Is The Grass Greener Or Do I Need Lasik Surgery?

One of my favorite movies is Runaway Bride, a romantic comedy in which Julia Roberts plays a small-town girl who bolts before saying “I do”.  Plenty of brides have cold feet.  According to an article in Marie-Claire which I mention in my blog “why I’m not married”, an astonishing 30-percent of now divorced women knew they were marrying the wrong man as they walked down the aisle. With that in mind, I can’t help wondering if its human nature to have doubts about the one we’re with. Is there something innate which drives so many men (and women) to have infidelities? Are they testing the waters, merely seeking a way to confirm whether they have chosen correctly, or are they simply bored?

In my blog Single O.B.O., I talk about how Angelinos are reluctant to commit to a party or dinner date, because they are waiting for the better offer. The same can be said for relationships—at least in Los Angeles. What is it about people that we always thinking there is something better on the other side of the fence? We’re not necessarily unhappy in our relationship, but we always feel we can be happier. I guess that’s why it’s called the pursuit of happiness.

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Going The Distance

A friend of mine met her husband when she was traveling in the South of France. A few days later, she was introduced to his family and shortly thereafter she entered into a long distance relationship with him. Within a year, he had applied for a work visa and moved to Los Angeles. They have been together seven years and tied the knot three years ago. While her husband applies for permanent citizenship, she is becoming fluent in French, and they are planning on starting a family. Had my friend not ventured out of her comfort zone in both traveling and dating, she may still be single. I asked if either of them were concerned when they met about the distance and how it would impact their lives. Hell, yes. They knew there would be obstacles, but they would work them out. They could not ignore how perfect they were for each other and were willing to take the risk of having loved and lost than never having loved at all. Embracing love outside their immediate geographic zone worked for them and it has worked for others.

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40 Love?

Forty love. In tennis, it means one person is on the verge of winning the game while the other is on the verge of losing - badly, I might add. On my recent visit to the Australian Open, I heard these words mumbled over and over by the referees of the matches I saw. It got me thinking about these two words - forty, love - and what they mean in the modern world of dating. In the Renaissance period, we would be dead of disease (consumption being my favorite as it encompassed pretty much everything) by the age of forty. But in this era, many of us are just beginning our lives or starting them over - post divorce, post children, post economic setbacks, post career challenges. 

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Catch and Release

Spill wine all over my coat and handbag and don't offer to pay for cleaning, complain about the price of the duck a half-dozen times, make several references to sex and your dick size, talk only about yourself and never inquire about my life, don’t offer to pay for my parking or even walk me to the valet and then text me at 4a.m. after I told you I hate it when people text me between the hours of 11p.m. and 8a.m. Do just one of these things and you’re not likely to get a second date, but all of them in one evening? I hit the jackpot – all this from a man near fifty: from a generation where most mothers stayed at home and raised their children. He has no excuse for being an asshole.  Why are people so completely lacking in social graces these days? Do I have to move to the Midwest, or perhaps Europe, to find a courteous man? 

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Inactivated, Not Deleted.

Last night, I caught myself as I often do, thinking of a past love. We took “a break” to sort out some things in our lives, to decide if we were each willing to make the commitment and sacrifices needed to spend the rest of our lives together. Our relationship was such that if I cried, he hurt; if he hurt, I cried. When we touched, there was no separation between us. Like a warm bath so perfect in temperature, it was impossible to tell where my skin stopped and his began. 

I think about him often and he thinks about me, because we are intertwined in heart and head and thought. Our lives goes on. Together but apart. Apart but together. Our love never died. We severed it with a knife.  Like cutting an earthworm in half, now there are simply two of us – apart instead of together. Maybe one day we will be reunited. Maybe not. Probably not.

When I stumbled upon a blog entitled “So I inactivate you”, it brought tears to my eyes. I inactivated my love for someone. It has not been deleted. It is not dead. The embers are warm and need only a spark to be ignited again. I don't know if this entry will reach it’s intended audience. All I know, is that as effective as I can be with the written word, I could never express my feelings more eloquently than they were expressed by a stranger in this blog I share with you: "So I inactivate you".