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Some of you are worried about me




Since launching this blog six weeks ago, I have been honored to have some deep and profound conversations about loss, love, death, grief, life and yes, even dating – all with laughter and, sometimes, tears.


These conversations, while often painful, have ultimately brought me utter joy and fulfillment. While I love to laugh and am often told I can be hilarious, I am most alive when I am exploring and tapping into deep feelings. I am intrigued by the comedy and tragedy in life which bring forth the two extremes of the human psyche.


I love each of you for how you are, or are not, checking on me. It absolutely means the world. I am grateful and honored that you are part of my life and that you have let me into yours, whether I hear directly from you or not.


Some of you though, have expressed worry about me, calling or writing to see if I’m okay as you read stories on my blog. Wondering if I've lost my mind (kidding) and expressing anger, as my proxy, at some of the men I’ve met, feeling I’m being mistreated. My alpha-feminist friends have voiced concerns that I’m not owning my power and taking charge of some of these "situations" thus tolerating a lot of nonsense.


Still others, I think, are treading lightly with me, possibly uncomfortable or embarrassed to know me in a new way, and, as they read my stories, may wonder why I would expose my raw thoughts and feelings. Again, the losing-my-mind scenario.


Last, there are also those who are leaning in with me, sending notes about the very funny dating encounters along with shout-outs and words of encouragement, telling me not to worry; someone will come along and dating is hard and so on.


What I want you all to know today is I am okay.  Really.


Sure, there are still some very hard days, but I have more great days now than hard ones.


I’m testing waters, exploring unknown territory, and while unclear about where some of this is taking me, working hard to stay open to what the universe brings. How California of you, Claire.


Truly though, I feel like an anthropologist - learning a new language, culture, and ways of navigating grief and dating at my age when I never thought I would be “out there” again.  I’m pretty sure most of the men I’ve met would say the same thing.  


I recently had brunch with four of my favorite people in the world, two couples, and shared many stories.  I relayed a lot of concepts, language and situationships - code for not being in a relationship - but maybe dating?  It was hilarious and bizarre to this group, and what I learned that afternoon is I’ve learned a lot in the last seven months “out there.”


Don’t get me wrong, I’m still naïve and confused a lot. Dating is like a free fall with no end, and, as you lose your bearings, every past and current insecurity is triggered.  Super fun, right? 


It’s distracting, upsetting, scary, occasionally mind-opening, and sometimes even fun. 


People have to be brave to do this - to put yourself out there and meet strangers.  With the exception of a few creepers, and even those probably have back stories that I don’t know or can’t understand, I choose to believe we are all just doing the best we can with the resources we have and the baggage we carry at this age.


I think we all deserve some grace as part of this excursion.


I also think the men I’ve met (but don’t really know because I seem to be a one, two maybe three date wonder, and then I get dropped) are good people doing the best they can. 


I don’t know if I trigger a response in them which makes them uncomfortable, or if I resemble their fifth-grade teacher who they hated, or someone they don’t like, or were hurt by.  Maybe I’ve said stupid or alienating things.  Or, there is simply no attraction.  Or they met someone else they found more attractive or witty or all of the above. 


Some days I think it would be fascinating to know the truth of why I was dumped, ghosted, or ignored.  Or not.  It might hurt and probably not move me forward.   I have already had a few boo-boos along the way, but this seems like the price of admission to this carnival. 


Does any of it matter when someone who doesn’t really know you makes a decision to not move forward?


I also think, and probably want to believe, that if I gathered up my dates, they would all genuinely wish me well.  I wish them well even if I wasn’t exactly thrilled with how things went down.


I have also made many arbitrary decisions about people and sometimes feel bad and superficial. However, on line dating is designed to be fundamentally superficial with little depth.


Truly, my biggest concern about the blog is it may render me undatable – “anything you say can, and may, be used against you.”  (I've been wisely and quite adamantly advised by my step-daughters and friends to not share my blog with men who I may be dating.)


Even so, I am not into hurting anyone, or making fun of them, though some may view my blog in this way. This is not my intention. I have purposefully removed content from early drafts that seemed unnecessarily unkind. 


But, make no mistake, what I have written has happened and is not fabricated. The cynicism and hyperbole make the stories funny and more compelling accessing honest, raw feelings about these rocky, inelegant dating experiences.


Because after my husband died and I was so very broken, it occurred to me what does it matter if I feel a little uncomfortable or exposed in talking about private, sad things? Or embarrassing things like my unsuccessful attempts to date again? 


It has left an indelible mark on me, breaking my heart and soul in a tragic and awkwardly good way. It is propelling me to re-look at things I have stored away and compelling me to talk about everything.


It turns out most people are pretty cool about this with me. It’s been amazing to have conversations about deep and profound life events, and to share stories and experiences. I have attracted a lot of remarkable people in my orbit who are on this ride along with me, cheering me on. I am incredibly touched and moved by this and know that they have my back and I have theirs.


I spent most of my life projecting a persona which was part of me but not all of me. So, this is my way of grabbing life by the short hairs for the just-in-case scenario that I too may not live a long life and figure I better say it all now so nothing is left unsaid, unanswered, unexamined. 


Death has a way of making life feel fragile and short, especially when someone you love so much leaves you sooner than you think is a fair bargain.


And heck yes, it’s super uncomfortable at times, but I hope and believe this is the better way through the portal of grief, or at least to a nearby off ramp. 


So welcome to my live learning lab. I appreciate your support, encouragement and simply, love. Humor is my coping mechanism so that will continue because some of this is just too weird and hilarious to not share.


And, please know, I’m always down for deep and profound conversations which bring connection and possibly tears.


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