It’s been two months. I say this not because I’m counting but because one of the self-help articles I read recommended doing so.
(Okay, that’s a lie. I am counting. But I’m okay with that because it means that time marches on, even if I don’t always feel like I’m marching along with it.)
More importantly, numerically speaking, spring is less than a week away. I am so anxious for spring I can hardly contain myself. I’m ordering iced coffees and eating ice cream and even though I end up shivering halfway through, its worth it, just for the hope of spring and better times to come.
Speaking of better times, I decided when TWD and I first broke up that I would take two months to pull myself together and then start dating again once the spring came. In January, this seemed like a realistic goal. Now that spring is just around the corner, however, I feel like I might need to give myself a bit of an extension…not because I’m still pining for TWD (I’m not) but I feel like I’m only at about 85% and I don’t want to subject anyone to less than my best self. (Or subject myself to a relationship born out of feeling less-than-whole. Can we say disaster?)
In particular, I’m still stuck in comparison mode (as in measuring potential boyfriends against ex-boyfriends). I’ve gone out, I’ve flirted a bit here and there, I’ve reconnected with former flames and I’ve constructed nearly a dozen new online dating profiles in my head but TWD had a lot going for him. So, I’m just going to give in and get it over with. (Because lists are good, right? And acknowledging you have a problem is the first step toward correcting it.)
1) I am afraid I will never find someone who dances like TWD. We were so good together. Granted, we only went dancing a handful of times, but it was so nice to have a boyfriend who actually knew how to dance. I’ve dated willing enthusiasts before and it’s just not the same. We were that couple. I liked being that couple. In fact, if I hadn’t been part of that couple, I would have wanted to smack us.
2) TWD was an amazing listener. He always knew what to say, and what not to say, and when to simply empathize or offer sympathy. We could—and did—talk about everything. And it was so easy because apart from a few exceptions (which were actually quite distressing, come to think of it), he had no problem discussing his feelings. I’m not sure I’ll ever have that luxury again.
3) He was responsible. Emotionally, physically, financially. He called when he said he was going to call, showed up when he said he was going to show up, and always packed every possible necessity: beach blankets, chocolate bars, sandwiches, DVDs, condoms, etc. Sometimes he went overboard, and his inability to do anything without first planning ten steps in advance drove me crazy in the end, but whenever I hear my friends complain about how irresponsible their boyfriends are, I can’t help but wonder, will I be able to put up with that?
4) Sex. (If you are related to me, you may want to stop reading here.) It wasn’t great right away, and it wasn’t even always great, but when it was great, it was really great. (Then again, it does take two people to have great sex. Possibly—and quite probably—I’m capable of great sex with someone else. But I don’t know yet, and this both terrifies and fascinates me at the same time.)
So there you have it: my list, which I will now attempt to forget in my ongoing efforts to be a better human being and to stop expecting perfection from everyone (including myself, hence the reason I allowed myself to write all of this down in the first place).