I came to the realization a week or so ago that it had been 5 months since the break up. The break up that was preceded by a talk months earlier that set the stage for things to come. In all honesty, that little chat late one Saturday night was far worse than the actual break up. I saw the split coming; the writing was on the wall. The talk. The talk came at me from way out in left field and bludgeoned my heart to smithereens.
So I realized that it had been 5 months since I sat at Greenlake with my all-of-a-sudden-ex where we bawled our eyes out at the sad reality. And it was really sad. It was tragic to think that all of the memories had culminated in the heartbreaking realization that it wasn't going to work out. Heartbreaking for me at least. I can't speak for the other party.
But when I realized that it had been 5 months, I got this strange feeling inside of me. Strange, because it didn't make me sad to think about how that was the last time I was in a relationship. In fact, it filled me with pride that I had triumphed over that heartbreak. And that I'm doing okay for myself these days. I mean I think I speak for all of us when I say, I sure do wish I had a hunky man and sprawling mansion and money piled sky high. That would be nice. But here I am with what I've got. And it's okay.
I've learned a bit more about what I want. Looking back I can see all the things that didn't work for me; I can recognize what I will and won't choose going forward. And I won't be naive in thinking that I know someone well after just one year.
I've got new hobbies: I like to go to UW soccer games and cheer rambunctiously. I like to sit in a park with some lunch and enjoy the quiet, while observing the ducks. I rekindled my love affair with books and it's getting pretty torrid. I like to hike and feel the burn in my quads as I venture through nature.
And I can feel pretty pathetic sometimes. That nasty part of the mind always breaks through now and then. And when it does, I want to throw all these realizations out the window. I want to drop the bar to ground level just so that I may have someone to keep me company. And that's when I tell myself: well, aren't you being a little picky? A little too picky maybe? You can't have your cake AND eat it too, you know.
But I can. And I want to. And I will. Because eventually that voice is pushed back into the recesses of my skull and I pick up that bar and I place it back at its appropriate level. And I vow that certain standards have to be met. Will be met. This isn't supposed to be easy. Nothing worthwhile is easy. And I take comfort in the fact that stick to these standards. Because the scared girl from California, that first arrived at UW in the fall of 2009, didn't have those standards. Didn't respect herself enough to say no to the things that weren't perfect, rather she said yes to everything in the hopes that the loneliness would be chased away.
I hate being single. I hated from the moment I was dumped by my first boyfriend. It was an awful abyss and I couldn't escape it fast enough. Each month that passed me by was a biting reminder that I had yet to find someone who liked me. It was a measure of how utterly unlikable I was. Because isn't it? "If you don't have someone, there must be something wrong with you." That's what I told myself. And the mistakes that kind of thinking leads to is evidenced by my relationship history.
I still hate being single. That will never change. But what has changed is how I perceive the passing of time. I almost see it as a badge to display proudly. "Look at me world! Look at these standards that I have! Look at that bar that shall not be lowered. I will not settle for anything less than my Prince Charming riding up on a dapple grey Percheron to sweep me off my feet and carry me back to our estate in Bavaria!" Too much? Well you get the idea. So when the beginning of February rolls around, I can look at my calendar with satisfaction that it's been 6 months and the bar is still in place.
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