Making something good from the bad

My brother has resurfaced = good

His girlfriend has to leave the country before her visitor visa expires = bad

She flew out today.

I wish I could protect him from the hurt he is going to feel tomorrow morning when he wakes up, in their bed, alone.

However, he is prepared for this and is already making plans to have the experience help him grow. It’s a family trait, making the best out of adversity – the breakup that kicked off my being a runner is just one example.

My brother says yoga to help him find calmness in his life (and increased flexibility), music for sanity (and income) and every odd (or regular) job he can work to save the money so they can visit each other. In a lot of ways I’m excited for him, if he is able to stick to his plan and use the experience of being apart from someone you love, to help him grow, he will be an even more incredible person than he is now.

And the really good news for him is he plans to stay on the ocean for now. This is good because he (like me) is of the ocean and when everything else in life makes you feel terrible, the ocean brings back that feeling of life.

Read Full Post »

Postcards from the edge: an email after six months

Well speak of the devil.

Why is it that when I bring someone up, it’s like they are reading my mind from a world away.  The man who sent flowers, emailed me. It’s the first time in more than six months.

I was kind of hoping that when I never heard from him again, I would never hear from him again, but, like always, just when I think it’s all good, they write.

Along with the news, he sent this “it seems like all my friends are getting married. What am I doing wrong? Am I doing something wrong?”

Gut instinct is to write back, “well convincing a girl that she is largely in love with you, getting her to travel halfway around the world to meet you for New Years Eve in a beautiful (and neutral) location and then when she steps off the plane, acting like you are nearly strangers and having that continue for the next three weeks, might be part of what you’re doing wrong.”

However, common sense is outweighing gut instinct. Instead I am writing that response here, giving myself time to comprehend the entire email and will write back when it’s not such an emotional response.

Read Full Post »

Just a little slip

Like what can happen to so many people trying to kick any habit, I had a little slip.

I had been drinking at a big, fancy night out for work, and I got home, all dressed up with nowhere to go, so I texted the Professional.

It was a fun text. I teased him about being bad at keeping in touch, and telling him I hoped his new live was even better than he hoped.

The problem was, he texted back. And he texted back, then I texted back etc. etc.

And finally this,

“It’s my birthday today, we are out having a cake and a drink.”

I didn’t know it was his birthday and I hadn’t thought of texting him before that day.

Now I’m wondering what cosmic power seems to think I need to be attentive to him, be with him, without telling him the reverse is true. They must be having a great laugh at my expense.

Eventually I wished him well on an upcoming trip and went to sleep feeling very unsatisfied and angry. Why doesn’t he want to be with me. Idiot.

Happy Birthday.

Read Full Post »

Open letter to another man to break my heart

When I gave you the choice to go, I meant it. It wasn’t a trick or a trap. You could have left and slept at your own house.

When I said if you stay, you had better mean it, not for five more minutes or five hours, but for five days, weeks, month or years. Stay until there is a reason to go. When I said if you stay, I’ll start to become attached, I wasn’t lying.

If it is the sex you were after, that’s okay; you don’t have to lie to me to get into my pants.

I said, “don’t stay because you feel you should, stay because you want to.” In fact, if some weird sense of moral guy obligations is what is keeping you in my bed, then I prefer you go – it doesn’t mean you can’t come back – it just gives me a fighting chance to protect my heart.

When you ask, “are you kicking me out,” and look horrified at the thought. When you realize I want you to stay and mean it. When you wrap your arms around me, tuck me in a close and go to sleep that way, you work your way into my heart.

This means you’ll hurt me when you leave. It’ll hurt me the next morning. It will hurt me all week when I wait to hear from you, and it will hurt me when you text me two weeks after you move away to say, “I can’t promise regular visits in person.”

Because of the choices you made and because of the things you said, I let you into my heart for the first time since I had my heart broken years ago, I believed I could have a real relationship. It wasn’t like you didn’t know you were moving … yet you said you wanted to stay just five more hours each time anyway. Of course I thought that meant you would want to continue to see me – texts, Skype, phone calls, airplanes, all of it.

However now you are gone and all I have left is a text freeing me to see other people, who I don’t want to see.

And now I write an open and anonymous letter on a blog, because it is all things I could never tell you in person, because we’ll likely never talk again.

Was I naïve to believe that you understood what I was saying, when I told you what would happen if you stayed? Or are you just kind of a jerk? If it’s the latter, which I truly believe it isn’t, I wish that next girl you meet a whole lot of luck and more of a chance than you gave me.

Sincerely,

The Girl

Read Full Post »

The morning after; waking up after it’s over

Waking up this morning went exactly how I knew it would.

Eyes open sleepily, big streeeettttccchhh, yawn, enjoy the sun streaming in through the partially closed blinds and feel good for about three seconds and then that horrible, exhausted, crushing feeling.

It’s been a while since I felt this way – two-and-a-half-years ago really.

The good news is I have been though this once before, which means, unlike last time, I am prepared for the stages of losing someone you love. Strange, thinking a previous breakup as something good, but I think I can handle it better when I know what to expect.

The bad news is that it still hurts, when I stop to think that, again, someone I care about isn’t willing to wait or try to make a relationship work with me.

The good news is I know from previous experience that if someone isn’t willing to put the effort to make a relationship work now, it won’t work under the same conditions later. This protects me from all those not-so-helpful demi friends that will try to convince you that if I just keep in touch he’ll change.

The bad news is a little part of me thinks that maybe if I keep emailing him that he will realize that I’m awesome and worth waiting for.

The good news is a breakup is fantastic motivation for me. I will become a skinnier, prettier, tougher, more skilled, bad ass version of myself.

The whole experience also teaches me that I need to not have expectations. I had it in my head, I’d fly to see him, he’d fly to see me … er, or not. Those without expectations of others are not disappointed. I guess that  is another rule for living, if you just live and experience things as they come versus expecting them to happen in a certain way, you will be happier.

Too pragmatic? Well it’s this or curl up in a ball and cry.

Read Full Post »

Here we go again — another breakup

I cannot catch a break when it comes to men.

After 10 days of thinking (and let’s be honest, telling all my friends/anyone who would listen) that The Professional and I were meant to be, that he was texting, that we fit so well together – it’s rare I find men taller than me, so I can tuck up against their shoulder when we walk – we had THE conversation.

“Don’t want to seem like I can promise regular visits in person, want to respect your space and choices to meet people that could make you happy … and not wanting to turn away people I may meet here sometime…”

Well, shit.

All the visions of a high-power couple traveling to see each other in their cities and going on vacation together instantly vanished.

Maybe, I’m reading that wrong, but largely it looks like, I’ll keep in touch with you until I think I have found something better, or at least more locally available. I’m pretty sure I can do better than that as an offer. Although some small part of me, hopes I am having a giant overreaction to a note that simply means, I cannot promise to be with you forever, but would like to keep in touch. If that’s the case, please let me know because I am about to start the whole process that launched blog all over again – yay heartbreak.

Puke.

Read Full Post »

Small action, big impact — the art of flowers

So I’ve met a man that sends flowers.

Not ‘I’m-sorry’ flowers or ‘oh-shit-it’s-our-anniversary’ flowers, but, ‘it-was-nice-to-meet-you-and-I-hope-we-can-keep-in-touch’ flowers.

I was at a wedding, which I realize isn’t that newsworthy seeing as lately I seem to be attending them nearly monthly. This particular wedding was one that was set to be particularly awkward, ex-boyfriends, old schoolmates I haven’t kept in touch with, a virtual minefield.

There were a couple of people there that I didn’t know and one of the ­— fortunately for me — single men and I quickly made a pact. He would recuse me if I look particularly trapped by a conversation or a person.

And he did, with class, on more than one occasion.

Fast forward a great evening filled with music and dancing, an afternoon of great conversation and excuses to stay longer and a promise by him to get in touch … and I walked away.

I figured it was what it was, a great chance meeting between two people who live on opposite sides of the planet. He would fly back to his continent and that would be that.

And after a week of not hearing from him, I had myself convinced that whatever dizziness I thought I felt was likely due to the corset like dress and I didn’t really care.

That Friday, our receptionist called me to the front. The flowers were beautiful and the note simple. It was perfect.

After explaining that no, I didn’t sleep with him nor really anything other than talk, the women in my officer were blown away.

And admittedly, I was as well.

At that moment, I realized I had another rule for living: enough with the men who are good enough or fill a void, wait for those guys who treat you in the way you deserve.

I hardly know him, but find myself curious over how good things could get.

Read Full Post »

The Crazy That Distance Will Do

While I usually pass for sane and well-balanced, every once and I while I can do what most women do and hop the train bound for crazy.

For those of you that are fortunate enough not to know what I mean — the crazy train is when something small sets you off, but by the time you finish thinking about it, all rational thought has disappeared. Once on the crazy train there are no brakes and it’s nearly impossible to get off of it.

As promised in my last post here is a quick glimpse into my kryptonite and the boarding station for the train to crazy — distance.

I’d been seeing this guy for about six months when he moved back to the United States, leaving me in Canada. I’d finally decided to book a trip to see him and the date was getting close. The weekend before I was to fly down, he went to visit a friend — a woman — for a night of drinking.

I was a little upset, but couldn’t be too mad because I have several male friends that I hang out with and stay with, in other cities.

But, he went out on a Saturday night and by the middle of the afternoon Sunday, I was imagining all of the ways the night before could have gone. And each one ended with him in bed with her.

He called early evening, but it was a short and unsatisfying conversation because he was driving. So it was all aboard the train for crazy. I started googling. FYI, when it comes to this girl and Google, you can run, but you cannot hide.

Within minutes I found photos that he’d posted of himself, great photos, on a forum, which would have been fine, if it hadn’t been for single guys.

The crazy train pulled away from the station and started picking up speed. I called a friend of mine to talk. She brought alcohol, which by the way, is the fuel for this train.

The next thing, well about 20 minutes and two glasses of wine later, I’m on the phone with Delta trying to figure out how to cancel my ticket.

The conversation went something this:

Me: Sob. Big deep breath … “I – I – I need to cancel my flight.”
The very accommodating agent: “Okay ma’am. Would you like to reschedule it for a later date?”
Me: Sob. “No.” Sob. Big deep breath. “No. I can’t go there, I can’t ever go there.” Sob.
Agent, clearly noticing some distress: “Well, um you could come here and visit me.”
Me: “No thank you.” Sob. “But, thanks anyway.”

The conversation continued with my so-called friend cracking up behind me. She must have realized I was in no actual danger of cancelling my flight.

A couple of minutes more with the delta agent and he described where I could go online to cancel and where I could find the number of my ticket.

I’m sure that call was monitored for quality assurance and now is floating around call-centre classrooms as a sample of how to handle a crazy called.

I hung up and consumed the rest of the bottle of wine and then, of course, thought the best action would be to call the man, whose fault this all was. Fortunately for both of us it went to voicemail.

I collapsed into bed to sleep off the wine.  Sleep, it seems is the brakes required to slow down the train because waking up the next morning I started to realize how crazy I had been.

The second fortunate incident is the ability of both me and him to laugh at circumstances. We talked over Skype although all I really wanted was to be held.

But, what he said was just as good.

“Why would I sleep with anyone else? I’m with you. I like you.”

Oh. Of course.

Crazy train parked … until next time.

Read Full Post »

Distance doesn’t matter?

I saw a tweet the other day that made me think, which is just one indicator social media is becoming prevalent — another indicator is the movement ongoing in Egypt, but those are discussion for another day.

What I read was this:

“Distance doesn’t matter if you really love the person, what matters is your honesty and trust for it to work out.”

I guess that all depending on how you see things “working out.”

I hated and I mean hated the distance — it made me tragically crazy on more than one occasion* — but I did love and I did trust for it to work out. In a way I guess it did, but I was expecting a much different conclusion.

Would it have worked out if it wasn’t for the distance? I’d like to think yes, but guess that’s one question I have to leave unanswered.

*see tomorrow’s post for that story

Read Full Post »