I picked this random man with intention. I picked him because he seemed good enough. He was a bit fat and seemed way too enthusiastic about his lack of a job, but with a likable dry wit and an obvious humble sweetness. We stood in front of a world map smoking a joint for the duration of the party discussing all the adventures the world had to offer. I decided that he wouldn't hurt me. I decided he was a safe bet whose self esteem was just low enough that I seemed like a phenomenal catch. A big Alaskan salmon in a small muddy pond. I could safely ensure that he would worship without wandering eyes at the alter of me from then on.
After the first night with him I met my girlfriend for coffee and proclaimed that I didn't really like him at all. His penis was small and it was all akward. But he listended to me endlessly while I talked so we persisted based on this small egotistical boost and his many thoughtful gestures.
At six months into our relationship the burly bearded pastry chef who ran the oven at the bakery where I worked began to take an interest in me. Woo me with instructions on how make a proper chocolate ganache. Somehow without real effort he managed to get me to indulge in a teenage makeout session in the parking lot against the faded grey paint of my civic. I didn't really like him beyond our obvious chemistry but decided to sneak off for a weekend in a nearby mining town and stay the night in a place that called itself the copper queen. Contemplating if I could have my cake and eat it too, It was at this point that I should have realized my relationship was over. I should have jumped ship and run for the hills. Continued to bravely sort thru humans like piles of second hand denim looking for the right match of pocket style, color and size. Instead I ended up half naked and in tears leaving my date sexually unfullfilled and perplexed.
I felt deep pain, I knew I needed to leave this man who had in six months become my boyfriend, and I had failed at my one feeble attempt, running away with the baker.
I knew that this fat, spineless man was not Indiana jones and that stoned in front of a map was the closest he would ever get to travel unless dragged unwittingly by someone like me. I knew that I didn't want him, I knew that he would never grow into anything more than what stood before me. But the pain, how to explain the pain. The thought of loosing him after six months hurt so bad that I could no longer bear it. I needed it to stop and my lack of experience in such matters compelled me to mistake this feeling of ache for the type of love that should be stuck around for.
To opese this pain like a slave to its master, I ran home and replaced one sin with another. I told him of my trip, safely omitting the details which even 17 years later would be stoked like a fire when tempers flared. I then told him a lie that I could never take back and only time would grow it into a version of the truth with a bit of care and watering. I lied and said I thought we should be together. I knew it was a lie and over the years would wisper the truth to those who would listen, like a hostage trying to solicit help escaping from her captor. I would say in quiet rooms "he is not the one I should have ended up with". My poor naive 20 year old self ended up making a life with someone as a trade for the gut achinging pain of loss. This is not a worthy trade. But a life I made. This man for 17 years was sweet to me. He brought me chocolate without asking at the right time of the month, he held my hair back and comforted me when I was sick, he organised all the details of our life that I would sooner let slip thru the cracks. He would not chastise me for only noticing I needed milk or shampoo when the containerd were empty, and instead quietly slip full containers into place. He was many things that I now know many men are not. The error I made was in not spending those years appreciating these things but instead lamenting my youthful choice of weakness.
When I finally decided to walk away, I did so imagining that I could rectify this mistake. That I could forgive my 20 year old self for her lack of courage. This time the older and wiser me would make the right decision. But what did I do? I immediately fell in love with the first person I slept with. If he hadn't walked away I never would have. I would have tolerated his drunkenness and his most certain later scoldings for empty toothpaste toobs.
I now take a moment to forgive my 20 year old self for her weakness, because even at 39 I know I lack the strength to resist the power of a proper human bond. I forgive you. I forgive you, but now do it right don't let pain guide you. Let hope and beauty and all things good be your guide. Let yourself stand alone and proud and strong so that you may not just survive but be happy beyond measure.
