Just over a week ago, I met a potential PseudacrisBrachyphona.com suitor for our first date. I can't yet call him Frog #8 because the jury is still out on his princely potential. While he violates one of Princess D's Nine Commandments for dating (Tadpole alert! Tadpole Alert!), he is gainfully employed, in possession of a full head of hair, and all critical teeth were present and accounted for. He exceeded the minimum height requirement, did not record his weight in cubic tons, and did not engage me in any conversation about politics or garbage, so by all accounts, this date was a winner. Bonus points were awarded when he picked up the check, enjoyed pizza and beer as much as I do, and paid me a compliment. There is absolutely nothing wrong with this guy. And yet I am not jumping up and down to go on a second date with him. But today's story isn't about Frog #8 or even "Possible Prince #1". Humor me while we detour from the pond for a minute and talk about life, the universe, and everything else.
In less than 30 days, I'll be 37 years old, and for the first time in my life, I am content with exactly where I am. (Hey, I never said I was in the advanced class!) For those of you joining the party late, let's recap what it took to get me to content, shall we?
- My partner of 14 years, Mr. Wrong, left me high and dry, taking the lawn mower (I really miss that mower, I'm sorry!), the blue-ray player, and the gas grill with him. He literally came home from a business trip, looked right at me and said, "This isn't working for me. I'm moving out" and the next day, he took his fancy car and moved into his McMansion. Meanwhile, back in the 'hood . . .
- I lost my mind. I really thought Mr. Wrong & I would be together forever, the fact that we cohabitated for 14 years without making it to the altar notwithstanding. Somewhere, in the deep, dark recesses of my mind, I knew we weren't going to make it. Stubborn as I am, I was willing to make us both miserable for the rest of our lives versus showing some courage and making the tough call. In many ways, I admire Mr. Wrong for having the guts to call bullshit. But I still want my lawn mower back.
- I stopped washing myself and spent an inordinate amount of time weeping and watching Lifetime movies. I was curiously cheered by Tori Spelling's performance in the Lifetime Movie Network original, Co-Ed Call Girl. It's a classic – check it out!
- When my body odor became so foul that I was in danger of losing both my one friend and my job, I called a professional. No, not a professional elephant washer but rather, a therapist.
- My therapist of choice bears an uncanny resemblance to Hermey the elf of Rudolph, the Red Nosed Reindeer fame in size, stature, and overall disposition. But he's awfully good, and I saw him on a weekly basis for nearly ten months before he declared me "sane enough" to become a therapy graduate.
- I convinced myself that the only way I wouldn't die alone was to become a lesbian nun. But before fully committing to the lifestyle change, I tried my hand at dating human males. Depending on your point of view, much hilarity (your perspective) and/or total disaster (mine) ensued as a result.
- Two of my "member of the opposite sex" friends were promoted, thereby becoming eligible for a comprehensive "friends with benefits" package. Only one of these friends is still speaking to me, and to be honest, even he's not speaking to me all that often since I turned him into a frog. (And possibly a gay frog at that.)
- I realized that dating is time-consuming, difficult, and exhausting. And I took a break.
- I fell a tiny bit in love with a pseudo prince and became motivated to get back out there.
- Upon waking one morning, decided to wage war against Cinderella and Snow White. The day got progressively worse from there, and before it was over, I decided to quit my job.
- I kissed the corporate world goodbye to become a self-employed princess. Unfortunately, the bulk of my work is 693 frequent flier miles to the west of my home address, so I now live part-time at the Holiday Inn.
18 months ago, my life looked perfect on paper. I was a 30-something successful professional with a career, a graduate degree, and a 30 year mortgage on a house I could afford. I was in a committed, long-term relationship with a human male, I took frequent exotic vacations, and I earned a nice living. Yet something was missing. For 12 years, I set goals and achieved them and then set some more. With each accomplishment, I expected to finally feel as if I'd arrived but instead, I continued to feel like an imposter in my own life. I woke up every day and went through the motions – smiled, nodded, said the right things, put money in my 401(k) but on the inside, I desperately wondered, "Is this all there is?" I was a lousy partner, a rotten friend, and a fairly unhappy human being who was doing a damn good job of faking it.
Fast forward to today. I'm self-employed, have no idea where my paycheck is going to come from after August, am one of the million Americans without health insurance, and I spent the last 12 months in therapy. I live alone, date occasionally (and we all know how well that's working out), and I'm wondering if I'll ever be able to wear a pretty dress and a tiara to stand before God and all my family and friends to declare my love for my prince. I'm closer to 40 than to 30; have depleted my savings account; and until three days ago, had no idea how to perform simple tasks such as putting air in my car tire. You know what? I am finally content. I am happier today, without a corporate career, without a partner, without health insurance, and without basic life skills than I've ever been before. I've learned a lot in the last year, but the most important lesson was this: I will survive. The second most important lesson? I don't suck as much as I think I do.
What does this have to do with half-a$$ing it, you ask? A lot, as it turns out. You see, I've been pretty busy changing my life lo these last few months. And I'm not going to lie to you. Having all these non-stop epiphanies and staring fear in the face repeatedly is exhausting. I just don't have a lot of time and energy to invest in meeting new people, making a good impression, and learning to love. Given the choice, I'd rather put on a baseball cap, forgo makeup, and take my dog for a long walk. Or meet my best friend for coffee. Or read a good book. The very thought of fixing my hair, trying to find cute "date" clothes (side note: apparently, I dress like a cross between a 400 pound woman and an Amish person) is enough to return me to the endless cycle of watching the Lifetime Movie Network and wallowing in my own filth.
In spite of my chronic fatigue syndrome, the little optimist that sits on my shoulder keeps whispering, "You've got to kiss a lot of frogs, Princess. That prince is out there waiting for you." Therein lies my struggle, friends. I'm too tired to clean myself up to even find a frog, much less kiss one but I'm too goal-oriented to take a sabbatical from frog kissing. This is how I continue to find myself online dating, for example. Do I really believe the internet is going to introduce me to my true love? Maybe. But let's be clear, internet. Your track record isn't exactly stellar, and I may be holding a grudge since you chose Mr. Wrong just for me.
Internet dating lends itself nicely to half-a$$edness, as it turns out. I log on when I feel like it, and I decide whether or not I want to engage with any of the winners the internet has chosen for me. Since 90% of the online suitors fail to meet my minimum requirements, there is no action required, thereby rewarding my laziness. If I find a frog that looks interesting, I can choose to email him when it's convenient for me. And there is no rule that says I ever have to tell these online frogs things like my last name, my email address, or my phone number. If a frog bores me, I can politely reject him with the push of a button. Frankly, I think the reason so many relationships start online is because internet dating allows you to be anonymous. While you might think you're putting yourself out there, you're in full control of how "out there" you put yourself at any point in time. Getting rejected by someone you've never laid eyes on doesn't shatter your self-esteem the way getting rejected by a real flesh and blood human being does. There are no awkward "I'm just not that into you" conversations online. Could you meet someone nice online? Sure. But it's not all that different from searching for a needle in a haystack.
Not all that long ago, I wondered why I was so wholly unlovable and alone. Today, I realize that I am imminently loveable . . . and I'm alone because I haven't found Mr. Right yet and I'm not willing to settle for Mr. Right Now. I used to think my life didn't measure up because I didn't have a partner. While I might be flying solo, I am one of the lucky ones. I'm living the good life, and although I'm going to keep on kissing frogs, I'm content. You won't catch me complaining if one of those frogs turns into a prince. But even if I kiss nothing but frogs for the rest of my days, I will do more than survive. I will thrive.
With gratitude to the Elf-Therapist and all those special people I am lucky enough to call my friends and family,
Princess D.
Ps. I do have a second date scheduled with Potential Prince #1 / Frog #8. Watch this space for more!
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