Twenty dates

After the first date, I sent an email to my four closest friends. The subject read, “Would it be too much if I said I met my soul mate?”

On the sixth date, I was certain I had. It was this feeling in my gut that translated into happiness and peace and calmness. People I hardly knew would look at me and laugh, “You’ve met someone, haven’t you?” I was radiating complete confidence, self acceptance and joy.

On the tenth date, I realized that my soul mate was not actually perfect, I began to withdraw out of fear.

On the twelfth date, I realized that my soul mate, while far from perfect, was also not looking for the same thing I was. “I just want to be left alone.” he had said. I–single for the majority of my life–understood that sentiment; I didn’t even take it personally. “OK” I countered. “I can leave you alone.” He–in committed, long term relationships for most of his life–did not know what he wanted. “No, don’t leave me alone” he had replied.

On the seventeenth date, I could feel my soul mate chickening out. He had got caught up in something far more complex than he was ready for; he couldn’t handle it.

On the eighteenth date, I was so scared that the end was near that I withdrew even more. I pushed him further away. Then, I pulled him closer. Then, I pushed him away again. He employed the exact same strategy.

On the twentieth date, we both gave up.  He made a choice and I did not even attempt to fight for what I wanted. All because of fear, insecurity, bitterness and anger of issues that had nothing to do with him. I suspect he unfairly judged me and our brief affair in the same way that I did.

Two months later, I still believe that I met my soul mate. But sometimes, even when soul mates do meet, it doesn’t mean that they will–or should–be together.

He wasn’t the one. But he was a kindred spirit. He was a soul mate. And for this reason alone, I still miss him.

Fuck.

Almost

‘Time heals all wounds’, the tongue-tied tell the broken-hearted.

As seconds roll into hours and hours roll into relentlessly long days and those days turn into weeks with lines crossed through them to indicate that painstakingly slow passage of time gone, the open wounds do indeed heal.

But when the pain eases, when the stabbing, numbing ache of loss fades, all that is left is a sweet, sweet sadness. It is that sadness of almost. I almost got him. He almost got me. We almost got it right. At the core of sadness is resigned anger; no matter how much we want, how hard we try, how much we yearn nothing in the past is in our control. I get angry at him for not seeing the ‘we’ that was. I get angry at myself for allowing my fears of losing him to invade the ‘we’ that was. I get angry at the both of us for giving up, for not trusting, for not letting go.

Four weeks later, I am out of despair. I am healing nicely.

But, I’m still sad. Because we almost had it. We almost got it right.We stood at the edge, we even held hands, we looked down into the unknown, and instead of  closing our eyes and taking that giant leap forward together, we stood on that edge–eyes wide open–and we argued. ‘Should we should jump on three or should we  jump after three?’ And because we took too long, because we could not make a decision,  because we were both too cowardly to jump without wings,  our hands fell to each of our  frozen sides and we walked away.

It was easier to do that, I suppose. I suppose, it was the safest, most logical strategy. I suppose, I am better off. I suppose, he is too.

So four weeks later, I am finally there. I have accepted that it is indeed over.

Well, almost.

A bad day

Today, I’m having a Bad Greece Day.

These days don’t happen too often but when they do I find myself silently questioning the decision I made to move back here. These bad days usually happen more often during the summer months. I’m not a summer person and summer in Greece lasts a kajillion years. Tempers flare, older men and adolescent boys smell. On good Greece days, I’m happy to be here. I watch the absolute chaos with fascination. On bad Greece days, I want to throw my toys around and tell everyone else to basically  “Grow the fuck up.”

Yesterday, for example, as I approached my parked car the car parked in front of me reversed, crashed into me and was getting ready to drive off. I ran after him and almost flew my body on his body while screaming, “What the hell are you doing?”

He jumped out and his first response was, “What? Don’t tell me you haven’t done the same thing?”

I looked at him in shock while he continued.

“Don’t tell me you have never bumped a car while trying to get out of a parking space? Answer me. You have, haven’t you?”

I looked at him with an expression that I am sure was brimming over with disgust and said,

“First of all, I’ve never been caught. Second of all, bumping the car behind you is only acceptable when you have NO OTHER WAY OF GETTING OUT OF THE PARKING SPACE. Look at the space in front of you.”

My hand gestured to the obscenely large parking space his tiny car had previously occupied.

“I don’t care. You’ve done it, I’ve done it. There’s nothing we can do it about it.” he said as he began climbing back into his car; having seemingly decided on his own that this spat was over.

I swallowed my anger, for a moment and replied calmly:

“You know, we could all be better people. “

He all but gave me the finger.

I probably deserved it; if only for that fact that you can’t exactly reason narcissism with schmaltzy.

Regardless, his attitude, his conclusion that because parking spaces are hard to come by in Athens this gives him the right to crash into my car and not apologize for his behaviour because oh everyone does it .

This the reason that on Bad Greece Days I think that this country will never change and it just might not be the one for me.

Answer me this. Do you ever have bad [insert your country's/city's name here] days? Please tell me I’m not the only one and that Greece is not that special.

P.S Also, a huge, huge, huge thank you for all comments about your love of flying. Each time I feel a little nervous I go back and re-read them all.  I’ll be sure to do this until the day I leave.

Notes from a singleton #1

On good days and on good weeks and on overall  good months I feel extremely lucky that I’m single.

I’ve had the opportunity to discover–nay–uncover all my idiosyncratic behaviour. I have gone through the classic 20 something identity and existential crises and I’ve done it alone. Deep down, I know that a relationship would never have survived the roller-coaster of the year I have had. I’ve come out of it with a stronger understanding of myself. I doubt that I could have achieved that kind of growth with a significant other by my side.

As a perpetually single woman navigating through her psyche at every opportunity she can, I have also become incredibly aware of the mistakes I made in past relationships. As the perpetually single girl in my circle of girlfriends I have also had the chance to observe other people’s mistakes. I have seen the way good relationships function and I’ve seen the way unhealthy relationship function. I have also seen the type of communication strategies that ultimately sabotage all relationships.

The luxury of not being emotionally entangled and emotionally dependant on another person provides you with some incredible insight. Insight that I am certain I will forget the minute I find myself in love. To counter this effect, I have decided to put these thoughts down. Right here. In the hope that one day I can look back and have clear and level-headed advice from myself.

Without further ado, the first in my series:  Notes from a Singleton.

***

Dear Attached Hope,

Dude, do not attempt to express an important message to your significant other passive aggressively.

And if you do do it, don’t be surprised when your message becomes obscured like a ‘Chinese whisper’ and at the end of it all, you AND him have absolutely no idea what you were trying to say to begin with.

My advice?

Try to consistently be authentic.

If you feel angry, express anger. Proportionately. There’s no need to break his record collection because he forgot your tampons on his supermarket run. A simple “I am angry because I feel that you didn’t consider my needs. Give me a minute to calm down” will work. If you want X, tell him that you want X. Do not tell him that you want Y and expect him to understand that you actually want X. I mean, I’m already confused.  If you don’t like his behaviour do not accept it by hiding behind mean glances and out of the blue nonsecial retorts. A calm, rational explanation helps. “Please do not use homophobic slurs around me. When you do it it makes me feel like you don’t respect the attitudes I have.”

And if he insists on being the passive aggressive one? If he has absolutely no self-awareness of himself, his behaviour and his actions?

Get out.

He’s not the one for you.

Your alter ego,

Single Hope