crippling debt and all the yard work I knew I would have hated and grown to resent? No. I was mourning the death of the guy who had been willing to take that on in the name of love. I know, it was pathetic.
Once the pain lessened to a dull ache following Heidi’s departure from my life (well, when I thought she was departing, anyway), and friends and family truly believed me that I didn’t need to be on glorified suicide watch, I’ll admit I over-corrected on my personality in an effort to relearn who I was. I promised myself I’d never let anyone—not even a woman I love—make me lose myself so fully again. It’s a perfectly good promise, but I may have taken it too far. Now it’s time to stabilize.
Scary realization #3: I’m about to blow it with the smartest, most interesting, most beautiful woman to be interested in me since… well… you know.
And why? Because of her brand of shampoo? Because she steals every single pickle from my plate when we go out to eat? (I love pickles, but still…) Because she drinks coffee at 10 p.m., then can’t sleep, then calls me at 1 a.m. to ponder why that’s the case and asks me to keep her company until she’s sleepy? Because she never turns off a light when she leaves a room? Because she mutters to herself and laughs out loud while reading, then refuses to share what’s so funny? Because I feel like I need to wear a Tyvek suit every time I enter her apartment? Most of those things don’t speak to her character, and if they do, they don’t necessarily point to a bad character. Just a different character than mine.
Isn’t that a good thing? If we were too much alike, we’d drive each other crazy, right? Opposites attract. It’s science.
Why is the fine line between compromise and settling such a hard one for me to walk? Why must the two be so synonymous in my mind? And why do I view anything short of my ideal as such a negative? Is all my pickiness a way to convince myself I’m on the road to male spinsterhood by choice, when the reality may be that I’m too odd to find someone who fits, someone willing to put up with my quirks?
Because I have plenty of them. I’m not blind to that. Hell, I’m sitting in a bathtub right now. This behavior is… unusual for guys in the twenty-first century. I get that.
It’s painful to admit this, but… maybe Nick’s right. I’m not getting any younger. My career may be on the right track, but my personal life feels hollow and empty. I want to lead a full life, not a half-life. I’m ready to get on with the life I want , not the one I currently have. And I think Frankie could bring my life a good balance, if I’d only relax.
Like Nick said, maybe I should spend more time recognizing how nice it is that Frankie hasn’t tried to change a single thing about me, rather than fret about all the admittedly petty things I’d like to change about her.
It’s time to stop being so guarded, so critical, so pessimistic. It’s time to be accepting, loving, and open to the idea that “different” isn’t wrong. I’ve been trying to convince people of that my whole life. Shouldn’t I give Frankie the same consideration?
In a paraphrase of a line from one of my favorite movies, I’m ready to get the shit kicked out of me by love.
Chapter Eight
It’s been a month since my bathtub soul-searching and my conversation with Nick at the batting cages. During that time, I’ve been like someone who’s resolved to go to the gym “every single day,” at the start of the new year. In other words, I’m failing miserably.
Fortunately, I didn’t tell anyone about my resolution to be more accepting, and I only see my girlfriend on the weekends, when I can usually fake it pretty well, so I’m the only one who knows what a failure I am. As far as everyone else knows, things are progressing well with Frankie and me. Frankie doesn’t even suspect anything. And that’s good. Because I just need more time.
I
Once the pain lessened to a dull ache following Heidi’s departure from my life (well, when I thought she was departing, anyway), and friends and family truly believed me that I didn’t need to be on glorified suicide watch, I’ll admit I over-corrected on my personality in an effort to relearn who I was. I promised myself I’d never let anyone—not even a woman I love—make me lose myself so fully again. It’s a perfectly good promise, but I may have taken it too far. Now it’s time to stabilize.
Scary realization #3: I’m about to blow it with the smartest, most interesting, most beautiful woman to be interested in me since… well… you know.
And why? Because of her brand of shampoo? Because she steals every single pickle from my plate when we go out to eat? (I love pickles, but still…) Because she drinks coffee at 10 p.m., then can’t sleep, then calls me at 1 a.m. to ponder why that’s the case and asks me to keep her company until she’s sleepy? Because she never turns off a light when she leaves a room? Because she mutters to herself and laughs out loud while reading, then refuses to share what’s so funny? Because I feel like I need to wear a Tyvek suit every time I enter her apartment? Most of those things don’t speak to her character, and if they do, they don’t necessarily point to a bad character. Just a different character than mine.
Isn’t that a good thing? If we were too much alike, we’d drive each other crazy, right? Opposites attract. It’s science.
Why is the fine line between compromise and settling such a hard one for me to walk? Why must the two be so synonymous in my mind? And why do I view anything short of my ideal as such a negative? Is all my pickiness a way to convince myself I’m on the road to male spinsterhood by choice, when the reality may be that I’m too odd to find someone who fits, someone willing to put up with my quirks?
Because I have plenty of them. I’m not blind to that. Hell, I’m sitting in a bathtub right now. This behavior is… unusual for guys in the twenty-first century. I get that.
It’s painful to admit this, but… maybe Nick’s right. I’m not getting any younger. My career may be on the right track, but my personal life feels hollow and empty. I want to lead a full life, not a half-life. I’m ready to get on with the life I want , not the one I currently have. And I think Frankie could bring my life a good balance, if I’d only relax.
Like Nick said, maybe I should spend more time recognizing how nice it is that Frankie hasn’t tried to change a single thing about me, rather than fret about all the admittedly petty things I’d like to change about her.
It’s time to stop being so guarded, so critical, so pessimistic. It’s time to be accepting, loving, and open to the idea that “different” isn’t wrong. I’ve been trying to convince people of that my whole life. Shouldn’t I give Frankie the same consideration?
In a paraphrase of a line from one of my favorite movies, I’m ready to get the shit kicked out of me by love.
Chapter Eight
It’s been a month since my bathtub soul-searching and my conversation with Nick at the batting cages. During that time, I’ve been like someone who’s resolved to go to the gym “every single day,” at the start of the new year. In other words, I’m failing miserably.
Fortunately, I didn’t tell anyone about my resolution to be more accepting, and I only see my girlfriend on the weekends, when I can usually fake it pretty well, so I’m the only one who knows what a failure I am. As far as everyone else knows, things are progressing well with Frankie and me. Frankie doesn’t even suspect anything. And that’s good. Because I just need more time.
I
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