Old Jeans
To have and to hold from this day forward….
These words bound my truth, tuned my heart to his rhythm…
Until one day, I noticed our binding thread was weak, and even as I loosened my grip, then tightened it, the fiber was slowly, then too, too rapidly thinning. It eventually broke and I held a cold, lifeless string with a frayed end. I saw his half of our thread on the ground where he once stood and watched him walk away, out of focus. My heart ached without relief and I felt at a loss on how to relieve the pain. Time helped as did my honoring the time we were connected, the years we held one another close. Recently, I found that thread and coiled it up and gently put it in a small turquoise satin pouch and placed it in my old wooden box with a sliding lid where I keep varied mementos.
Within 24 hours of announcing my decision to be single, I was like a ‘new’ old pair of jeans and my girlfriends took me out for a glass of wine and told me, "Time to move along, Sista!"
Online dating, I was told, was the way to go. I didn’t want to ‘work’ at finding my guy. I effortlessly attracted love before so the idea of creating a profile for dating felt sad, pathetic, desperate. My brief experience applying effort to the process only confirmed this.
One Saturday night after persistent encouragement by my girlfriends and two stiff Cape-Codders, I joined an online digital mixer. My girlfriends helped me polish my profile to an irresistible luster. I would surely catch a glimpse of an amazing man with the traits I wanted and others I would come to appreciate. I had to agree, I felt pretty damn good as I walked down the virtual pageant runway.
If blind applause is all that counts, I was a hit! My mailbox filled up quickly and as I read the inquiries, it was undeniable: I was incredibly attractive to men who looked like my Dad. This was a non-starter and I began politely saying no, then just ignoring the emails. I simply couldn’t go there…As I tried to remain open-minded, I kept flashing to when I was 14 and worked as a candy striper at Brittany Manor nursing home. One of my unfortunate jobs was to give the elderly residents baths….
My guy, the one within a decade of me, with an undertone of sexy beneath a confident laugh and kind spirit – had no interest in me…he apparently went for the ladies 15-20 years younger. How nice for him. What was I to do? I sat at a park bench on my island that looks east and considered my options.
Looking to woods across the lake are the grounds for the Sisters on St Joseph of Peace
I let my mind wander and my eyes focused on this wooded patch just across the water and it hit me. Become a nun! The undeveloped area was a convent I had known of but never visited. I read up on some of the amazing projects these nuns were doing around the world and a week later, I drove over. I met with an administrator and asked a few questions, took a brochure and heard some tantalizing selling points: Travel! Free housing! Health insurance! Would I, could I devote my life to good works through the church? I rolled the glossy tri-fold in my hand as I left the office and walked past my car to a path that beckoned from the far end of the parking lot. I followed the path down a slope through the woods and found a bench near the lake that faced west. I sat and exhaled a long choppy breath as a few soft tears fell. I didn’t want to be a nun. I was a rabble-rouser, outspoken. I supported married and female priests, LGBT rights and equal love for people of varied faiths. I’d just piss everyone off and not in a ‘Everyone Loves Maria’ kind of way. As noble as it might have been, my job was to raise my sons and I knew I yearned for a partner.
True love is an endlessly reciprocating gift between two committed people. I can’t buy it. I can’t fake it. I have found joy and peace on my own, which took a little time. Although I am content, I keep my eyes and heart open. In my corner of the world, I am blessed with many friends who have long, healthy relationships and a few where the description, ‘true love’ is apt. I bear witness to it and draw hope and strength that I will find someone to love, someone to love me back.
In the meantime, I remain a sista without a mista. I have many gal-pals (married and single) to travel, laugh and play with. I am blessed. But if you know a good guy, Linda-Marie has my number...