Dating is not always horrible, I was reminded by a close friend in Seattle who has been with the same man for eight years and is having a difficult time adjusting to her new roles as a wife and mother.
"I wish we could just trade places for a week," she sighed, "and I can go out dancing and meet people and have casual sex with different men... It's so much fun when you're getting to know someone. There's no mystery to my husband. We can't even take the time to connect with each other any more because our relationship has become putting all of our energy into a child we made. At least you have the hope that you can start the process of falling in love with someone again, and that will keep you happy for a few years when it happens."
The grass is always greener, and you give up one lifestyle to get another. At this point, I'd like to recall men I've met who brought meaning in some way to my life, while I have not been falling in love or gestating.
There was K in Brooklyn, who I think reads this blog. He gave me his copy of Let the Great World Spin, which is one of my favorite books I've ever read. Our two-night-stand when he was coked up and stoned and briefly decided to move to Seattle to date me made that literary event possible, and I passed on the book to another man several months later.
There was N, also in Brooklyn, who has no idea that our one-night-stand was one of my best dates ever and chronicled in a blog entry. After sleeping with a hot mid-40s yoga guru, I saw a nutritionist and kicked up my workouts, inspired by the thought that when I am in my 40s, I too could attract men 14 years younger than me.
There was S who brought me to his favorite rock ledge in the Tatoosh Mountain Range, an area of the state where I had never climbed.
A man whose name I don't recall told me about a ferry that leaves from Washington and goes to Alaska. It takes the same route as the cruise ships at a fraction of the price, and you camp on the deck. I saw him only twice, but my friend and I bought tickets to take our first trip to Alaska this August, on the ferry.
Another man taught me about the role of forest fires in sustaining ecological balance.
I learned nothing from E, but the sex was great.
The man who obsessed over taking my anal virginity last year took me to his sister's farm in rural Snohomish County. We kept it G-rated, played with his adorable nieces and ate cake.
M and J played guitar for me. Mr. Polyamory jammed on his didgeridoo while he was stoned into oblivion. A different S read me poems in Hebrew. B and C showed me their photography.
A physical therapist who I went on one date with and never saw again encouraged me to run a half marathon, so I did. I kept running long distances, and a year later I ran another ten minutes faster.
There has been meaning, I just need to look for it.
"I wish we could just trade places for a week," she sighed, "and I can go out dancing and meet people and have casual sex with different men... It's so much fun when you're getting to know someone. There's no mystery to my husband. We can't even take the time to connect with each other any more because our relationship has become putting all of our energy into a child we made. At least you have the hope that you can start the process of falling in love with someone again, and that will keep you happy for a few years when it happens."
The grass is always greener, and you give up one lifestyle to get another. At this point, I'd like to recall men I've met who brought meaning in some way to my life, while I have not been falling in love or gestating.
There was K in Brooklyn, who I think reads this blog. He gave me his copy of Let the Great World Spin, which is one of my favorite books I've ever read. Our two-night-stand when he was coked up and stoned and briefly decided to move to Seattle to date me made that literary event possible, and I passed on the book to another man several months later.
There was N, also in Brooklyn, who has no idea that our one-night-stand was one of my best dates ever and chronicled in a blog entry. After sleeping with a hot mid-40s yoga guru, I saw a nutritionist and kicked up my workouts, inspired by the thought that when I am in my 40s, I too could attract men 14 years younger than me.
There was S who brought me to his favorite rock ledge in the Tatoosh Mountain Range, an area of the state where I had never climbed.
A man whose name I don't recall told me about a ferry that leaves from Washington and goes to Alaska. It takes the same route as the cruise ships at a fraction of the price, and you camp on the deck. I saw him only twice, but my friend and I bought tickets to take our first trip to Alaska this August, on the ferry.
Another man taught me about the role of forest fires in sustaining ecological balance.
I learned nothing from E, but the sex was great.
The man who obsessed over taking my anal virginity last year took me to his sister's farm in rural Snohomish County. We kept it G-rated, played with his adorable nieces and ate cake.
M and J played guitar for me. Mr. Polyamory jammed on his didgeridoo while he was stoned into oblivion. A different S read me poems in Hebrew. B and C showed me their photography.
A physical therapist who I went on one date with and never saw again encouraged me to run a half marathon, so I did. I kept running long distances, and a year later I ran another ten minutes faster.
There has been meaning, I just need to look for it.
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