It's been an interesting week. Outside of the Blogger Debacle of 2012, there have been a couple other events that were served up on a silver lesson-learning platter for me.
If you've been reading here a while, you know all about my body dysmorphia issues. My scale has been up and down so much since high school, it should be a trampoline. From anorexia at 16, followed by the fun-filled cocaine and Taco Bell diet in my 20s, to my yo-yo struggles with comfort food addiction in my 30s, I've literally seen four different dress sizes cohabitating in my closet for years.
I'm 43 now, and after nearly a year of eating well, therapy visits and exercising, I'm finally realizing there's something to this whole body-thing. Having a great figure is really just a side effect of being healthy.
"Hello, Captain Obvious? Is that you?"
Furthering that thought, having a happy attitude is really an added bonus - the sweet cherry topping - to our emotional, hot fudge sundae. If you're mentally and physically healthy, the Happy and Hot will follow.
Do I feel happy all of time, and do I walk around feeling like Cindy Crawford, circa any decade? Er, no. But more times than not, I've an extra bounce in my step, and in the right lighting, on a good hair day, after kicking back some champagne, I feel like a super model. Kind of.
So here I am, over thirty pounds of body fat gone. See-ya. Wouldn't want to be ya. Ever. Again. I've turned a corner, and ready to face middle-age with a new lifestyle. This will be the decade of Divine Decadence, like Sally Bowles in Cabaret. Without the hairstyle and cigarettes.
So how does one kick off a new found healthy way of life? By opening
up herself to romance again, naturally.
Kevin and I are wonderful friends, and I don't regret my time with him for a second. After our split, it was wise to take a break from the dating world. I needed to pop the hood and check the oil in my brain. It was time for an emotional oil change - to try and get to the bottom of my choices.
I'm still working on my engine, but feel ready to start merging with traffic again. So, last week, dolled up, in fancy shoes and my favorite LBD, I met him. First Date Guy. Let the games begin.
He was handsome, polite, and easy to talk with. More importantly, an hour in to our three hour rendezvous, he smiled, shook his head and proceeded to tell me how fascinating I was - and that he'd like to see me again. Cool.
The night ended with him walking me to my car, a friendly hug good-bye and the usual "I'll talk with you soon"s. We texted when we arrived home, and reiterated how much fun we had. He joked about not getting a chance to kiss me, I joked I was a lady. I wasn't sure how I felt about him romantically, but was excited for date number two, to find out.
Sounds fun, right?
Well, date two never happened. No text. No call. Just the heavy weight of silence attached to an invisible cartoon balloon over his head reading: "Thanks, but no thanks." I thought of changing my iPhone wallpaper to a photo of tumbleweeds over the weekend, but I digress.
A few years ago, I would've spent exhausting hours (ok, months) beating myself up after such a thing. Wondering what it was about me he didn't like. Was I not pretty/skinny/funny/smart/sexy/fill-in-the-blank enough for him? Instead of just realizing it wasn't meant to be - and - ironically, that I really didn't even know him to form an opinion of whether or not I was interested in him.
I may never know why First Date Guy disappeared, and that's totally okay. I learned so much about myself, that I am eternally grateful for the experience. Just like my friend Patrick helped me learn about expectations in Vegas, this fella was instrumental in the realization that it really doesn't matter what he thinks of me - it's what I think of me that matters. Lather. Rinse. Repeat.
I've never been much of a serial dater, so I don't expect a slew hole punches on my dance card any time soon, but after a rough few months of change I'm open to the possiblilty of what life throws my way.
*For those of you wondering about the whole water under my vagina thing, it's a direct quote from Girls, a fabulous new series on HBO. Too much yummy goodness for a side note here, so I'll be posting about it soon.
You're all riveted, I know.