So, this week has been rough on one level. Probably I hit a phase where I was overly sensitive, a condition I often saw in my mother when I was a boy. But, in my various interactions with friends, I somehow found myself feeling excluded, rejected in that way that is probably familiar to all of us.
It isn't only in love or sex that we can feel pushed away, of course, although for men, carrying the cultural burden of making the first move, that's how it often comes down for us with women -- or, I suppose, if we are gay, with men. In my case, if I flirt with somebody and she flirts back, it's pretty likely that sooner or later I will find a way to make my move.
If she is unresponsive for too long, my interest will tend to wane, and I will stop trying. But, if I am trying and she shuts me down entirely -- that is a true bummer.
Nowhere near as bad as when I was a raw teenager, of course, where rejection felt like a total obliteration of my identity. But, even at my age, it is a delicate matter to try and get closer to someone, even if I don't know where I want it to lead, only to hit that nasty old wall of resistance.
For the most part, I am thinking historically here, still trying to work out for myself my own life story. Up until a certain age, nobody ever really rejected me. After that point, a number of potential partners have, ultimately, including everyone I became involved with after my first marriage fell apart.
They have all left me, one way or another, except for one who has not yet fully had her chance to determine what she wants in respect to me, and I suspect we'll find that out later this year, somehow.
But, tonight I am thinking only of those who have rejected me: various special women in various degrees of intimacy when the crucial decision got made. This week, for whatever reason, probably due to the strange winds and the odd feeling in our air (now passed), I started feeling hypersensitive about these subjects.
I doubt many would label me a paranoid person, though I recall one counselor called me a "lovable neurotic." I can accept that. But I wonder about the "lovable" part. Am I, really?
We're coming up on what for me is an auspicious anniversary in a few days -- the breakup that tore my heart to pieces, and which also initiated this blog. It will be a year next Tuesday and I need to perform a ritual or two that day to mark the moment.
Meanwhile, as I've indicated, this past week brought nuanced experiences and communications from various quarters that helped stimulate one of those ineffably painful mood dips and all of a sudden, I felt unlovable.
This brings us back to the matter of Google's green dots. Probably feeling sorry for myself, I entered "unlovable" as my label.
Who should notice but the one who broke my heart a year ago. She sent me the first message I have heard from her in ages: "Who told you...that you're unlovable. Punch 'em in the nose and tell them it's special delivery from me."
That's what she is like, fierce in defense of her friends. With those few words, she reminded me that being loved is knowing somebody keeps you in your mind. She acts like a very tough woman much of the time, and as the above message shows, she can easily adopt a rather macho tone.
But her fierceness in defending her friends and her clients is one of her most special qualities and something I will never forget about her.
Tonight, she sent me that gift.
Afterward, I went to a fundraiser for the kids’ school and, of all things, played basketball! This is remarkable because for moths I have felt barely capable of standing up, heaving my growing potbelly into a vertical position. I loathe the physical decline that is my daily reality.
Tonight, I must say, some sort of muscle memory must have taken over because I suddenly was grabbing rebounds and making half-court passes that resulted in a number of assists. I only had the stamina to play for a few minutes in the kids v. parents fundraiser game, but I did not embarrass myself.
Such little encouragements make such a big difference. I know J is long lost from me, that she is determined to make sure I have "moved on" before she will feel safe enough to explore whatever new relationship is possible once every last bit of the former intimacy has been extinguished.
Meanwhile, other voices reach out for me. There are ups and there are downs. We all have our problems. People are on the move. Maybe in a month or two I will have somebody near me who actually likes to be there! That would be a change. I've been mostly alone for a long time now, and sometimes prone to false hopes, reaching out inappropriately to some who are in no position to handle the likes of me, and my baggage.
I continue to live alone, with no woman by my side. I do not know whether this is how the rest of my life will unfold, or if I will retreat back into the familiar pattern of having a special one with me all the time -- the model that J and I followed. But I know for sure, the scars from that experience are written all over my face.
I'm protective in ways I never was before. I have a very high barrier to entry for anyone to really get to know my kids. J's letter still hangs above Julia's bed. Nobody can possibly be let that far into this family until I am sure, very sure, that she is ready to share our reality here, with all of its complications and mundane, even boring routines, in a way that improves the situation.
I guess what I am saying is that I am first and foremost a father, a single father, and as much as I yearn for love, sex, and female companionship, I will turn away from all of that if it in any way threatens my sacred duty as a parent, and now also as a grandparent.
I know I made a major error with J, letting her way too far in way too fast. The next one, if there is to be one, will have to enter the family slowly, organically, and naturally.
Once burned, lesson learned.
It won't happen again.
-30-
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