The Breakup

He was never mine, and I was never his, but Crazy Chinatown Man and I did have a relationship that needed to be addressed.  We loved each other, I think, though he could only say it when intoxicated, and I couldn't say it at all.  What type of love we shared is up for debate, which I'm not willing to do, because the magic of this connection was we just felt it and didn't analyze.

I sensed him gradually fade me away as he continued to pursue the woman he's seeing, which I understood but resented.  I was plagued with thoughts of the "what-ifs."  What if he hadn't moved to Oregon and we'd had more time together?  Would I be the one he was pursuing instead?  Like three loves of my life before, I'd lost him to distance, and the what-could-have-been possibility was excruciatingly painful.

But the issue at hand was that I missed him and wanted his support, and he was not in a position to give it as freely as he had in the past.  I was annoyed at his unresponsiveness to text messages and wished he would just say what needed to be said: That I needed to disengage.  That he had moved on.

I spelled it out for him in an email so he didn't have to:  "Hey J______, it seems like you need more space?...  Would it be better for you if we didn't talk for awhile?"

"I guess maybe I do," was his response, adding that he and the woman were getting more serious.

It was nothing I didn't already know, but I had to hear him say it.

I was heartbroken, devastated, sick to my stomach, overwhelmingly lonely, and bitter- for about three hours.  Then I reminded myself that he had a choice, and he didn't choose me.  I know he cares about me, but he didn't choose me, and I want someone to choose me.  I deserve someone who chooses me.  I want a man to be all like "Fuck yeah, I'm choosing this girl because she's amazing! I will choose her over and over again!  I'm choosing her because she's independent and smart and crazy passionate about social justice and fixing the world!  I'm choosing her because she tries really hard to live ethically and treat people and the environment well!  I'm choosing her because she's hiking the Pacific Crest Trail by herself through Washington state, and she's lived in Korea and Guatemala, and she's traveled alone through Turkey, Panama, Poland, New Zealand, and Japan!  I'm choosing her because she will be an amazing wife and mother!"  I want a man to choose me for these reasons and more, and that's just not him.

So I put on my big girl panties and asked my friend A_____ to come over, where we finished off somewhere between 6-12 beers, ate a pizza, watched a Say Yes to the Dress marathon, and fell asleep together.

Then I woke up and texted W______, "Come over tonight,"  which was a command statement and not a question.  He responded "I'm looking forward to it."  And just like that, I decided to start the process of letting go of J______, or Crazy Chinatown Man, who is the only man I've really cared about since I moved back to Seattle, four long years ago.

Actual text message exchange with Photographer, who I slept with on and off over a year ago, who is my friend on Facebook and knows I'm hiking on the PCT

Photographer:  "So are your legs pretty solid after that hike?"

Me:  "Yes."

Photographer:  "And did you need me to rub arnica on them?"

Me:  "I don't know what arnica is.  Don't you have a girlfriend?  Or are you guys in one of those fucky fuck Seattle open relationships?"

Photographer:  "It's a natural muscle treatment.  And yes I do have a girlfriend and yes we do see other people."

Me:  "Well, I'm down to get a drink and catch up but try and avoid leg massages from men with girlfriends."

Photographer:  "Ha!  I'm ok with that."

Me:  "It's my friend's birthday dinner tonight so I can text when it's over and see what you're up to."

Photographer:  "Sounds good."

FOUR HOURS LATER

Me:  "Heading out in 20 minutes.  What's your status?"

No response.

I bet he would have responded had I consented to the arnica rub.  Just a hunch.
 

Still Got It!

You know that moment when you're limping down Broadway because your feet are blistered from hiking 300 miles, and the homeless guy with the pitbull sitting in the doorway to Casa del Rey says to you, as you walk by, "Keep looking as beautiful as you look tonight," and instead of ignoring him you turn around, giggle, toss your hair, and say "Thank you!" because you've been in the wilderness for so long that you're elated by male attention?

This is single and 33, motherf*&%ers!!!!

Gem

I got an OkCupid message from a self-described "vegan straight edge" who likes that I'm a vegetarian.

"I don't support zoos and aquariums. Hunters and fishers are the worst cowards on planet earth."

This guy sounds SUPER FUN.

Back to The Trail.

Part Three

Blistered and limping from the trail I felt physically vulnerable, which led to emotional vulnerability, which worsened when I got the I'm-seeing-someone-else-I-love-you email.  I was mad at the twists and turns in life and wanted to feel power in a situation, to be with a man who I could predict and who couldn't hurt me.

I texted "W____", who I went on two dates with in January.  Like several men before him, we'd slept together on the second date and I sent an "I'm not interested" text message a few days later, yet "W_____" was different in that I kind of liked him and he wasn't a douche.  I wasn't interested in moving forward with dating or a relationship, but as it turned out, I was very interested in seeing him 1-2 times a month and having sex.  Not so shockingly, he supported this interest as well.

He responded to my text immediately, as I knew he would, and I had a brief moment where I cringed at taking him for granted.  With W_____, as opposed to Crazy Chinatown Man, I'm the one who's flaky and unclear.  I cancel plans, I tease, I lead him on because I know I can.  He, on the other hand, is constant and loyal and most importantly, likes me more than I like him.  Even when he had a girlfriend a few months ago, the balance was in my favor.

On that night, feeling like shit about my physical and mental condition, I wanted nothing more than to be alone with him in his $500/month windowless basement apartment, drinking wine, and touching, which is exactly how we ended up.  He kissed the spots on my hips where my backpack chafed away my skin and said "You've been working hard.  It's sexy." 

"We can have sex in any position where there's no pressure on my knees," I explained, hoping he'd think that was sexy too. 

And we did.  Twice.

The next morning I woke up and wondered if I'd made a huge mistake by writing him off seven months ago.  Kind, calm, creative, supportive, humble, dependable, JEWISH are the adjectives I'd use to describe him.  Above average lover.  Above average cook.  Great body.  Previously arrested.

Zero intellectual chemistry.  Kind of boring.  Pothead.

Am I being too picky?
 

Part Two

Hands down, better than anyone I know, I RULE at maintaining messy relationships.  At this point in life I'm doubtful (with years of evidence to back up this assertion) that a normal love life is in the cards. 

My particular area of expertise is Distance. I am the reigning world champion at falling in love and maintaining drawn out relationships with men when we're doomed from the get-go, separated by states or entire countries.  It's a legitimate, deep fear of mine that men love me because they know we're not going anywhere.  There are no repercussions or obligations to our relationship; we love each other for as long as love lasts and never have the need to address commitment.  I am the perfect person to love because I have a time limit, and they have an easy out. 

It should come at no surprise to me that my best date in the last four years was a one-night-stand in New York and my best relationship- if you can call it that- is with Crazy Chinatown Man, who lives in Oregon.

But Crazy Chinatown Man has, for over a month now, been involved with a woman who he likes and has a potential future with because they live in the same city.  I have played this game so many times before, I already know the outcome:  No matter how much two people care about each other or have a history together, physical proximity wins.  Especially when you are a man.  Especially when she's smart and fun and pretty.

He told me in an email, as I'd asked him to, when they started seeing each other exclusively.  Then he also told me in the same email, as I'd never asked him to, "I'm proud of your toughness.  I love you.  I miss you."

Who else would like to uselessly overanalyze those three sentences?  I've been dating for four years, and I'm too tired to do it myself.

Enter the relationship mucky muck that I excel at!  It wouldn't be a bonafide romance of mine if a man didn't commit himself to another woman while expressing his love for me.  When this happened at ages 19, 26, and 28 respectively, I shrugged it off with the excuse that we were young, because we were, but to have the same scenario play out three days shy of my 33rd birthday, with a man who turns 41 next month, there has to be a different reason. 

It's not youthful inexperience.  It's more like circles of love, friendship, obligation, hopes for the future, realities of the present, and uncertainties of life all intersecting in a chaotic Venn diagram that Crazy Chinatown Man and I got stuck in because we both have a dislike of clear, linear patterns that don't cause confusion.  It's the reason we get along in the first place.

Part One

For 142 miles I hiked, during a record-breaking heat wave in Washington state, through the sweltering lowland forests up to the bare ridgelines of the Pacific Crest Trail, sweating profusely with a 40 pound pack and fantasizing about my next water source, which sometimes was a trickle of a stream dripping off moss ten miles away.  I forded two rivers with feet covered in blisters and a swollen knee.  At night in my tent, I reassured myself that the noises in the woods were just trees settling into the ground, that even if it was a bear they rarely attack.  I was filthier than I have ever been, dirt plastered to my legs and beneath my underwear, open sores on my hips where my pack rubbed. 

Out of the dozens of hikers I saw in the wilderness over ten days, there were only three solo female backpackers besides myself.

So what did I think, as I was limping on the last section of trail before I hit White Pass, about to encounter civilization for the first time in over a week?  Was I proud of myself for being a strong, independent, single woman?

No.  I was crying because I turn 33 next week and can't get myself into a functional relationship.  That's where my feminist, women's college educated mind went.