I Don’t Know What I Want But I Know What I DON’T Want

It isn’t easy to admit that in relation to men I am unable to answer the question “What do you want?” With the exception of absolute, must-have personality traits (ie. an awesome, somewhat warped sense of humour) I can’t seem to get past my unwillingness to create and categorize my ‘ideal’ man. I don’t believe, for example, he must be blonde-haired and blue-eyed with only one dimple, a slightly crooked grin, Schwarzenegger’s abs and all the exact same interests as me.

How realistic is that, really? If a man has black hair, lacks dimples entirely and hates painting one another’s toe nails during slumber parties he doesn’t even get a shot? He just gets the ‘once-over’ and immediate dismissal? What if he’s one of those rare gems that treats me like the sexiest woman alive even when my hair is a disaster, I’m not wearing a stitch of makeup and my ass is hanging out of the baggy pyjama pants I should’ve thrown out long ago?

Maybe I’m looking at it wrong and I need to focus on the most pertinent categorizations but I really couldn’t be bothered. I don’t want to specify skills, interests and physical characteristics. Aren’t I supposed to “just know”? I don’t want applications, references and financial statements prerequisites (ha ha!).

So there we have it. Dr. Phil would likely not approve of my not knowing what I want. I do, however, know what I DON’T want.

I don’t want any relationship in any context with any person that makes me feel bad in any way, shape or form. Period. No matter the circumstances, intentions or lack thereof I do not want any part of feeling bad.

And I think that’s fair.

I recently had a very short, whirlwind relationship-of-sorts. He is funny, smart, silly, sexy, lively, talented, and unique. He’s adventurous, kind and always a gentleman. His smile is contagious. I felt inexplicably connected to him the instant I met him.

We hit it off and jumped into things rather quickly, which may be exactly where we went wrong. We had obstacles like distance, responsibilities, time and an age difference rearing their ugly heads way too soon in our potential relationship. Then the typical poisons seeped in: fear, doubt, jealousy, etc. I hated knowing that the ground was eroding away beneath us and realizing that our foundation wasn’t strong enough to withstand it.

I did not know what to do. Much like me, he couldn’t or wouldn’t say what he wanted. I knew what I didn’t want. I didn’t want to feel bad. I couldn’t let the destruction continue until the damage was so great that we hated each other entirely. I wanted to preserve a small chunk of happiness.

I did my best attempt at a peaceful parting. I finally, truly understand the meaning of  ‘bittersweet’.  Breaking up with somebody I actually cared about was bitter.  Here’s the sweet:

I am allowed to be a real person with real feelings.                                                                                                                           I should not have needed somebody else to tell me this but apparently, I did. He told me, he let me and I’m thankful.

Even though it fell apart so quickly the feelings were powerful enough to move me…and my writer’s block.        ‘Nuff said.

I feel music again.                                                                                                   I listened to him playing his guitar and it somehow woke me up. I am finally replacing the cello that an idiot destroyed in May of this year.

So thank you, Almost-New Best-Friend. If our paths ever cross again, perhaps when I’m older and decrepit, I will just so happen to have my cello nearby and I will say to you:

“Stay right there. I’m going to play that freaking song for you very angry-like and you’re going to listen. Feel free to accompany me on your guitar!” 

And that, Dear Readers, is all the juice I have for today.

P.S.   I’M BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAACK!