Dating.... Around?

So damn true, but I'm working on it.

So in my efforts to be less like Cher and not continue on as a serial monogamist, I vowed not to settle down too fast. So no, the surgeon didn't move in, but I did end up dating him longer than any other guy in the running.

Things with the surgeon were going very well by the middle of May. We had fun and intelligent conversations and a little bit of chemistry. He was a great guy and again, a guy any woman would be happy to date. My bestie and my friends were already planning our destination wedding by the 2nd week of dating.

He did sweet and thoughtful things all the time. He brought me flowers when I wasn't feeling well. He made me a mix CD. And he used to do something I found absolutely heart-warming. Since he was a doctor, he would carry around a few blank index cards in his front shirt pocket along with a pen. Throughout the day he would use these cards to jot down notes about his patients. But one day, I asked to read his notes because I was interested in what he did all day. Without a moments hesitation, he handed them to me and I began flipping through them, and while I read random thoughts about how to treat his patients or how to get ready for an upcoming qualifying exam, I found notes about me. Ok, it's not as creepy as it sounds. It was sweet. He cared. He thought about me throughout the day and took brief notes about what I might like to do, where he'd like to take me, and things I'd mention in conversation. It was very thoughtful. He was incredibly kind. Our dates were like nothing I had experienced yet in my new and very young dating life. He took me to amazingly fancy and delicious restaurants, we had picnics in the park, we went to a play, and we explored areas of the city I hadn't really spent any time in. He was also very caring. I remember my stomach was upset one day and he poured me a little cap-full of Pepto and handed it to me as if I was one of his pediatric patients, "Here kiddo, drink all of this." This was hysterical to me. We had fun.

But by the end of May, I began to notice signs that showed that he just wasn't right for me. He wanted a committed girlfriend, better yet, a wife, and he wanted that wife as soon as humanly possible. He had been divorced for many years and was ready to get married again. On the 4th date, I think he may have asked me how many kids I wanted and shortly thereafter admitted to falling for me. It was too much, too soon, too fast.

It was hard for me to navigate how to handle all this at first. I liked him and wanted to give it a chance, but I had to keep him at arms length and make sure I listened to my instincts too -- which were telling me that I was in no way ready for a commitment. I don't have a strong track record of doing what's best for me, listening to my instincts (see above), and standing up for myself. So when he pressured me to make a commitment, I had to stand my ground and be firm about what I wanted. I basically said I wasn't ready and was only interested in dating, but I still liked him. I told him what I was capable of and left it up to him to decide what he was capable of as well. He had to ask himself if he could just be happy to date me, or if he needed to move on and find someone who was ready for commitment.

It was hard to do and I was proud of myself for using my voice and sticking to my instincts. It all seemed pretty mature to me actually. I think it's important to tell people up-front who we are and what we need.

So the surgeon decided to stay with me we kept our relationship open. This meant that I was officially "dating around." Is that even a term people use? I had no idea. I just wanted to meet new people and see what was out there. So who was out there, you ask?

Stay tuned and I'll tell you all about it, Dear Readers.

The Onset of Dating

I'd like to backtrack a little by discussing my pre-relationship life and getting you up to speed on my dating misadventures.

So, here's how dating began.

I didn't think I was going to meet anyone that special when I started dating. It was just an experiment. An experiment in sampling a life that so many other people seemed to be partaking in, a dating life. I approached it pretty casually, and that's exactly how it started.

A perfectly normal guy met me for coffee, in the middle of a perfectly normal afternoon in late April of last year. We met, we chatted politely, expressed interest in each other's stories and lives and then strolled around my town. There wasn't anything noteworthy about him or us together. In the end, I didn't think that I wanted to see him again, but also couldn't point to any reason why I shouldn't. He did nothing offensive or bizzare, he was just... meh. So we ended the date and I resolved to see him again sometime. Maybe he had something special that I just didn't see yet. After all, I had no experience in dating so I figured that's what dating was. You try people out, right? I didn't know. I'd only ever been in long-term relationships. 

I think in that respect, I'm a little like Cher.

I'm serious. Hear me out.

I remember this thing that Cher's famously said, that she's never really dated anyone. Her relationships start with a first date and then almost immediately the guy moves in and it turns into a serious long-term relationship that goes on for years and years. See? I'm like Cher. So dating was a new thing to me and because of that, I committed to going on as many dates as I could and told myself that I would not fall for someone too fast. I resolved to be less like Cher (although I think we could all benefit from being more like her in every other way. I mean, come on, she's a badass).

And so I trudged on.

My second date with a potential suitor, was quite the opposite. There wasn't too much that was normal about it, and here's how it went. We agreed to meet at a bar in the late afternoon. When I walked in, I found him sitting at the bar, dripping in sweat. I mean, sweating through his clothes. It was off-putting. It wasn't even that hot out, it was May, but I thought, "Hey don't blame him for being a sweaty guy." As I sat down next to him at the bar he mumbled something I didnt quite catch. I asked him to repeat himself and he said I was very attractive and that he hadn't been sure he wanted to date again, he had some bad experences recently, but explained that I was very cute and he was glad he showed up for the date. I'm serious. He told me he was glad he showed up. He said all that 2 minutes into meeting me. I felt like he wanted me to be greateful that he showed up, that he was bestowing his awesome pressence upon me. But I carried on, brushed it off, and with a big smile plastered on my face I went on in good spirts. We got to talking and I came to learn that he had been in a 7 year relationship with a woman he did not find physically attractive and from the sounds of it, didn't sleep with for most of the relationship and regarded her as a friend more than a girlfriend. It was very complicated and I never understood the whole story there, but honestly, why was he telling me that?

Another odd thing that this guy did not have in his favor was the fact that he had a sketchy job having something to do with buying and selling artwork on ebay that almost sounded made up. He also spent a good chunk of time telling me about a very close male friend of his, a man who, from the sounds of it, he thought to be one of the most amazing people he knew. He used words like, "he's just so electrifying" and "the kind of guy everyone wants to be around." I got the feeling he wished this friend of his were sitting in front of him, sipping a drink in a candlelit bar, and not me, and as soon as I saw an out, excused myself to run home early. Oh, and did I mention that he hardly ever looked me in the eye as I talked to him? I'm serious, he did that too.

At the end of the date, before I bolted, he asked me how it went. He wanted to know if I was interested in him and if the date had gone well. It's like he wanted a performance review. Well, believing very much in honesty and not wasting anyone's time at that point, I told him that I had a nice time but didn't like the fact that he never looked me in the eye. Well, sorry folks, I mean let's be honest, I found it to be rude. He felt bad and apologized. But I just didn't have time for that kind of behaviour. Sorry. No, thanks.

My next date with a potential suitor seemed almost to good to be to true. Pediatric surgeon, motorcycle enthusiast, held close knit realtionships with friends and family, wanted very much a family of his own, and an all around great guy. This was the kind of guy any woman would want to be on a date with. He wanted to hear all about me, and only me. He seemed to be genuinely interested in everything about me and this was absolutely intoxicating. He asked question afer quetsion. And not just general questions, along the lines of, "Oh, really? So what happened next?" He asked insightful, thought-provoking quetsions which evolved into a really first great date. By the end of the date, I was wooed, that was for sure.

So, what happened with him? Am I really like Cher? Did he move in the next day?

Stay tuned, Dear Readers.

To Be Continued...

Dear Readers,

I've missed you dearly. Every so often, for a long time now, I'd think of you fondly and get a pang of regret deep in the pit of my stomach, wondering if indeed you missed me too. I know I've been away a long time, but believe me when I say, I'm ready to be back.

My last blog post was July of last year. That's well over a year ago, and there have been many moments in that year when I've longed to write about what life is like today, but it just never felt right to blog about my life anymore.

You see, when I posted my last post here, I was also beginning a new relationship and it felt strange to blog about a relationship that I was currently in and not one that I was recovering from.

I think I thought my story was over. After all, I had achieved closure in my own way and began a new relationship, and I therefore thought this blog had served its purpose, lived out its life. But, I've realized for a while now that this story has a lot more to it.

Every so often, when I was blogging regularly, I would get an email from a reader who'd share their own breakup story with me. Reading another person's account of their breakup proved to me that I wasn't, in fact, alone in my situation, and it was a comfort. I enjoyed swapping stories with other people and felt connected through the fact that we'd tried to help each other in any small way we both could.

Well, a few weeks ago, I got an email from a new reader. She had recently found this blog in a web search just four months into her breakup, and she thanked me for sharing my stories and wondered how I was doing. I wrote her back, and in my response I explained something to her that, for a long time now, I've been thinking about writing about in this blog.

You see, my current boyfriend and I have been together for over a year and in that time we've been through a lot, to put that mildly. I explained to her that for me, the past year has been a rollercoaster of emotions, as I saw this relationship go up and down and then almost end just a few months ago. I told her it might be time to show my readers what happened to me after the "happily ever after -- after closure"; after you heal from a breakup and start a new relationship.

For me, there was a big misperception of what that meant and I've learned that even though your heart my have healed, there is still a good deal of baggage you cart around from that old heartbreak. Obvious, I know. I mean, that's what baggage means, but I however was absolutely blindsided when it happened to me. Baggage seeped into my current relationship, and the story of how that happened and what I learned from it, might be useful for others to hear. It's almost like another level of getting over a realationship, dealing with the baggage you're left with. And so that's how I'd like this blog to continue -- with that story.

But before we begin, I'd like to get you up to speed. So hold on tight, we've got some catching up to do.

First of all, I want to thank all of the wonderful people who read all three parts of "The Last Few Months in a Series of Parts:" Part 1, Part 2, and Part 3. As always, all the comments were incredibly supportive and helpful. After that, I guess you could say, I didn't have much more to say about my ex. The last part, Part 3, really said it all for me and after I wrote it, I felt like I had let go. I let go of him and I felt, for the first time, like I was fully moving on. I wasn't just putting on a brave face, taking a deep breath and bearing through it, saying to myself over and over that I was letting go. No, I really did let go. I finished that post and he lifted from me -- the weight of his importance to me, our history, the painful past, the heartache. It all lifted. What's important to note is that I didn't let go because of anything he gave me or anything he said or anything we both agreed on -- no, I just let go when I was ready and had done enough of the work to realize that it was time to fully move on.

Another part of my ability to let go was the onset of my very fast, very busy, and very productive dating life. When I first starting dating in late March of last year, I remember thinking about what dating meant to me. I genuinely thought of it as a fun, interesting, social experiment into something everyone was doing but I had never really done. But it was also, well... scary as hell. Let me explain.

When I used to think of being in a relationship one word came to mind -- oppression.

It’s like if I were a contestant on the 10,000 Pyramid game show from the 1970's and the special guest celebrity player (let’s just say it’s Patty Duke) were trying to get me to guess the word, "relationship."

PATTY DUKE: “Things that can suffocate you.”
ME: "Pillows?"

PATTY DUKE: “Things that keep you restrained.”
ME: "Jails?"

PATTY DUKE: “Things that make you unhappy.”
ME: "Umm..."

PATTY DUKE: “Things that are oppressive!!"
ME: "Relationships?!"

(Ding, ding, ding!!)

It was a very difficult thing to wrap my head around, being in another relationship. The only ones I knew started out with the best intentions but became long, drawn out, and pretty suffocating, unhappy affairs. If you've been following along, you know my story, but here it is again in an abbreviated version.

My first relationship began when I was 19. He was 26. We were together for 3 years. He was loud, completely unaware of himself, irresponsible (although always had a job), a part-time drug dealer, and pretty much a grown-up child. But he loved me, and for a time I loved him back. For the last year of it I was miserable and didn't know how to end it. At age 22, I broke up with him and choose to never see him again. In the process of breaking up, I learned that he had a young daughter that he never told me about (telling me on the day I left him), and a part-time drug addiction I was too blind to notice.

Just 2 months later, at age 22, I met who I call now, my ex. We were together for 9 years. For the last few years of the relationship, maybe 2 or more, I was so unhappy that I wanted out but believed he and I were supposed to be together and would never part. I orbitted around him and his life and in the proccess lost all focus on my own needs, my own happiness, and my own sense of self. I was lost. At age 31, I left and we never saw eachother again, texts (a few), emails (a few more), and that was it (the recovery from that breakup is what started this blog). And that, my friends, is the long and short of my dating (or better understood as, "serial monogamy") history.

It took about a year, but I got over it by documenting the process right here on this very blog.

At age 32, I began to date. Now, I'm a pretty smart girl; highly analytical, thoughtful, and responsible. I analyzed these 2 relationships for years before I ever ended the last one. I had collected my thoughts about my ex and gathered lists of what worked and what didn't, what I got and what I didn't, and what I wanted in the future. I approached dating with, in my opinion, all the tools I needed. I had prepared, goddamn it, and I was ready.

So when I began to date, I looked at it with the attitude that I wasn't going to throw myself into a relationship right away. I was going to look around, meet new people and take my time. I would not get into something too fast, I would have my eyes wide open. I swore that I would not be unhappy again.

Then the inevitable happened, after just 2 and half months of actively dating, I met a good guy. And one date turned into 2 dates, then 3 dates, and then 4… and then I decided that I actually liked him, actually quite a bit, and when I realized I wanted to see only him -- the dreaded question came up, “Shit. Am I in a relationship now?”

After 2 months of dancing around the question, I decided I was in one. And not only was I in one, I was in love. And from then on I became a "girlfriend" again.

So, what happened, you ask?

I think I knew, when I began to date, that relationships held specific problems for me. I just didn't know what they were exactly, I just knew I was scared. Those words that came to mind earlier -- oppression, suffocation, restraint and unhappiness -- aren't just a jokey way of explaining how nervous I was to date, they really held weight for me in ways I didn't totally understand until recently. It wasn't until my current boyfriend and I were together for about 6 months did something start to seep in and I began to feel little inklings of being suffocated or oppressed and utlimatly, lost. Once again I started to feel like I did with my ex. I felt like I was losing myself.

Right about now, you might be asking yourself, "What the fuck happened you?!" Well, yeah. I said the same thing to myself. Loudly. And with a giant "DANGER" sign blinking above my head.

I thought that since I had worked through everything and had chosen someone who was the total opposite of my ex, that I was totally prepared to never be in the same situation again, and therefore never would. But, guess what? Although I did work through a lot of things regarding my ex, it wasn't until I got into another reltionship was I actually faced with my issues with relationships and how I operate within them. And I wasn't prepared for that.

I learned that I had to put it all into practice before I really worked out the kinks. And that's where I am today, working out the kinks and finding happiness after closure.

Stay tuned, Dear Readers of my humble blog. I'll explain how I met who I met, what it's like to be in a serious relationship post-(a serious)breakup and explain what happened when, although I let go of my last relationship, it crept back into my life as this pesky thing so common to us all called, "baggage." And in my way, I hope to do my best to show how to notice it when it happens, how to face it, and how to move past it to get what you really want (whatever that may be).

Until next time,


Le B

A Series of Parts: Part 3

So, Dear Followers, have you been wondering what happened in March? Well… we met, we talked, and we both walked away with a shared respect and love for one another that only two people that shared nearly a decade together could have. All is well in the world and I got all the closure I so desperately needed and now live a peaceful existence knowing that I’ve neatly closed this chapter in my life.

Well… in the fantasy world in which I do not live, that would be lovely, wouldn't it?

Here’s what really happened -- in my reality.

March, Week 1:

Two weeks after our text conversation, March arrived. March -- the month he said he would contact me when he got back into town -- the month we would meet in person. I spent the first week waiting patiently for a text from him telling me when he’d be back like he promised.

March, Week 2:

When the 2nd week ended I was still optimistic. After-all, it was just the 2nd week. I thought, maybe he was coming back in the last week of March and was going to wait another few days before contacting me. That seemed very reasonable. And so I waited... patiently.

March, Week 3:

When the 3rd week ended, I began to get anxious. My patience started to fade.

March, Week 4:

I watched the calendar. I watched my phone. I flinched every time I got a text. March 31st came and went, and it was over. I never heard from him. EVER.

I came up with many excuses such as,

Maybe he didn’t come back in March because his plans changed.

BUT if that were the case, wouldn’t he write to say that he wasn’t coming and ask that we postpone our meeting for the following month instead?

Maybe he found my blog, it pissed him off, and he didn’t want to speak to me ever again.

BUT if that were the case, why not tell me he found it. I really can’t see anything here that would bother him. I mean, yes, it’s his life too that I’ve poured out into the world but I’ve always felt that this blog tells MY story, not his, and therefore really isn’t any of his business. I write about the ways we didn’t work, but mostly in an indirect way, and I try, at least, to explain that we share responsibility for what happened to us. I don’t mean to paint a picture of him as a super villain and if he thought I did, I would hope he could ask me about it. OR, maybe he found the blog, got pissed off, and decided I wasn’t even worth talking to for any reason, ever again, even if it was to say that he was pissed.

Well, no matter the reason for why he didn’t contact me, I never heard from him. And this, my friends, broke my heart all over again -- at least for a little while.

I was sad, angry and heartbroken. And then I became more angry than anything else. "How could he do this to me?", I thought. What would propel someone to dick over someone they loved for so many years? If indeed he was scared of seeing me or talking to me, then why not just say so and say he wasn’t ready yet. That I could I understand. That I could accept. Dicking me over just to be a dick? That I can’t accept.

So for most of April I felt like I had a flashing neon sign permanently over my head that read, “FUCK YOU,” that went off whenever I thought about my ex.

Kinda like this:

This really just about sums up how I felt throughout most of April.

But then again, despite being angry, I also felt like he had given me some kind of gift. What gift, you ask?

The gift of being a True Asshole.

I know this sounds weird, but maybe he took the saintly way out by hurting me to help me. It reminds me of those scenes in sentimental movies where the little boy has to give up his beloved dog because he can’t care for the dog anymore and knows that the dog will have a better life living on the family farm than with him and he goes, “Go on! Get out of here! I don’t want you anymore!,” while choking back the tears as the dog runs away. I felt like that dog.

I felt like he was telling me, “I’m just going to hurt you if we see each other. It’s going to be painful and re-open old wounds and will most likely hurt us rather than help us. So go on. Get out of here. I don't want you anymore.” Maybe that’s why I never heard from him. I’d like to think this is the reason. Maybe he did what was best for me.

I also know his limits and quite honestly, expecting him to tell me that a meeting between the two of us would be hurtful or that he wasn't ready for it, is totally uncharacteristic. He never confronted me much before about deep emotional issues when we were together, why would he now? And as my mother once said, “He’s got his head so far up his ass that he can’t see daylight... so I don’t know what you expected.”

And so, I never heard from him again and this I believe had to be the best thing. Because when all is said and done, I loved him for about a decade of my life, good or bad, right or wrong, it was love, it was real, it was my life -- and to see him now might bring all that back to me in a way that makes me forget why were apart in the first place. (And I really don't want to forget.) Maybe he knew that. Or maybe he doesn't give a shit. Maybe he was afraid of what would happen to him if we were to meet. Or maybe he truly doesn't give a shit. Whatever his motives, he never contacted me and I have not heard from him to this day. And I'll never know why.

So what did I do in March, besides wait by the phone? Well, in addition to flinching every time I got a text thinking it might be him, I did a lot of things. I ran my first race. Remember? That was a huge and incredible accomplishment. I am so infinitely proud of that and it got me hooked on running and racing.

What else did I do in March, you ask? Well, friends, I began to seriously date. Yes, date. And I like to think, that with or without closure, March was a success in so many ways.

Dear Followers, our regularly scheduled blog will now resume. As you can maybe tell, I’ve had a busy a few months and I really needed some time to make sense of everything that happened (and didn’t happen) before I could write it all down. Now that I’ve done this, I’m happy to pick back up where I left off and catch up with my blogging family (The Rules of Breakup, Champagne Before Breakfast, It Never Rains in Seattle, According to Me, and The Secret Dreamworld of E) along with many other wonderful bloggers and readers whom I’ve missed dearly.

Now that I’m back, I plan to regal you with tales of my foray into dating as a 32 year old girl who hasn’t dated since she was a 19 year old girl, how I’ve tried to honestly come to terms with my lack of closure, and what life looks now -- moving forward and moving on.

Much love to all of you out there. Thank you for reading.

-- Le B

A Series of Parts: Part 2

Part 2

When we last left off it was February and I had just sent a text to my ex. It read, "It's been a year and I think I'm ready to talk. Will you talk to me?"

I sent that text and immediately said out loud, "Fuck it.” And I meant it. I was relieved. I finally did it. After all the hemming and hawing and should I or shouldn't I's. After all the agonizing over whether or not I had any right to communicate with him at all, ever again, I just did it. Whatever happened next would prove to me that he was either, a) an asshole who would not respond to me at all and then I could finally just say, “OK, he truly doesn’t give a shit,” and move on with my life; or b) the good guy I deep-down knew he was; the person who cared about me and would always take my calls no matter what.

After I sent the text, I proceeded to stare at the phone for all of maybe 10 minutes. Because 10 minutes was all it took for him to respond.

HIM: “I would like to. Were you thinking over the phone?”

And there he was, in real time, punching keys on his phone somewhere, communicating with me. It almost felt like we were talking. This was a different feeling than the rare emails we had exchanged over the last year. This felt almost… intimate. It was the closest we had come to talking to one another in over a year. My heart was racing. I was scared. But I also felt somewhat reassured. He existed after-all. He didn’t fall off the face of the earth like I felt he had. He was somewhere; maybe sitting in an apartment (maybe his, maybe someone else’s), or his car, or a bar about to perform a show or maybe just about to attend one. He was living some kind of life somewhere out there in the world. He was alive and on the other end of my phone.

Now, I wasn't entirely sure that he had moved already.

ME: “I heard you moved. Are you still here?”

And then I waited, imaging he was just a few minutes away. Perhaps we would meet that night or maybe even the next.

HIM: “I'm living in LA now.”

Ouch, that hit me hard. He was really gone.

ME: "Why didnt you say goodbye? I’m really hurt to have found out the way I did."

HIM: "I’m really sorry."

I was hurt, and well…I wanted to hurt him back.

ME: "Well I guess that's it then."

HIM: "Well I’d like to talk still."

We then proceeded to go back and forth and in the interest in his privacy, I won’t re-type every word. So here is a recap of what was said (please bear with me, I hope this isn't too confusing to follow.)

I said: I couldn’t believe he didn’t care to tell me he was leaving, I had wanted to talk in person, and now I didn’t feel like there was anything left to say.

He said: He didn’t think he deserved to be made to feel guilty because he had intended on telling me, and would still like to talk. He was glad I got in touch with him and wanted to meet me in person.

I then felt like I had to explain why I didn't reply to the last email he wrote me back in November. I had always felt badly about that and never explained to him why I could no longer correspond with him.

I said: Since it took so long to respond to my emails in the past [he had been taking 2-3 weeks to reply to the rare emails we exchanged last year and the wait was gut-wrenching], waiting to hear back was too painful and that’s why I didn’t write back. I said I had no idea if he would respond. I also apologized for sounding bitchy earlier.

He said: He was sorry for making me feel hurt (regarding the lag in email response). He explained that this was still hard for him, but his failure to communicate with me was not a result of not wanting to talk, he just hadn't felt capable of it. He was sorting things out, he said. He added that he hadn't officially moved yet and asked if I would be ok with talking to him next month in person when he’s back in town.

I knew that meeting in person would be the best thing for us. Since so much time had passed, a phone call just wouldn't be enough. A meeting would be the best way to deal with him. Kinda like a band-aid -- you just gottta rip it off.

ME:“That’s a good idea. Next month in person, I’d like that. I think it will be helpful to talk. Goodnight.”

HIM: “I really do too. Thanks for getting in touch. I feel better being in touch. Goodnight.”

And that’s how it ended; we said “goodnight” the way we did every night for years. And that comforted me. We were finally in contact and I felt like I was well on my way to closure.

Next month we would talk in person. I would face him for the first time in over a year. Finally, I felt like I would put all of this to rest. I lay in bed that night feeling relived and picturing our meeting.

I imagined that it would be civil, calm, focused, and respectful. We would trade stories of what our lives were now like since both of us (at least on my end) were different people and would surely have so many things to share. Our meeting would certainly be heartfelt, maybe even tearful, but in the end we would hug each other and say goodbye. Maybe we would keep in touch after that. Maybe it would take another year, but perhaps we would even be friends some day. We were two people who helped shape one another into the people we were today. Two people whose heartache over the last year also shaped the people we would become in the future. Somehow we would respect that, we would share it, and we would continue to grow as individuals who still held a great amount of love and respect for one another, but who knew they were better people without one another.

And then I fell asleep, with March just 2 weeks away.

Now, Dear Followers, let me dab on some red lipstick, take a deep breath, and brace myself to write the next part. Because if you agree that I was getting a little bitchy in my texts, just wait and see what I have to say next.

Photo above by Jerome ESTEVES

The Last Few Months In A Series of Parts

Hey, did you ever meet my friend Ian?

He’s a computer hacker.

He helped me erase your Myspace page,

And your band’s Myspace page,

And your Facebook page.

Happy networking, asshole.

---- Munchausen by Proxy & Zooey Deschanel, "Yes Man"

PART 1

Back on February 16th, I celebrated the One Year Anniversary of my breakup. To celebrate, I triumphantly got on a plane on that very day and flew out to California to spend a whole week with my bestie and her family.

BUT.... about 1 week before that day, I was casually perusing Facebook when I came across something that totally rocked my world and set a course of events into action that, to this day, I rue.

My ex and I are albeit barely linked on Facebook, in fact I deleted him and almost everyone that we had in common -- which the exception of just a few -- a month into the breakup. So because we had someone in common, that one person commented on a link to a blog interview my ex gave and therefore, through the magic of Facebook, that link showed up on my Homepage. (Isn't it so lame that we talk in FB terms like this? ...sigh...). So there I was, sitting at home, minding my own business, and I'm faced with proof of his existence.

There it was. Right there. In my face.

I could not just skip it and move on. I just could not.

A better woman might have closed her laptop, said, "Hmm, whateves...", and went on with her life. A better woman would not have taken maybe 2 seconds to think it over and then proceed to click the link and continue to read every single word of the interview her ex gave.

And so yes, I am not a better woman. I'm a crazy woman.

Normally, an article where he recites stupid answers to pointless questions about his band wouldn't be that big of deal, but they were his words. His picture. Proof that he exists. Reading the words actually sounded like him, I could almost hear his voice, and that to me was a big deal since we have not spoken in over a year, no text messages and very few emails that never end well. And so I poured over each word, like I was consuming each and every one.

Reading that article made my heart race. It was like some kind of bad accident you see on the road and can't stop looking at. Or, more to the point, it was masochistic. I knew what I was doing would upset me, and it would most likely set me back. And it did.

Because what I read was this, he doesn't live in Chicago anymore. He moved to fucking Los Angeles. He moved. Left the state. And for reasons that I didn't understand at the time, I proceeded to take a GIANT leap backwards accompanied by panic and as much as I hate to admit it, I experienced the kind of hysteria that I felt in those first few weeks of the breakup.

After about 2 days, I regained my senses and came to, and when I did, I asked myself, "What the fuck just happened here?!"

I think that with him leaving, I felt like I would never get closure. He was truly gone. What was worse was that I felt like I meant absolutely nothing to him after all. He didn't care to let me know he was leaving the state and that, as mad as I am at myself about this, made me feel awful.

I talked to friends about it and I heard many different perspectives. My bestie couldn't understand why I was so upset. She thought that it was really not anything to get upset about, after-all we were broken up, he didn't own me anything, not a goodbye, not an explanation, nothing.

Other people though, thought that he should have said goodbye. That I deserved at least that. That after 9 years I deserved something. Was it respect? Or was it something else?

These questions reeled in my head, over and over, and I felt a million things.

And so, one night, after 2 days of feeling sick over the situation and arguing with myself over whether or not I had any right to be upset, I finally picked up the phone, and propelled by pure adrenaline, I sent the very first text message to him in over a year. It read, "It's been a year and I think I'm ready to talk. Will you talk to me?"

Dear Followers, Part 2 will soon follow. But first, I'll need a cigarette before I write the rest.

Lots of love to you all, I'm very happy to be back.

Love,

Le B

Thank you, Phil Collins.

Back when I started this blog, I was reminded of an episode of This American Life called "Break-Up" that I heard on NPR the year before. This episode was about a writer named Starlee Kine who, when going through a heart-wrenching break-up, found a way to deal with her loss by taking solace in the ultimate break-up cliche: The break-up song.

In an attempt to make herself feel better, she wallowed in the sappiest songs about heartbreak she could find and decided that the next logical step was to write one herself. To do that, she turned to the one person she felt could understand her particular brand of heartbreak and help put her feelings into song, that person was, who-else, but the great, Phil Collins.

'Sup?

When I started blogging, I went looking for the episode, found it online, and listened to it... twice. At the time, it got me thinking about what people turn to when they're going through something difficult and how they make sense of their world when it's upside down.

Starlee Kine turned to break-up songs and then decided to write one herself.

And I turned to blogs and then created this.

I've always felt like her story spoke so deeply to what this blog is about. There are so many ways to wallow, commiserate, and be sad when you're dealing with loss, but then eventually by way of all that loss you can create something out of it (like a song or even perhaps a blog), or understand something about yourself that you never saw before, or become something even better than you were before. It's really true, just ask Phil Collins.

Phil Collins actually became "Phil Collins" by beginning his solo career with a hugely popular, and deeply personal, album that he says was based in the break-up of his first marriage. Let that be a lesson to us all.

So I encourage you, Dear Readers, to listen to this episode because you aren't alone. You've got me and, of course, as always, the masterful king of the heartbreak song, Phil Collins.

Listen here: Episode 339: Break-Up and click "Stream Episode."

Happy Spring!

Have a good day today, my fellow, Easter candy-loving, bloggy friends.

Eat Peeps and celebrate Spring; rebirth, new life, renewal and all that jazz.

Love,

Le B.

Images: cute overload, emdot, Per Ola Wiberg ~ Powi, Ale Paul

The Symbolism of Start

Hello, Dear Readers.

I know I've been absent for some time now, but hear me out.

Some interesting/panic inducing events have transpired in the last month and for the life of me, I just couldn't write about them. All these thoughts and emotions and opinions have been like bouncing rubber balls ricocheting off the walls of my brain and I haven't been able to collect them all, sort them out and make any sense of them. I'm trying though, and I'm feverishly writing a whole string of posts to explain the goings on of the last month.

But before I delve into all of that (which, believe me, is pretty interesting stuff) I'll start off with a post about how the word START took on a whole new meaning in a very unexpected way.

Me, the most nonathletic person you've never met ran a 5 mile race through the streets of downtown Chicago; sweating, panting, and almost crying to the finish line.

A few months ago I signed up for Chicago's Shamrock Shuffle 8K. This, my friends, was huge since I am not an athlete at all. But in the dead of this Chicago winter, I was running along the lake in 20 degree temperatures with wind chills in the teens, and I loved it. Sliding over ice, running in snow, and with each time I ran I saw myself accomplishing more and more. And I also got to do this amongst my incredibly supportive and wonderful running partners/friends.

Running became a very clear and definable accomplishment. I was able to measure my progress by city blocks. On my first day, I barely made it one block without having to stop and walk for a little while. On the next day, I was able to go 2 blocks. And before too long I ran a whole mile without stopping.

So on race day, I was not only proud that I was actually there, ready to reach a goal I worked very hard for, but I felt a different kind of pride I didn't expect. When I was standing in the Start corral amongst the nearly 30,000 people waiting to run, I felt the race take on a symbolism that I hadn't been aware of until I caught sight of the giant, red Start banner in front of me, the city skyline behind it, the lake to my right; when I saw that word, Start, I started to get teary, emotional, choked up and then I felt this huge smile cross my face and for a moment I thought,

"How the hell did I get here?!"

It's almost as if I was outside myself, looking down, and trying to recognize the person standing there, in Grant Park, with a number pinned to her shirt, wearing a pair of uncharacteristically professional running sneakers, about to careen through the streets with a bunch of strangers.

I never would have thought I would do anything like this a year ago. Or even at any time in the last 10 years of my life. And that's the thing that was so surprising; I always wanted to do this but I never believed that I could.

I always wanted to be a runner. I remember driving along Lake Shore Drive on my way to school and seeing people happily jogging along the lake and thinking, "Oh, I wish I could do that. I want to be someone who does that." But I never did.

I always wanted a supportive group of friends that genuinely encouraged me, and me them. And I'm slowly building that.

I always wanted my own musical tastes independent of my ex. And that's evolved too.

Somewhere deep down, I also wanted to write. And here I am.

And as superficial as this sounds, I wanted to be the kind of girl who could effortlessly apply eyeliner in a super 60's cat-eye fashion and rock a red lipstick. And now I do.

It's as if, for the first time in a long time, my identity is really coming into focus. I'm picking and choosing the things I want in my life and I'm getting them. I'm not just wishing and hoping and thinking and sitting on the sidelines and imagining some kind of vision of myself that I wish I was. No, I am that person now. Or at least I'm beginning to be.

And so, looking at the Start line was like looking at the start of something bigger, like the beginning of myself and I think the emotional swell that I felt at that moment was very mixed; it was happiness and pride in what I've been doing this year, seeing it as the start of my life, and mixed with some sadness too, sadness that it took so long for it all to actually START.

When I crossed the finish line I was exhausted and relieved. Relived not because I finished, but because I finally started.

Happy Birthday to My Humble Blog!

Dear Nine,

Remember when you were born? Aww... I remember that day. Sitting in my parents house, tears streaming down my face while recounting memories of my breakup and feverishly trying to figure out html code.

Remember my first post?

Nine

I never thought I'd ever write a blog and I certainly never thought anyone would ever read this one. But it's been a crazy year and you've been one of the great things to come out of it. Through you, I reached out to a wonderful group of supportive fellow bloggers and readers. And, because of you, I started writing my own short stories; another thing I never thought I would do.

Thanks for showing me what I can do.

So, my humble little blog, you've been awesome. And to celebrate your awesomeness, I baked you this banana walnut bread. Enjoy.

Love,

Le Bonhuer

(Photo by me. Banana walnut bread also by me.)

One Year Later

365 later...

When I was in thick of this thing, maybe 1 month in, and the shock wore off, I started scouring the internet for answers. I read breakup blogs, support sites, and just spent a ton of time getting myself out of my own head by reading about other people. On one of the nights I was reading random stories, I read about this woman who had spent the last year going through a divorce. She wrote about how it took her about a year before she had begun to really move on from it and she refered to the last year as “a tough year” but now she was doing much better. I thought about that phrase a lot.

“A tough year.”

Reading that statement felt like I was reading a prescription. To get through a breakup all you need to do is get through one tough year. Take one year and call me in the morning.

My one year is over and, yes, it was a tough one (to put it ever so mildly) but I made it. All the ups and downs and bad choices and good choices. I had to fall down and get back up again. And I want to say to anyone going through any kind of a transition in their lives, be it a breakup, a divorce, grieving a loss, or any kind of major life event that shakes you to the very core, that it will get better. Time does heal all wounds. You will be okay.

I swear it.

I never thought I’d be okay, honestly. I never saw a light at the end of the tunnel. I thought I would feel the way I did forever. Not every day was horrible and not every day was easy, but I had to do a lot of work.

My identity was so tied into my relationship that when it was over I had to figure out who I was all over again. I’ve said it before, my relationship framed my 20's and that was a substantial chunk of my adult life. Those years defined who I was and still am. Learning to be an individual on my own was a daunting task with a very unsure outcome. But throughout this year, I have learned how to be on my own.

My circle of friends is completely different (worlds apart actually) and I love that. My new home is all mine. It's warm and comforting and bright and sweet and I love that too. It gives me proof that I can start over. I can rebuild a home for myself. I can push myself outside of what is comfortable and meet new people and create new and meaningful friendships. I can be a good judge of character and make good choices. I can start over.

And so therefore, it is 365 days later. I was awarded my ONE YEAR chip on February 16th.

I spent that day traveling to the sunny, cheerful, and warm west coast to spend a week with my bestie, her husband, and their amazing son, my little nephew, Mr. O.

We will be baking a cake, drinking champagne, making each other laugh, eating vegan bacon cheeseburgers followed by nauseating amounts of holiday-themed candy, and thinking about this time last year when I got off a plane 4 days after my breakup and I asked her, "Will I ever feel better? Will I get through this? Will I ever be okay again?"

I didn't believe it at that time, and I couldn't have predicted it then, but the answer was yes, yes and hell, yes.

P.S. To read more about this past year's anniversaries take a look here:

30 days later

3 months later

Four months

6 months? Half a year?

Hitting a wall (9 months later)

Photo by Ugo Rondinone.

Happy Valentines Day

Happy Valentines Day, Dear Followers.

Celebrate your awesomeness.

I (heart) you big time.

Love,
Le Bonheur


So have some flowers,
a sweet little pupski (I'm currently babysitting this little cutie),
some candy hearts,
some macaroons,
a beauty product indulgence (loving Benefit's Poisetint right now. a perfectly bright, fresh pink lip stain),
some John Hughes romance,
do your eyemakeup totally crazy,



and be awesome because you so totally are.


Photos by danske and miss_yasmina,

What's next?

Photo by Old Sarge

I've been feeling very strongly that I need the next "big thing" to happen. Be it moving to another state, changing my job, or going on some kind of adventure. And by adventure I mean that I'm thinking of visiting the strange and faraway place called MAINE. Ohhhh... scary. For realz, I really want to see Portland, Maine. It seems like the place for me, not sure why, but I've grown obsessed with it. I keep wondering if it will be my next home.

So in this spirt of moving on, I'm working on some kind of momentum towards my goals. Step 1: Finishing my portfolio and CV resume to hand off to my contact at an architectural firm in Chicago. It may not be the job for me (plus I do really want to move out of this area) but at least I'm getting it out there and seeing what kind of response I get. I got this started last weekend and I plan on finishing it this weekend. For me, this is one step closer to at least trying to make some big changes in my life. It's something that has been hanging over my head for a while and once it's done and out of my hands, I can move onto Step 2; meet with my school counselor and research more design jobs outside of the midwest.

Taking these steps and figuring out a plan for my future makes me a little anxious. I want so badly to get closer to my goals, but doing that makes them real and when they are real they are that much more vulnerable. What if it doesn't work out? What if I don't get a job outside of Chicago? What if I get my dream job and I don't like it?! All this is scary stuff.

But I know that I have to try, because I don't want to waste my time wondering, "What if...?" If this breakup has taught me anything, it's that I can't just wonder about what might happen, I have to go for what I need, or want, and see how it pans out. Good or bad, at least I tried and that's so much better than safely wondering about what might happen while life passes me by. Good or bad, reality is so much better.

And so, I have to make these goals real and give it a shot. Perhaps publicly posting my intentions on this blog will make my future plans tangible and will hold me to them. Or at least I hope...

So, Dear Followers of my humble blog, have you begun thinking of the next big thing in your life? Are you working towards any specific goals right now? How's it going? Are you feeling motivated or anxious? Or both?! I'd love to know...

P.S. Doesn't Portland, Maine look dreamy? After I've done some job research, I'm going to reward myself with a trip to Portland. I simply must find out why I'm so crazy about a place I've never been!

Photo by a song under the sugar sugar

Photos by acadia62

Chocolate Pudding Limbo

A disjointed, little chocolate pudding narrative that I had been writing got me to realize that I am in dire need of a worthy accomplishment.

Here's what I mean:

Finding myself craving chocolate pudding about a week ago, I decided I would accept no imitation, store bought pudding wasn't going to cut it, and so I ran out to the convenience store across the street for some Jell-O instant pudding mix which I then made with soy milk. I ended up with cold, chocolate goo. It tasted awful and in the trash it went. Very sad.

A week later, still on the pudding kick, I found a box of organic pudding mix and had high aspirations that this just had to be better than the icky Jell-O. Well, it wasn't. The result was more pudding-like, less like goo, but it never got that skin on the top and it kinda tasted like carob, like healthy pudding. I ate it. All of it. Albeit begrudgingly.

Then after a few mediocre pudding cup experiences, I decided that if this whole pudding thing was going to be put to rest, then goddamnit I was going to have to make it from scratch. I flipped through my much beloved copy of "The New Farm Vegetarian Cookbook," the first cookbook I bought when I started cooking. If you don't know about it, it's pretty fantastic. It's from 1975 and was a cookbook that came out of a commune in upstate New York. It's not too culty, but actually just a little, and complete with grainy black and white photos of hippies picking cabbage and stirring huge vats of tofu curds and whey.

Regardless, the recipes are incredibly easy, simple and delicious. The pudding did not fail to impress, in fact is was great and pudding-like, not like cold goo, and even had that skin on top. At last...

And with that, I ended the Chocolate Pudding Narrative and thought to myself, "Umm, so what?" I couldn't figure out the point of the story.

I think I could probably have created an analogy here that relates dating to making pudding; you might have unsatisfying attempts before you find the right combination. But I think the moral is a little more straight-forward than that. I was absolutely beaming after I tasted this pudding and considered it an accomplishment and it made me realize that what I've really been craving, besides pudding, is a true accomplishment, not pudding-related.

At this point, I'm feeling slightly like I'm in limbo. The breakup is over, its been nearly a year, and although I've blogged about closure and letting go recently and how that's been difficult to come to terms with, I've been feeling more and more confident that I am letting go and that I'm very close to getting past this.

So that leaves me feeling like, well... now what? I spent a whole year blogging about a breakup, getting through it and starting over, and for a long time I felt like it was the only focus in my life. But now, it's over and that feels a little strange. I'm somewhere in the middle of being in it and getting over it. I bounce from place to place and in the middle I'm finding that I'm not really accomplishing much.

I have a great job which I don't totally love, but it pays the bills and leaves me the time to do things like travel and is flexible enough to allow me to cultivate a wide range of obsessions and make ridiculous amounts of chocolate pudding for one person. But I'm not really moving on at the speed I'd hoped to move.

I wanted to move out of Chicago last year and pursue a job in the field I went to school in, but the rebuilding of my life sucked up a lot of my time and energy and now that my life is well underway, it's time for the next thing. It's time for a change, it's time for some new accomplishments, and going forward means that my future accomplishments really can't continue to be pudding-related.

Dear Followers, if you are feeling a pudding craving coming on, try out New Farm's, its delish. And by the way, I'm a big fan of celebrating accomplishments, no matter how small or pudding-related, because even if they are small, I bet that each little one is going to get you closer to something bigger. Or at least that's how I like to see it.

New Farm Vegetarian Vegan Chocolate Pudding

Mix together:

1/3 cup cocoa

3/4 cup sugar

1/4 tsp. salt

1/4 cup cornstarch

Then add 3 cups soymilk, mixing constantly. Bring this mixture to a boil over medium heat, still whipping constantly until the mixture thickens, then lower the heat and cover. Let boil gently for 5-10 minutes.

Remove from heat and whip in:

3 Tbsp. soy margarine (I use Earth Balance, it's the best.)

1 1/2 tsp. vanilla

Pour into individual dishes and cool in the refrigerator.