After taking a FaceBreak for a month, I go back on social media hub central. As I’m not so inclined to browse through a month’s worth of newsfeed for ‘my closest 400+ best friends,’ I simply jump back in mid-stream.
Interestingly, it is true that no one does miss you (me) when you (I) leave the FB party. The real—not virtual—friends and I have stayed in contact outside of social media. Two of my closest friends aren’t even on FB.
Nonetheless, coming clean, I am self-publishing a memoir in the coming months, and the book marketing course I took last summer was all “social media, social media!” There are other ways to procure purchases, but they’re slower going and a lot more work. And didn’t I just quit my day job (marketing)? So, in the effort of efficiency, FB makes sense. Damn it.
So, on my month’s FB hiatus, so-and-so got pregnant, what’s-their-couple got a new three-legged cat, my old boss started a new company, one of my ex-boyfriend’s got engaged, another one got a girlfriend, and my ex-husband got remarried and W…T…H…? (To be fair, I didn’t find out about my ex-husband from FB, but still.)
I do some stealthy social media snooping to find out (via timestamp-dated-photo-coupley-looking selfies) that the ex-lover with the new girlfriend has been seeing her for at least 7 months. How did this escape my notice?
I do a mental tally.
Since my divorce, coming up to 8 years almost, I’ve had four serious (and seriously messed up) relationships and, although our parting ways was a win–win, I was the one with the strength (quick-to-flee response?) to call those non-partnerships quits. (There might have been one fellow I loved who did the final tossing in of the towel. But still!) Now all of them are in relationships again with their new true-to-you-forever-ooey-gooey-sweet-ass-sappy-even-I-think-that’s-too-personal-to-post soul mates. Not that I’m judging. Sideways glance.
To be sure, my heart sings sweetly and sincerely for the joy they’ve found. I can honestly say that I genuinely rejoice whenever love is found. It gives me hope. Plus, even though none of these men were Mr. Right For Me (and obviously, this also works the other way around), they all have loveable qualities and we shared intimate time. I respect them and wish them well. (The ladies they’ve found also appear to be their perfect match.)
But, what about me?
After my last committed relationship ended, I’d decided to take a break from break-ups. A year of celibacy was on my docket since my past MO was: find man whose bones (singular?) I want to jump and hop in sack with and shack up with. This clearly hasn’t worked out. Common denominator → cough, uh, me?
So, it’s been almost a year minus a small blip on the computer screen called a summer fling (which I’m trying to decide if that really counts as we didn’t fall in love or into co-habitation).
But. Am I ready to date? (No.)
I’ve watched every Marni Battista Dating with Dignity self-help video and read several elephantjournal (ej) articles on love, relationships, dating and douche-bags. I’m educated if not wise. Good guys are out there. And, apparently, it’s even alright to get to know someone before doing the dirty—though, in L.A., that doesn’t seem to be the culture. (Silver-lining: A good place to stay single for now.)
I wrote an article for ej recently (A 30-Day Dump the DUDe Cleanse—How to Reclaim Your Super-Power Prowess after Heartbreak, not yet published) that I may have to take my own advice on!
Most of Western society has an odd cultural expectation of coupledom. And yet we keep telling each other to let go (not give up, per se) and get a life and be happy and stop being so damn desperate.
My housemate, Mermaid, also single, says, “I’m not looking … but is he behind the fridge?”
Indeed, I think a lot of people end up settling in order to settle down, to be able to have that coveted ‘plus one’ designation. And, in as much as I believe relationships require compromise, there’s a difference between meeting in the middle and I just don’t want to be alone anymore.
I also realize that my melancholy has more to do with (the perception of) time passing. Without these milestones to jar me back to ‘reality,’ I might not be aware of the time illusion at all. I might live my life one day at a time, enjoying it for what it is: this moment.
And this moment is pretty damn good.
What have I (re)learned? No-thing matters: getting-togethers, relationships, break-ups, Facebook, books, three-legged cats, thoughts, time. Whatever it is, this too shall pass. Time to reclaim my super-power prowess.
Single! Single here! (Joyful sigh.)
Homework: Nothing. Be. Here. Now.