After Bounder and I broke up, I realized that not only was I ready but I was willing to date. That is perhaps the most daunting aspect of my new, single life—finding someone to go out with. The whole notion of "finding" someone seems so stupidly foreign to me anyway. I didn't date much, in any traditional sense. The guys I was with before I was married were all friends before I was with them. They were in my circle, and it was natural to just start hanging out together all the time. I don't know that I've ever had the experience of a new guy picking me up, taking me out, and bringing me home. For that to happen, though, I'll have to step out of my neighborhood and into new places with new people.
For years I identified myself as an
introvert. For anyone who knows me now,
that's pretty hard to believe. Looking
back, I realize I wasn't introverted so much as I was shy. Once I was comfortable with someone, I could
easily talk to them and be my normal, boisterous self. It just took me a while to feel at ease
enough to open my mouth.
I'm still that way, for the most part, which is why it's hard for me to meet new people. I'm also 40 going into this life. After being with the same man for twenty years—a man who really was an introvert—I have no idea where to go and what to do, especially if I'm by myself. There's free time now when the boys are with their father. I don't have to fill all of that time away from home, or even with someone, but it is nice to have someone different to talk to once in a while.
Having been fortunate enough to have some remarkably special men in my life, it's going to be difficult to find someone who really turns me on. I can be a lot to handle, and I'm very picky. It seems that any man who comes close to what I want and what's good for me will have be a very rare breed of human being. I deserve to have someone that special—and that person will deserve me—but I also know I'm unlikely to encounter them at the same grocery store I see five times a week.
Queen Frostine encouraged me to go out and try a few, specific new places. A couple of male friends have volunteered to be my wingman on a night out. All of that will be happening over the next few weeks and months, and I'm sure I'll meet some great people, along with the ones who aren't so great. And just meeting someone, even if I like or date them, doesn't mean I want to love them.
But the day will come (again) when I
fall in love. As I wrote recently, the
bar for me has been set very high. I
know I can't compare one man to another—though women do that shit all the
time. It's not about finding someone as
good as or better than somebody that I used to know. However, because I've had some exceptionally
profound experiences, I won't be settling for mundane. A new relationship doesn't have to be full-on
excitement all the time, but it also can't be so lacking in real chemistry that
I have to constantly overlook flaws in an attempt to be content.
I've been thinking a lot about what this as-of-now imaginary person might be like. If they're important enough to me to really pursue something more serious, I can give them a copy of Persona Non Grata, though it's a little strange to hand a would-be the Zagat Guide to Stephanie.
Here's the Cliff's Notes version:
They have to understand that I am a mom. My kids are always on my mind, and they are usually in my custody. Although I do get time without them, they are my main priority right now and will be for quite a while. Anyone who comes into my life has to be willing to accept them as a part of me, and vice versa.
They have to understand that I used to be a fat girl. I often still think like a fat girl. More than a hundred pounds ago, I was miserable. The weight loss brought the surgeries, which brought the scars. And I'm still no small thing and never will be. I am very cognizant of my body, and I'm still trying to adjust to what I see as myself.
I'd like them to be bigger than I am. That seems kind of silly, but I was often heavier than my boyfriends and even my husband. Still an Amazon, I'm not usually attracted to men who are shorter or slighter than I. I want someone whose hands and feet are larger than mine, who can make me feel physically small when he holds me. There's a comfort in that, and I've only really felt it with one person.
They have to be smart and funny and a little unconventional. I am impatient and easily bored. I constantly look to be amused in my life, but I have a dry, bawdy sense of humor. I do not think or act like other girls. And I talk a lot. They have to be able to converse with me and laugh with me.
They have to see me eye-to-eye. It was recently brought to my attention that one of the reasons I can make people uncomfortable is that I see them for who they are pretty quickly. I have always read people well, but after two years of really examining myself and others around me, I have developed the ability to hone in on the truth of people with relative ease. Turns out a lot of people don't like it when others see through their facade. But that special person has to be honest both with me and with themselves about who and what they are. That's how I live my own life, and I expect nothing less from my partner.
They have to be considerate of me. My time and attention are finite. I have a lot of responsibilities. One of my pet peeves is people who are perpetually late or absent who can't be bothered to let you know. It's not so hard to call or send a text to say you're running late. Things happen; just keep me in the loop.
They can't be an addict. I've dealt with too many men who use substances as a crutch or even a wheelchair to manage their lives. I can't handle it. It's not that I'm opposed to drinking or other people's use of occasional recreational substances. It's the addictive behavior and emotional stuntedness that are unacceptable to me.
They have to accept that I can be emotionally high-maintenance. I feel everything—for myself and my friends and my children and the others I love. I can be insecure and temperamental. I need emotional validation and attention, though it can be quiet and subtle. A squeeze of the hand, a murmur of, "I hear you," is sometimes all it takes. Sometimes I need someone to listen to me rail and cry for a few minutes. It's not constant, and I'm always willing to reciprocate.
Maybe this is a lot. Maybe not. I don't have a great frame of reference. If I'm too particular about what I want, it's because I have years of having exactly what I didn't want. I refuse to live that way ever again, if I can help it.
So, whoever you are that may capture my heart next, know what you're in for. This is only the tip of the iceberg, I promise, but start here; we'll see where this path leads us.
And chances are that guy you saw me with is just my wingman.
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