Reflection

Sometimes I wonder if I'm protesting too much when I say how grateful I am for all the freedom and opportunities I have. Then I think, if I tell myself what I have to be grateful for enough, then maybe I really will start to be grateful. That's the whole damn point of this exercise, right? I do seem to actually feel grateful more often, which makes this a successful exercise and one worth continuing—despite the risk of smugness. Look how lucky I am! Aren't you jealous?

I never thought I'd say this and mean it, but I'm currently grateful to be single. Having a boyfriend has been my one consistent desire for almost my entire life. Remember, I was first engaged at age five. Grades K thru three represented my fallow years, but beginning in the fourth grade, I had strong boyfriend desires. First, for Bruce, who was in the sixth grade. The next year, it was John in the third grade (a younger man!). Heck, even in the third grade, I remember having a crush on a boy in my Sunday School class. I could go on…but the point is, I've always wanted a boyfriend. Sometimes, having a boyfriend was enough to make me happy...even if I didn't like the guy very much.

So, it's a little hard for me to believe that I'm actually happy to be single. Not just happy, but grateful.

I was talking to a friend the other day who was venting some boyfriend angst. She said, "What a waste—all that time—if we broke up!"

I said, "No, not a waste! That's your life—you had a lot of good times with him."

"I know, I know."

I'm sympathetic to her frustration. I've been there. We've all been there. But I'd hate her to think she wasted her time with someone she loves, even if the relationships ends.

A few days later, I was talking to Pele about Owen. (Remember Owen? He was my last steady boyfriend.) I said, "He wasn't worth my time."

Pele said, "I like Owen and I hate to say it, but you're right. He wasn't worth your time."

Is it different to say someone isn't worth your time rather than a waste of your time?

I haven't given Owen much thought since our breakup. I haven't missed him. I wasn't even sad for very long. I had occasion recently to read some of the blog entries about Owen. What struck me was how god-damn crazy he had me feeling. I hate that. And I said to Pele, "Never again. I am never putting myself in that position again. If I'm feeling that anxious, it means the relationship is already beyond repair and I need to get out."

I also haven't done much worrying/reflecting/post-breakup analysis about Owen. (A quick perusal of the blog confirms that.) Isn't that odd? Instead of worrying about Owen, missing him or thinking about what went wrong, I jumped into a couple of dead-end dating situations and starting missing other exes. I guess that's one way to deal with things. And it seemed to work. Who knew?

Reading one post in particular about my complete inability to contain my anxiety while waiting for a call from Owen, spurred some reflection. I got pissed. No, not pissed in any meaningful way, but pissed that dating him made me feel so crappy.

I said to Pele, "You know what, I'm grateful I'm single. I'm grateful for every day I'm not in a relationship that makes me miserable. And every single relationship I've had recently was a misery—for at least half the time! A misery! What's the good of that?"

She shook her head and said, "No good at all."

We know that I was miserable with Owen during the weekdays when I waited, anxiously, to hear from him. When I was on pins and needles, wondering if we were actually going to see each other. I could not relax, as much as I wanted to. I could not lower my expectations sufficiently to be happy seeing him whenever. I could not plan my life as though there were no Owen in it and fit him in around whatever else I had going on.

I wonder why that is. I know I value my time and I can be very busy. But a lot of my time is filled with optional activities that aren't of high importance. Sure, I like going to the movies, but missing any particular movie isn't a big deal. Not going swing dancing on any particular Friday? Again, no big deal. I'm flexible and open to last minute plans, to an extent. I have a schedule that I can shift around without much heartburn and I like it that way.

Also, I saw him as my boyfriend, which meant I was reserving time for him. Those expectations were reinforced by some of his words. He told me he loved me. Several times. And then he stopped saying it. He spoke as though he wanted to be engaged (!). To me. Dummy.

I didn't believe that stuff. I knew it was too soon to tell. I knew he didn't know me well enough to be so sure. But I still thought it was sweet and maybe I believed it…a little. (Did you know I never reciprocated? Not once, though I was tempted a few times. Maybe the break up was my fault for not being affectionate enough? Ha ha ha ha. Awesome.)

I also knew that as soon as we broke up we weren't going to be friends. What was the basis of our friendship? Watching football on tv and sleeping together? That's not much to go on. Oh, we also went out drinking with his friends a bunch. Yeah, that doesn't help much either. We rarely talked. He wasn't interested in working on the "getting to know each other" aspect of things. I was flexible—I would have like to talk more, but I was happy to hang out and let the talking happen eventually. Hmm, that's not quite accurate. I would have liked to talk to him on the phone more, since I think that's a good way to get to know someone, but he wasn't willing.

I wonder, if you're dating someone and you know you wouldn't be friends after a break up, does that mean the relationship is doomed?

While I feel a little dopey for dating Owen, I remind myself that it was like a fact finding mission. I learned what I needed to know: Owen was not for me. Our time together was not wasted, I enjoyed a lot of it. What I didn't enjoy was the time I spent worrying. Did the good times outweigh the bad? I dunno.

That's why I'm happy to be single. I'm getting a lot out of it these days—savoring the freedom—even the freedom to do nothing, if I choose. I also very much appreciate not being in the misery and muck of a relationship. Nothing makes me quite so unhappy as a bad relationship.

Now, I'm all in favor of good relationships. I've even had a good relationship or two in my day, but I just don't see the point of wasting my time making myself unhappy. And I can't blame anyone but myself—I'm the constant in all of my relationships. If I'm consistently unhappy, then I'm consistently choosing poorly. I choose to be happy—single or coupled.

If I could have had the relationship I'd wanted with Owen, I would have been happy. Oddly, that would have been a freer, fewer-strings, less serious one. It would not have been a "let's see if we're going to get married" relationship. That pressure was all from him. I know, I know, it doesn't sound right, but I wasn't the one insisting he wear an engagement ring! (No, really, he got upset when I said I wouldn't wear an engagement ring. We compromised on a hypothetical non-diamond ring. Yeesh.)

It's not that I don't want to get married or be in that kind of relationship. I do. I just didn't want it with Owen. (And he didn't want it with me.) He was sweet and a good kisser, but, the potential? I thought it was there, I convinced myself it was there, but it was never there. For whatever reason.

Oh, and you may wonder why I'm not musing more about Kansas, my more recent mistake. That's because I have no regrets about Kansas. I did all my reflecting about him at the time and I have nothing further to say. I'm actually a tiny bit proud of the way I handled things. I mean, if you can get past the part where I got involved with him in the first place. Yep. I rock.

Grateful for: knowing my mind.

Long night

Saturday started out super lazy. I just poked around at home doing minimal cleaning, knitting and feeling sorry for myself. I wasn't miserable, just a little blue. I still hadn't decided about the party that night. I made it out of the house for some coffee, but I went right back home. I decided if staying home felt good, I would let myself enjoy it. I did.

At 6:30pm the phone rang. It was Kansas asking me to the baseball game. I'd told him it was ok if he invited me at the last minute. I rode the bike to RFK to meet him and was there before the first pitch. It's only about a 15-minute ride from home and by far the easiest way to get there.

The game was fun, but he was really loud and obnoxious. It made me wonder if I wanted to go to another game with him. To be fair, the loud, obnoxious Mets fans were provocative. It was a good game. Twelve innings! Kansas wanted to leave in the bottom of the 12th, but I refused to go until the last out. I think I got some props for that.

I still wasn't sure about the party. I figured I could do both. (I wore an, ahem, appropriate shirt to the game so I'd be prepared for party time if it ever came.)

After the game, we walked back to the bar. He made it clear that he wanted me to join him. That should not be remarkable, but it's not Kansas's habit to issue direct invitations. However, he did directly invite me and I tagged along because, well, because I did.

We walked and talked and it was fine. We got to the bar, and given that I wasn't drunk, I had a drink. And, since I was starving, I ordered fries. Yum. Well, not that yum, but good enough to eat.

We paid up and stood outside while Kansas smoked. It was a bit after midnight and I thought, "I'm ready to go to the party."

I'd invited my friend, PW, to the party at the last minute. He had dinner plans earlier in the evening but said that if I were going to the party late, I should give him a call. I'd told him Owen would be there and I needed some moral support. At12:15, I called PW while I was standing on the sidewalk outside the bar.

I didn't tell Kansas what I was doing, but with the phone to my ear, he said, "You should go to the party." I said, "That's what I'm doing." I stepped away when PW answered so I could hear him. He said, "Did you get my email?"

I said, "Email? No, I'm not home."

"Oh. Well, I wasn't sure if it was ok to call so late, so I sent an email. Do you want to go to the party?"

I said, "Yeah. Heh. I didn't even hesitate to call you."

PW said, "Where are you? I'll come get you."

I told him and we hung up. I went back to Kansas and told him PW was coming to get me to go to the party. I never considered inviting Kansas and he never hinted that he wanted to go. I did feel a little guilty for not including him but I didn't do anything about it. If he'd spent the entire evening talking about a party and didn't invite me, I wouldn't have liked it one bit.

I could tell that Kansas wanted to leave--either to go back to the bar or home--but he felt he should wait until my ride arrived. I told him he could go but I didn't insist. I was actually happy to have him wait with me. He finally went inside and less than a minute later PW arrived. (I left my bike locked in front of the bar. I picked it up on Sunday afternoon.)

When we got to the party around 12:45, it was packed. One of the first people I saw when we squeezed our way into the kitchen was Owen's roommate, Barry. I was happy to see him and he introduced me to the two friends he was talking to, one of whom appeared to be his girlfriend. In turn, I introduced them to PW. I always liked Barry and it looked like he was happy to see me too.

PW went for beer but both kegs were tapped. I stepped out the back door and surveyed the yard from the top of the steps. I caught sight of Owen. I wasn't sure if I should go down to talk to him. So I did nothing. PW and I stayed the kitchen and found something to drink--straight vodka (ick!)--and a corner to drink in. We watched the crowd and chatted. I said I wasn't sure if I should say hi to Owen or if I even wanted to say hi.

Then Owen walked by. He said, "Hi!" and kept going. I was astonished.

I turned to PW and said, "What was that?"

"Maybe he was getting in the bathroom line."

"Harrumph."

When Owen walked by us the second time, he said nothing. And the third time? Also nothing.

I said, "Unbelievable!" I suggested we go out back for some air. It was easy to find a place to stand since the crowd had cleared quite a bit. The evening was pleasant. Owen came back outside, but he still didn't come say hello to me.

Finally, I stepped up to him and said, "Are you kidding? Are you really not going to talk to me at all?"

The look on his face--surprise and confusion--was priceless. He said, "No, I, no, I wasn't…"

"Ok. But you walked right by me!"

"No, you know me, it was just crowded and I had to get where I was going."

I thought, "I don't know you." I said, "Ok, I'm sorry. How are you?"

We had a short, civil conversation. I introduced him to PW, who then faded away. Barry came by and we three talked. Barry announced that Owen had gotten a big raise. Owen told me he's now supervising three people and working ten hours more per week. I thought, "Why did I ever think he'd have a new girlfriend? He's married to his job."

PW came back and Owen and friends said goodnight and left the party

Despite my mini-tempter tantrum, the meeting went reasonably well. Owen is likeable and cute but it's hard to believe that we dated, that it was semi-serious and that I wrote thousands of words about it. Oh well. I don't even want to read back and remind myself what I was thinking. I'm content to have forgotten the whole thing for now…there'll be plenty of time for remembering later on.

PW drove me home and he came in and talked for a while. It was very late when he left but I wasn't tired at all. Eventually, I managed to put myself to sleep. With the help of the good, heavy drapes I have in the bedroom I slept until almost ten.

It sure wasn't my typical Saturday night, but I enjoyed it.

Grateful for: moral support.