I have had three different men on my mind for the last week.
Before you go making a judgment, and before I tell you about these men, the good the bad and the ugly, please read the whole thing. And remember that I write for myself. If you have read my blog then you know that I don’t filter here, so I am about to make myself hugely vulnerable. I actually hope to talk to all of them again, so while burning bridges is not a stated goal, it might happen. Vulnerability is like that. This isn’t about them. It is about me.
As a way to frame this in both time and space, I should tell you something about why I noticed it THIS week, and about “eye contact” in my world, and maybe in your world, too. First, I rarely avoid it. I like looking someone in their eyes and having them read me as I read them. This is scary for me, but something I try really hard to do. I had spent years with my head down. I hated that feeling. Second, if and when I do avert my eyes, it is never out of shame or guilt. It is completely out of self-preservation. I am not afraid anymore of owning the negative emotions, or even the positive ones for that matter. I can handle anger, and love, and sadness. What I can’t handle is vacancy, in the face of my own emotions. If the other person doesn’t feel anything, and can’t do anything about it, I have nowhere to go with that. I look away so I don’t have to admit my own attraction, my own neediness. I can pretend it isn’t there, my own desire, and then I can figure out a different way to dispel it. Sounds like a pussy move on my part, but really, at that point, the only person struggling with the emotion is me, and the other person can be of no help whatsoever. I am not backing off of the conversation or fight, there simply is no conversation or fight to have.
The first man is a friend. A good friend. One of my best, actually. I have never felt anything except friendship for him, so I would have no problems with his wife reading this. And I love him, also something that I am open to let anyone know. I have been able, without fail, to look him in the eye for several years. We have had disagreements (arguments actually), have shared stuff that would make some cringe, have been disgustingly honest, cried, laughed, everything you would expect from friends. I haven’t looked him in the eye for about a week. Because about a week ago it hit me that in a little under 8 months, he moves away. I am excited for him. It is an amazing opportunity, and also his job. It won’t be in harm’s way, even if the terrain is ugly, and he will be safe. He will be able to concentrated on himself, and his education, and his career, and his family in a way that has been missing for a long time. It is exactly what he needs to be doing, and his beautiful wife will be able to have him at home without the stress of his current environment. It will be awesome. Me? Oh yeah, this is my blog. I can’t look him in the eye because think I will start crying, and I am not ready to miss him yet.
I met man number two in May. He fit all my usual parameters. Tall, dark hair, blue eyes. It was instant. If you were to ask several of my friends they would tell you that I was going to fall hard. He met all the right qualifications of straight, single, available, employed, cute, and, when I finally talked to him, interesting. I had been handing out cake at an office birthday party and offered him a plate. Instead of the usual thanks or no thanks, or a polite refusal by way of saying he was full or allergic to chocolate, he said “I don’t eat cake”, and then walked out of the room. I was perplexed, and intrigued, and definitely attracted. That comment was the perfect segue into our first conversation later that day while being literally introduced at the water cooler. No one else would know (it is a small and gossipy office sometimes) that he and I started talking. It was wonderful and discreet. We had lunch a few times, coffee a few times, and lots of phone conversations, emails, texts. It was flirty. It was serious. It was fun. It even involved an argument or two involving politics, and money, and plans. What it didn’t involve was a “real” date. Months of this, with schedules not quite matching, timing just always being off for moving it past flirting. And then he kissed me. And then he stopped talking to me. Yep. I called and asked what was up? Crickets. I emailed and said I was worried something was wrong, was he okay? Crickets. He went away for a two-week work trip and I texted him to welcome him back home. Crickets. That was September.
Now, I have been blown off before, and I know what this looks and feels like, so for a solid month I have not called, texted, emailed or facebooked. I could throw a rock from where I sit at work and hit his desk (okay, if there wasn’t a wall there), and I have not gone by or sat in his chair like I did for June, July, and August. And other than a single good morning I have not said a word to him. He did not say good morning back. I know better than to want something from him. That isn’t going to happen. I am actually grateful that he showed me who he is, really early on, and the few red flags I am willing to admit to from the months of flirtatious nothingness are not things I have to deal with. I know all the reasons why this is a good thing, deserve better, happiness in the future, blah blah blah, so please don’t ask me about it, (or, god forbid say anything to him!) because I will be fine. And when I looked him in the eye to say that one “good morning” last week, facing my fear, I got exactly what I thought would be there. Crickets. I haven’t looked at him since. Not because I am not angry, or not worried, or not attracted. Because I am ALL those things still, but what I got back was empty. His emotions, if there was any to begin with, are not there now. I can’t look him in the eye because I think I might start to cry. And I am not ready to miss him yet.
I don’t have a category for man number three. I have known him for years. I have been drunk with him, danced with him, been to events with him. We have been together in groups. We have been alone. He has been to my house. He has met my kids. He has given me small but perfect gifts, and I have given him at least one that I remember. I think we might have been on a date a couple times, but I am not quite sure. I love his company. He makes me laugh, and makes ordinary occurrences feel like events. I am never disappointed to see him, and miss him when it has been a while. I guess we are friends. But then again, I don’t kiss my friends. And he did kiss me, twice on the same night last week. It was unexpected, but not unwelcome. Actually, it was a turn on and kinda hot, and visibly enough so that the group of women present when the first kiss happened wanted to know why I hadn’t slept with him yet. They actually encouraged me to meet him later that night, something I hadn’t really been planning. He would have got a kick out of the conversation actually because sex, along with most other topics this particular group of women feels no shyness about. would absolutely not be off limits for him either. We had talked about them all, in one from or another, a bunch of times over the last several years. He has lots of women in his life. Friends, buddies, women he dates, women he fucks. Until a very recent conversation (only a couple days before the night of the kiss actually) I would have flat-out rated him a player, and known exactly where the boundaries were. Now I am not so sure. I care about him enough to want to figure out where we fit with each other, find a definition that works for both of us, without both of us running and screaming about complicated emotional and physical entanglements. Friends? With benefits? Good friends with a different set of benefits? Honest or superficial? Group only activities, or can we still drink too much wine and cuddle on the couch and watch a pirated movie just the two of us?
I went to see him yesterday for a few minutes. I caught myself not looking at his eyes. I am sure that I am afraid I will look and will see nothing staring back. I am sure that I thought if I looked I might start to cry, and I am not ready to miss him yet.
Hoping for some eye contact this week, from any of the three, with a little more of my strength and confidence intact. (Okay, that is not exactly true. One of them, now that I wrote this, I could care less if I talk to again. I love when I write cathartic blogs that way!) So maybe two of them will send me a text message inviting me to coffee or a beer, with a message like “I am not ready to miss you yet either”, and when I see him next time, I will look right at him and know I will be fine, whatever happens, and it won’t require self-preservation.
