I’m going to be 38 in October. I wouldn’t mind the chance to bring another baby into the world; a sweet little package to cuddle and love, a sib for my dear Simone, another magical entity to add to my weird, wild, blessed life. But I want to have that baby on purpose, and I have the sketchy idea that, if doesn’t happen by the time I’m in my early, very early, 40s, then it’s pretty much too late for me.
Which means the train’s going to leave the station in the near future, and if I don’t stop screwing around, I’m going to miss it.
I’m not sure what that means, exactly, except that I need to get a little more serious, a little more picky, a little more ambitious about the women I date. It means I need to raise the bar higher, take more time in the vetting process, and pay more attention to the red flags.
I think it might mean I need to grow up a bit, too. Introduce the benefit of the doubt into my repertoire, allow feelings to incubate and grow organically, not let the little quirks and foibles bug the crap out of me.
Because, really, it’s about time I let somebody in for real.
And, if the past is any indication, that means I need to stop looking and let providence do its thing. Please excuse my navel-gazing; this could possibly, maybe, perhaps, be an important moment in my new life. This could be the moment where I buck up, become an adult, and open my heart to a real, post-divorce relationship.
Wow. Crap. I don’t know.
Not true. I’m ready to cross paths with my Aphrodite and Athena, my dream girl, my companion. And though I have trouble believing she actually exists, the pragmatic side of me knows she’s out there. We’ll find each other.
Holy shit, I think she’s sitting on the other side of the bar with her two friends.
Lest you think the only reason I want to find my love is so she’ll bear me a sister or brother for Simone, please allow me to clarify. I’m ready for a partner again. The idea of committing energy and attention to one well-matched brilliant beauty has finally found its way into my realm of acceptability. I can envision it without breaking a sweat or getting the shivers. That’s new.
The funny thing is that I’m finally ready, but there’s little chance I’ll find that person in the near future. I’m busy with the new media project; I’ve decided to spend less money on carousing, which means spending more time on the couch with the latest Netflix DVD and a Guinness; and when I’m with Simone, I’m hers alone. The online route hasn’t yielded much in the form of long-term possibility beyond some lasting friendships, so I can’t expect fate to yield more than a tantalizing hint of possibility.
Which means it’s also time to be patient. To wait. To trust.
So I’m going to work my ass off, give Simone every ounce of my attention when we’re together, and enjoy the Deadwood DVDs I keep getting in the mail.
And when the universe is aligned in my favor, I’m going to dive into my next great adventure with a smile on my face.
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