So, here I am, two months post break-up. Well, no. Two months, two days, and approximately five hours. But who's counting?
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Okay, let's back up a bit. I met a much older man several months ago. He immediately made his interest clear, and why wouldn't he? I'm young and blonde, he has gray hair and is, well, older. I rejected his advances immediately for a couple of perfectly valid reasons. One he was OLD, and there was just NO WAY! I banished any thoughts of involvement with this man because I just couldn't picture it. I was also extremely busy dating (read: sleeping with) the wrong person, convinced that any day now, he would wake up, realize I was worth his time and effort, and be with me.
He didn't, and my friendship with the older man grew stronger. Finally, I'd taken one too many blows from Mr. Wrong, and had quite frankly run out of excuses. So I gave in. And it was good. No, it was great. He did all of those little things that so many take for granted, but I had never before experienced: He opened doors, he took me out, he PAID...he made sure that everyone knew I belonged to him and that he didn't want it any other way. I was happy, deliriously so.
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But one thing came between us and ultimately led to our demise: The Past. Or, to put it in harsher terms, BAGGAGE. My pathetic and painful relationship history played a role, to be sure. But his took the cake...a cheating ex-wife and two beautiful children, and most heartbreaking, his firm opposition to procreating again (a major drawback to dating an older man, but we'll save that list for another day). He didn't want more children, and I have a ticking biological clock that can be heard from miles around. We should have known better, yes. We should have stopped it, yes. But we didn't. I fell in love and that was it. But love, turns out, is not always enough. We are two people on parallel paths. Close enough to touch, but will never intersect.
It goes without saying, I guess, that I have just picked up a brand new suitcase and added it to my already impressive collection of baggage.
So what now? I believe it comes down to this: When another relationship comes to an end, we all seem to find ourselves once again standing around the carousel, watching our baggage circle. It's ours, it belongs to us, but we just can't pick it up alone. It is often just too heavy, too unwieldy, too MUCH. So what do you do? Smile, laugh, talk to a friend, read a magazine, go pee. You can even count the days and hours. And eventually, you get what you need. Eventually, a stranger comes out of nowhere, points to your beat-up and mismatched luggage, and asks, "Can I give you a hand with those?".