(Posted July 1st, 2014, on Wordpress)
A friend and I had a fantastically real conversation that lasted for several hours, took place in a pool and was fueled by our mutual need to stop working for a just a bit, our desire to catch up and share and by several bottles of wine and cider. I could probably write a few novels based on everything we discussed but, today, one thing comes to mind: I admitted that I can sometimes be a jerk about and to friends who don’t give themselves the time breathe in between relationships.
Part of the reason I do this is because, for so long, I was a serial monogamist and it’s so easy to hold hated aspects of our own pasts against others. The main idea behind it, though, is that I now know how wonderful it is to take the time to get to know yourself, to love yourself and to truly be happy on your own. Taking time off from dating was the best gift I could have given myself and it’s been, in so many ways, a life-changing experience. The process was first born out of emotional necessity, as my last relationship had worn me down until there was nothing left but a co-dependent, bitter, confused and hurt shell of a woman. I needed time to lick my wounds and process the pain. Then I had to learn to be alone, something I had never done before. And, finally, I started to do everything I had ever wanted to do but had had my head rammed too far up my relationships’ asses to even seriously think about attempting. I’m sure there are tons of people out there who have always managed to retain a good sense of self and to stick to their own paths, despite being partnered up but, for a variety of reasons I won’t delve into here, I was not, nor had I ever been, one of these people.
(I'm also sticking to one topic here because I can't stand the recent influx of terrible top 10 lists disguised as real essays but I may revisit this theme from another angle in the near future.)
Sometimes, along the way, I’ve wondered how I would know I was meeting the right types of people, when I was finally ready to do so again and, in the last week or two, it’s dawned on me that I have the proof I was looking for. My friendships are solid and the people I’m meeting, whether on or offline, now tend to be accomplished people who are comfortable in their own skin and open-minded about others and the shoes they’ve walked in.
Let’s, for the sake of not turning this into a saga, break it down to manners and basic consideration for others. I’m relatively old-fashioned when it comes to these and, for a long time, I compromised on this.
While hopping from one long-term relationship to the next, I spent a lot of time cringing, making excuses and asking myself what the actual fuck.
There was the dude who always came off as arrogant and all-knowing. “Welcome to my humble abode!” he would exclaim, as friends filed in through the front door of his parents, beautiful, three-storey home with expensive, Persian rugs and antique furniture. “This is dullest knife I have ever used in my life!” he said, as he tore into a baguette with my aunt’s expensive bread knife. Someone would purchase a bag of chips and he’d be the guy saying, “Yo! Can I have some?!” before they could even open the bag. Everything was always “inferior” and he would go on and on about how beautiful the strippers he had just seen were and he always had to be right but we were kids and I was impressed that he knew which forks to use and when, that he wore expensive pants that his mom bought him in France and that bathed more than the other guys I knew so we dated for almost two years.
There was the guy I dated for a few months who surprised me by moving into my apartment, where he proceeded to mope about day in and day out, while I struggled with my newfound motherhood. It was the little things that made me nuts. He would reach out and point at something and snap his fingers if he wanted you to pass whatever it was to him, he never thanked anyone for anything and he complained about everything, all the time. I made excuses for him until I couldn’t anymore and I left him for someone else.
There was the boy I dated for a few years who took the cake. While driving, he would drop his car seat so that it would smack whoever was sitting behind him in the face, if he thought they should be quieter. If he had nothing to contribute to a conversation, he would flat-out inform its participants that they were discussing useless crap and that he didn’t need to waste his time with it. When we went to visit my former stepmom and her massive dog took a bite out of the front of my dress, I asked him to get my bag out of the car and he chucked the car keys at me so I could get it myself and, that night, as I lay crying in our hotel room, he told me to keep it down and to let him sleep. He did say please and thank you on a regular basis, though.
When I met my ex-fiancé, I was so dazzled by our ridiculous chemistry that I let the craziest stuff slide but I did take note. This one night, as were heading to my place, he bought a bunch of breakfast food, which I thought was sweet. When we got to my place, he just went over to my fridge and ate the leftovers my broke ass had been saving for the next day’s lunch. The next morning, I woke up and he had made himself breakfast and cleaned up after himself but never offered me any. He actually asked me where some of his bread had gone, when he noticed that the loaf was a few slices short, the next time he came over. Sadly, it was only then, finally, at the age of 27, that I started to wonder why I kept ending up with this type of guy. I would sometimes wake up to the sounds of him hocking and spitting in my kitchen sink, he left his gum on my bedside table, he finished my drinks without asking, he always sat down first and left me standing when we rode the bus, he would open an umbrella and keep it over himself only, he was stingy with money, was curt with wait staff and once called a barman in Ottawa a “fucking Kike” because he thought he his beer was expensive.
Once I broke through the haze heartbreak tends to envelop you in, I started thinking about all of these and grew discouraged as I could count the polite, considerate men I’d dated on three fingers. I put the matter on the shelf, as I had other fish to fry but now, a few years later, I find myself thinking about this again, but not for the same reasons. I’ve recently gone for dinner and drinks with two gentleman and, both times, was very impressed. I guess I started mulling all of this over because it occurred to me that I shouldn’t be as stunned as I am by their good behavior.
One of these guys is basically a male me and, as much as that might sound like something I’d be into, it really just made me feel like he could easily become one of my BFFs. There was zero chemistry but it was a lot of fun and I hope we hang out again because it was really refreshing to spend time with such a stylish man who just “got” shit. The other mister and I also got along fantastically and, as much as I’d be happy to be his friend, I’d also be open to more, if that’s the road we’re meant to travel.
That said, check this out: Both gentlemen were excessively polite, paid attention and showed consideration almost the entire time we hung out. Both shared umbrellas with me and the taller of the two slowed his pace down, as I was in heels, while the other insisted that I leave with his umbrella when we parted ways (I thanked him profusely but declined). Both treated wait staff with respect and kindness and one of them is an over-tipper, like me. Both were very pleasant when strangers talked to us and their table manners were on point (with the second guy, I caught myself slacking, as I had one elbow on the table and I saw his eye wander to it and I thought, “Oh shit!”). I was able to talk about death and porn and love and whatever the hell else with both of them and I walked away from both encounters feeling rather pleased.
It’s not like I’ve forgotten that assholes exist and that everyone always starts off by putting their best foot forward but I commend both of them on their manners and I now have something to compare passed experiences to. Is it because one of these men is 37 and the other is 39 and that they’ve learnt with time? Is it because I’ve finally done a good job at weeding out the inconsiderate men? Whatever it is, it makes me feel optimistic and like I’m finally getting my shit together. I also know that, from where I stand now, with my two feet firmly planted on the ground, I will never let shit like aforementioned fly again. Sometimes the only way to truly be able to step back and look at where you’ve been is to do so alone and I know that, whenever I do decide it’s time to be with someone, it’s going to be because he will enhance my current situation and because I can do the same for him. And I don’t know if, as a work colleague of mine pointed out, a lot of men start of this way and then let themselves go, but I do know that if he starts off as a jerk, the chances of him stepping up his game later on are next to nil and so, the way I see it, these are all steps in the right direction.
10:27 AM
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Race Point Beach, August 5th:
