Note: while editing my memoir – or avoiding it – I was scrolling through blogs I’d written. I wrote this one on New Years and somehow neglected to post it. Better late than never, right! Happy New Year, friends!
Love, sweet love. the pursuit of which is a driving force. Is it merely cultural? A combination of Disney and Hollywood that leaves us, facing reality and hopelessly fucked?
In my half-century I’ve had many lovers: a famous punk rock singer and a married writer in my New York days, as well as many random post-clubbing bonks (“What was your name again? Don’t bother calling a cab, I’ll take the subway.”) What can I say, it was the 80’s.
I had a 15 year marriage. After that a five year torrid sex-fueled romance.
But I can only conclude that:
A – No one has ever really loved me.
B – They have, but love – contrary to the typical Hollywood story – does not last.
I wish for the days of naïve youth, where compatibility means you hang out with the same crowd and can quote the same TV shows. But then again, in youth one still needs to get the education and career going, buy a house, make some babies….
Check, check, and check.
Now I want more than that. These days I can pluck lovers like fruit from the trees. (It’s that easy for girls) And sometimes, I admit, I do. But I still want more.
I want a true connection with an age-appropriate human being. I want to cook up a Thai curry together naked in the kitchen, sipping wine and talking about God. I want to make travel plans with someone instead of always alone. I want to walk my dog with his dog, holding hands. I even want to argue and fight and get so mad because he ALWAYS does that thing that I HATE.
And in the midst of hair ripping angsty thoughts of – maybe I’ll never meet my soulmate –
The obvious answer is – So What?
I have a good life. My family is around me and my kids still talk to me. I love my job, my house, my dog. I’m not stagnant. I have travelled to 5 continents, many islands, and still have many destinations on my go-to list. I do what I want, when I want to.
But I do miss being in love. Perhaps it’s not a realistic goal at my age.
The last time I was in love, I knew from the beginning it wouldn’t last. I glued it together with hot sticky sex, sometimes 3 or 4 times a day, knowing that was all that was making him stay. Eventually, when I asked for more than that, it all fell apart, as I had always known it would. He’s married now, to a lady who looks like a nice gal, a once-a-week gal, a blow-job-on-your-birthday type. I might just be the scar on his psychic body, the kind you get if you fall against a hot grill – ouch!- then recover yourself.
I’m in the Bahamas for the New Year. How cool is that? Junkanoo tonight! I have a lover for the week, a personal driver you might say. He takes me where I want to go. A very sweet guy. Last night we drank champagne and watched the fireworks over the harbor.
Life marches on.
Maybe the folks at Disney will never cast me as a princess in an animated feature. And maybe I have somehow missed my chance at love, the romantic kind, anyway. Aside from that, my life is filled with love, overflowing with wonderful friends, family, and animals. And the occasional chance encounter with someone special, if only for a week.
Order another Bahama Mama for me, will you? Maybe I’m doing okay.