EDITOR'S NOTE:
This "Best of Wink" column was originally published October 30, 2003.
After a breakup, it is so easy to sit in your fur-lined pity pot and wallow in your misery.
To cry endlessly because you are alone again and wondering why it didn't work out. To stare at the phone for hours on end, willing it to ring with your lost love on the line, begging you to come back because he has had time to recognize the error of his ways and he's ready to do whatever it takes to make things work—if only you'll give him another chance.
Fat chance. I was not going to fall into that trap again. I was determined not to waste any energy trying to piece it all together to find out what went wrong. The fact is, something did go wrong, and it was over. Done. Finished. The end. Good riddance. Adios. You get the picture. This time I was going to hit the ground running, ready to start anew.
Of course, that was easier said than done.
Let's face it, breaking up SUCKS! It doesn't matter if you broke up with him or he with you or if you mutually decided that it wasn't working—you have once again succeeded in failing. And once again you are faced with the prospect of having to start all over again. From scratch.
That was more than I could stomach. I mean, not only did I have to start dating someone and get to know him, I also had to wade through the best-behavior-dating period. That's the time during which your prospect is his most charming and delightful self because he's trying to impress you, and you think you are just being yourself to show him exactly what he's getting. But truthfully, you too are being your best-behavior self because you know that if you started off by being the neurotic, insecure, moody, emotional handicapper that you are, he would run for the hills. And any chance you may have had to move with him toward happily-ever-after is now gone.
So you continue the charade not only with him but with yourself, telling yourself how nice it is to be dating someone with whom you can finally "be yourself." And when he calls at 7 in the morning to tell you that he had a wonderful time last night and that he just wanted to let you know that he was thinking about you (something he only does during the best-behavior-dating period, or BBDP), you giggle and tell him what a treat it is to hear from him first thing in the morning and that you can't wait to see him again. All the while, the real you is screaming inside your head that if he ever dials your number again before 10 a.m you will puncture his spleen.
BBDP can fade in as little as two or three weeks and can last as long as six months. The only proven fact is that when it's over, it's over.
Suddenly, you're sitting on the couch on a Saturday night watching him pick his toenails with his dirty sock, and then stick a half-eaten piece of pizza into his mouth without washing his hand first, and you think to yourself: Whatever happened to date night? Didn't he used to pick me up on Saturday nights dressed to kill, and take me out for romantic dinners, followed by mad, passionate, hour-long good-night kisses?
And while you're pondering this, he's looking over at you, sprawled out in baggy sweats, hair in a ponytail, face that hasn't seen makeup since you got off work Friday, and he's thinking: Christ! She's crying again. We rented a comedy, and she's crying again. She cries when she's happy, she cries when she's sad—when did she get so emotional? I guess this would be a bad time to ask her to remember to put the toilet seat back up when she's finished using the bathroom.
Once the best-behavior-dating clouds have lifted and you finally get to see his true self, and he finally gets to see your true self—not the self that you thought was true but really wasn't, but your true, true self—you decide: He's a filthy, disgusting pig, and I hate him. Just as he's deciding: Man, what a train wreck, this chick's got issues. So you break up. And you're faced with a choice: Sit around feeling bad or get back in the game.
Batter up!
I walked into the Kona Grill determined to put the past away and get on with my life. In less than four minutes I'd cased the joint. I did a lap before committing to a location, and I'd locked onto a target. Six-two, blond, no wedding ring. Nice.
Twenty minutes into the conversation I'd learned that he was, in fact, single, available and very interested. Nice.
Thirty minutes into the conversation as he was droning on and on about the cultural evolution of China or some damn thing, I was praying for a nose bleed. Not so nice.
Forty-five minutes into the conversation, my brows were knit together, my head was nodding and every once in a while I'd say, "Really?" I had no idea what he was talking about, nor did I care. The only thing I knew for certain was that he was not Todd. I looked around. None of these men were Todd. And I was very, very sad.
I went straight home, climbed up on my fur-lined pity pot and cried like a baby. Because although things didn't work out between us for whatever reasons, Todd was my friend, my lover, my confidant. And I was going to miss him very much. And that was OK.
I learned a lot from my breakup with Todd. I learned that it's important to take time to reflect, to mourn and to gradually move on. That you have to give your heart time to heal, time to adjust. Most importantly I learned to keep the faith. That I'm not going to give up until I find the love of my life and that maybe, just maybe, I'll be lucky enough to find myself, my true, true self along the way.
Also, I learned a little about the cultural evolution of China.
Sonja is a writer who covers the ins and outs of relationships. Or is it the ups and downs?