Archive | July, 2015

The pod person cometh

Now that I’ve outed myself as a woman in love, let me let you in on another dirty little secret: I’m afraid of turning into one of those people who turn their backs on their friends as they retreat further and further into their relationship.

I’m afraid of becoming a pod person.

That’s what I call them, those people who share an e-mail account, don’t go anywhere without their partner, are rarely available for a planned evening out, heaven forbid something spontaneous. Nesters.

Now, on the other side of the relationship fence, I see that these people are happy, content. But I can’t shake the feeling that they are also hella-lame. My friends have been paramount in my life, inspiring, buoying, humoring me. I refuse to let that change or let those relationships erode.

But things have changed. While I am still in touch with friends and we regularly get together, I don’t have the same drive. I have become, at 47, that happy woman.

It’s so weird.

People admire my vast social circle, or circles as the Venn diagram may be, but those people who marvel at my busy schedule are usually coupled up. I had to have a lot of friends and a lot of happy hour and shopping and mani-pedi and writing and movie dates. I needed to go to networking events, if not for the business contacts, for the conversation. I got monthly massages for tendons that snapped loudly when manipulated but I also sought rubdowns just for the human touch. As a perpetually single gal, getting my flesh pressed was a rare-to-nonexistent occurrence unless I coughed up a Benjamin every now and again.

The alternative was sitting at home, cat and computer on my lap, even on a Friday night.

Then I met Carl and my social circle sort of wobbled as all my needs were met on the homefront. I’ve been keeping it going, don’t get me wrong, but seasons have passed before seeing pals that I was used to seeing on a monthly basis. There are friends who I haven’t actually seen in person since I met Carl on November 8. I’ve been throwing relationship Band-Aids at them in the form of texts, e-mails and the occasional phone call but I fear the friendships are suffering as I snuggle up in my cozy pod.

Sigh.

I’m human. I fell in love and in the process, fell into a warm, satisfied life. No one is more surprised about that than me. My friends, however, are a key piece of what fulfills me so I’m going to pick up the phone but this time to make plans for lunch and gabbing and pedicures. A woman in love needs to have a polished pedi, sure, but she absolutely must have her peeps.

Taking flight

I’m usually a content machine, but sometimes life gets in the way.

In other words, I fell in love.

Fell deliriously, deliciously, full-heartedly in love. I know! I can’t believe it, either. Me! A snarky middle-aged singleton whose hope was ebbing away a little with each passing year. Like the Grinch, when I met the guy, my heart grew three sizes that day.

As my heart and my life became full, my writing seemed less important. With a popular book and blog called Things I Want to Punch in the Face, I was suddenly at a loss. I couldn’t muster up more than tepid irritation over anything, and that’s saying something, seeing as Kim Kardashian and Donald Trump exist. I’ve been writing a memoir about my teenage years, which seemed farther and farther away as my lovely new life left less and less room for memories and musings.

Instead of writing, I spent time with my guy, finding ways to be brave off the page. We traveled to a remote island in the South Pacific, where I drove a scooter and snorkled for the first time, trading in my anxiety for wind in my hair and tropical fish before my eyes. When I got bit by a 200-pound trevalley, I gave Blackjack the finger. Our boat captain taped up my bleeding middle finger and put a work glove over it and I got back in the water. I wasn’t going to miss seeing a giant clam.

I generally feel alive, present and engaged on the page, as words unspool from my fingertips. Here, now, I was bruised and scraped and bleeding and I didn’t feel like writing about it. I felt like living through it.

Since then, I ziplined despite my decades-long fear of falling. I loved it. I know! I was shocked too. I was prepared to say, “I told you so! I told you I’d hate this!” but instead, with a toothy smile plastered across my face, I said, “Let’s do it again!”

Through all this, the biggest big-girl step isn’t strapping myself into a zipline and praying to sweet Jesus not to toss my cookies or fall to my death; it’s letting myself be completely, joyously smack dab in the middle of a relationship with the love of my life. I’m letting myself be loved, even if I deep down doubt I deserve it. I have no plan B, no safety net. I’m all in.

That is some scary shit.

But as I told him yesterday, there’s a beautiful giddiness that constantly runs through my body because of him. My toes curl, my stomach flutters with butterflies taking flight. To paraphrase a card I gave him, “he makes me feel as if kittens are exploding out of my head.” But I also feel calm, grounded, certain.

Ben Affleck said in the screen gem Bounce, “It’s not brave if you’re not afraid.” Well, I’m going to continue being brave in my life and as I turn my attention back to my computer screen, I’m going to bring that attitude into my writing. Stay tuned for the next installment of my glorious adventure.