Two months ago, I found myself in a precarious situation. Single. Sure, some may say at 27, I have my whole life ahead of me and nothing to fret. I live in the 3rd largest U.S. city. Have an impressive network of friends – ‘real’ friends, too, not just the Facebook kind. Not to mention, a killer shoe collection containing enough diversity to draw compliments from men who calibrate on the least metrosexual side of the continuum. But after a glass of moderately priced cabernet, and by ‘glass’ I mean Anthropology ‘fishbowl’, and a fulfilling evening of relaxation, I find myself in bed contemplating what’s next. It’s a funny phenomenon the way the female brain never stops spinning. Sure, the wine after 5pm can slow down the ticker…but it can never stop the internal clock from tick-tocking into the future realm of uncertainty.
I’ve taken the proper precautions since becoming a single again. After two serious relationships with stand-up men, both teetering on the edge of either moving in together or talking ‘rings’, I’ve come to terms with the fact that while I may have a slight commitment issue (aka: divorce phobia), I just haven’t found the ying for my yang. And although Single Town has rendered feelings of insecurity and bouts of loneliness, it’s also provided an opportunity to enjoy the many freedoms that come with being in your late 20’s. Want to go to Scottsdale next week? Ok. Vail to ring in 2010? Sounds like fun. Acapulco to beat the Chicago winter blues? Why not spend my next two paychecks – book it! It’s not like I have to buy a thoughtfully expensive gift for my delish beau.
But after surviving the dating tribulations of these last two months, I find myself considering what’s ex…I mean next! Ok, I find myself being drawn back to my ex’s. I suppose after going on a date with that god-awful news reporter who talked about investigative reporting in Bogota over a dinner that was supposed to be a glass of wine, I gained new perspective on how great the ex’s were. Who wouldn’t after staring at that guy’s cheese grin for two hours? And then of course, there was the charming son of the CEO who swept me off my feet for a month only to toss me on my head when the prize was won. I suppose this was a good life lesson. I might’ve spent my life in a cage of inferiority with that one – a diamond-crusted, golden cage of course, but a cage nonetheless. But the question remains, can ex’s be friends? Can ex’s recover after several years apart? Need I even ask these dumb, self-evident questions? Probably not.
Having had time to think, as most women never stop doing, I come back to this idea of falling in love with someone, learning they’re not ‘the one’, and then closing the door. It’s so strange how men and women fall in love, deeply in love, and then realize they must spend their lives apart. I understand most people eventually find their matches organically, whatever the hell that means anymore in this digital universe, but isn’t it funny how you live, love and then move on? You move past the memories. Move past the families, friends and other meaningful parties who become a piece of your life. And then you meet the next special person who blurs the memories and fades the residual feelings. It’s life. It’s love. And it’s so freaking weird.
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