May 27, 2010
I’ve given up dating.
Well, kind of. I’ve stopped dating. Not forever…I think. Just for a short while, just until the most recent gaping wound heals over and I can finally figure out what I want.
It’s a question of long term vs. short term. Should be easy, right?
So far, it’s the hardest thing I’ve done in recent years, this introspective cave I’ve entered. It’s a self-imposed retreat from the dating world for the next six months. I’m supposed to sit down and occasionally drink a beer (or something harder) and figure out what I want from the next relationship I find myself in (or not in, as the case might be).
I suppose that if it was easy, everyone would do it. We’d all take a six month break between relationships and re-evaluate the states of our lives. If it was really and truly easy, the people who have it all figured out already would be there, waiting for us, ready to dole out great pieces of advice and cupcakes so it would all seem a little less painful.
There have been no great pieces of advice as of yet.
Nor have there been cupcakes.
(I’m far more upset about the cupcakes, which may speak to the level of committment I’ve made to this self-improvement project.)
The lack of cupcakes and advice aside, it’s the questions that I’m struggling with right now, the questions about what I want for my future self.
Do I want marriage and children and a white picket fence?
Do I want the comfort and stability of a marriage without the hassle of a wedding?
Do I want to spend the rest of my life alone, drifting from one man to the next in pursuit of some happiness I’m not even sure I understand?
These are the questions I hope to answer in six months, these and others. The goal is to be a little more put together by Thanksgiving, to have a better understanding of my place in this world and what it means to be a single woman approaching 30.
(The first person to make an old maid crack, gets it.)
I have a feeling there’s a storm of epic proportions waiting for me down the road, sitting idle in the weeks approaching my birthday in August. Hurricane Deal-With-Your-Shit-And-Move-On could be a category 4 if 29 doesn’t go as well as I hope.
My father has this way of saying something without actually saying it. It’s about facial expressions, the way his glasses will slip down his nose. When either my brother or I would complain about the difficulty of a situation, the expression on his face would change.
His jaw would set and his chin would jut out.
His glasses – big glasses that cover his eyes and the top halves of his cheeks – would slip down ever so slightly.
And his mouth would quirk in this strange half smile that was too soft to be a smirk but too sarcastic to be loving.
It was an expression that said volumes. It said that if it was supposed to be easy, it wouldn’t be hard (there was always an implied ‘dumbass’ in that expression, typically reserved for our particularly whiny moments).
Sometimes you have to work hard for the easy answers. I’ll guess we’ll just have to see if he’s right.