was to run, but that’s hard to do when you work in the same place. Fortunately for me, my family decided to move to another state and, yep, I packed fast. A couple of years later we moved back to my hometown. By then, he was divorced and just kept on proposing. I finally started taking him seriously. He disappeared shortly thereafter, started dating someone else and was married eight months later. Some soul mate!
The third one, also from my college days, was and still is an enigma to me. We had a sort of off-and-on love-hate relationship. He proposed when I least expected it — he was in one room and I was in another. His proposal came across like a rhetorical question so I gave him a rhetorical answer. He stormed out and the next day, gave me a piece of his mind — for about twenty minutes. Never saw anyone so mad in my life. Still not sure what all happened there but still one of the few regrets I have.
The fourth one, I married. Shouldn’t have but no regrets with this one. I have a wonderful daughter who is the light of my life.
So why am I rambling on about all this? Well, lately I’ve felt like something is missing. I’ve had 24 years of post-divorce peace and contentment and, for the most part, happiness. And yet, I feel sort of empty sometimes. My child is off on her own now so maybe it’s just empty nest syndrome. I don’t know. I just know that sometimes, something really neat happens that I’d like to share and there’s no one here to share it with. No one that really gets me. I guess that’s the price I pay for once upon a time being young and stupid and fickle.
Maybe it’s for the best. Not all of us are destined to find the lid to their pot. Some of us are probably better suited to being their own sole mate. (Aren’t puns grand!)
I think for me, though, it boils down to not being able to give or be what the fellas I’ve known seem to want — a terminally sweet, utterly speechless, mammary-blessed*, sex-starved, totally subservient, house maid who likes to cook.
Was that me just being pissy? Hmmm.
*Thanks for the reminder, Kate!