After brunching with some girlfriends recently, one of them sent me an article titled “How to Manifest Your Dream Relationship” in response to the topic we always find ourselves talking about: men. Mainly, the never-ending stream of weird men in my life because both of these lovely ladies have lovely men in their lives who don’t do or say weird shit.
As I read through the the list, #1 & #2 were easily checked off.
Know your worth – check. My family, friends, and therapist help keep me grounded on this one.
Know what you want – and also what you don’t – check. I’ve talked about it in a blog post about my Top 5 “Most Wanted List” and I’ve been on enough dates to know what’s right for me and what’s not, despite being admittedly bad at sticking by that wisdom.
Think small. This is hard for me because I always write a story in my head (and sometimes on my computer) about the guys I meet. But, I will confess, I am working on this. My big project is no longer “getting married”, but a bite-sized chew of “move to Oak Park and find a man who’s okay with that”.
The real epiphany happened when I read #4: Be prepared for the tests.
I started watching Sex and City again. This time, from the very beginning. Season 1 Episode 1. 2018 marks the 20th anniversary. And while the characters don’t have cell phones, Facebook, or constant contact with their “friends”, it’s quite interesting how much we have in common: in both eras women just want to find love, but the men out there are slim pickings.
This past weekend, my grandparents, parents and I were watching some home movies. Everyone was so happy in the movies. Both my grandparents and parents laughed at the fun they were having with all of their kids. The VHS recordings made me want to have children even more than my little eggs and hormones already tell me I do. I want that same happiness my family had and still has. Someday, I want to have my own home movies to watch with my children and grandchildren.
I haven’t talked about it much to many people, unless you’ve asked me point blank, but the rumors are true: I found a condo!! Firstly, yup, I’m super jazzed. I’m now addicted as f#$k to Pinterest, Craigslist, and OfferUp. I bought a graph notebook and have been playing around with ideas for how I want to set up each room…
…complete with little graph paper furniture that I can rearrange.
When you meet someone new, you walk into a dark, unknown space. You don’t know what to expect. You don’t know what’s inside. Eventually, you find stairs and you start to climb. The higher you climb, the more the excitement builds.
Sometimes the stairs end after one single step – a few words exchanged on a dating app – and you tumble over. It isn’t far, so it’s not a giant crash. You aren’t bruised at all.
Sometimes the stairs end after one story – a first date followed quickly by a ghosting – and you topple off the top of the steps. It hurts a bit, but you’ve been there before. Brush yourself off, walk out the door, ready for the next guy.
Sometimes the stairs are three stories high – a month or two of dating and then poof! When the relationship ends, the stairs end. You can never see where they’ll stop, but you can feel the fall. And this time it hurts. A lot.
Last weekend, I went on the perfect second date. It was astronomy night at Northerly Island, complete with night walks, telescopes, and nocturnal animals. He packed a picnic with all homemade items and cans of red wine. He picked me up. We laughed a lot. On a walk to watch the Navy Pier fireworks, the sky opened up and poured on us. We laughed more. Soaking wet, he told me I was still beautiful and then he kissed me for the first time. It was perfect.
When he dropped me off at home, I took a full 10 minutes to celebrate in my head. This boy is a catch – smart, funny, attentive, has a good job, etc. etc. Then the doubting girl brain kicked in: “Hey, girl, wtf?! Don’t you go getting excited right now. He’s a boy. It won’t work. They never work out.”
“But,” I reasoned with myself, “we had SO much fun! He’s different. I feel different. He acts like he likes me.”
Since I’ve taken a break from free online dating sites, my brain constantly works on a mental super-profile (like a super computer, not just great, but can do it ALL!). In these past few months, I’ve read multiple articles on dating, listened to podcasts, and had bitch sessions with both single and married gal pals that gave me ideas on the “perfect” profile. And then, Meghan Trainor’s tune Dear Future Husband hit the airwaves and I knew that my super-profile would be great and honest and all about the quirkiness that is me. One problem: I’m not on online dating sites at the moment, so instead, I’m sharing this on my blog!