**Note
from Editor: Please indulge in the latest post from my colleague,
"Ralph", and her adventures in finding "The One"**
Today I had a date. I left work on time for a change, took
the time to add a touch of lipgloss, a shimmer of blush and a pinch of Chanel
No. 5 and off I went. I was
actually optimistic and looking forward to this date – this very blind
date. I barely knew the guy, had
met him at a party briefly months ago and we finally reconnected. I needed to go. Needed to forget about Guy #1 - the one
I thought was the person I was going to live happily ever after with. And so – there I was, my lips coated in
shimmery lip gloss and my broken heart full of high optimistic hope.
We spoke over wine and candlelight and it
was fine. At the moment, fine was
better than heartbroken. Fine
filled the proverbial holes in my heart. And then there it was, that moment when you realize
that you are going out with a complete stranger and so obviously there will be
things you don’t know about him that will come up in conversations, things that
you aren’t accustomed to, things that may actually freak you out. “You may know my younger sister...she’s
6 years older than you.” I did the
math in my head, and asked with trepidation, “So if she’s 6 years older than me
– would you mind my asking how old you are?” “Um...I’m in my mid-40s.” he said cautiously, while
proceeding to analyze my facial expressions for a sense of shock or
dismay. Luckily for the both of
us, I’m good at keeping my feelings to myself and I just nodded and said
calmly, “Oh cool.” He continued
the conversation with, “You know – you would really dig my friend...well,
except he’s divorced with 2 kids.”
My eyebrows raised and I said, “It’s interesting that I’m out with you
and you’re trying to set me up with a friend.” “Oh...no...I didn’t mean it like that.” he stammered. And then there it was, the first time
in my life that my eyes began to tear up on a first date. I thought about the dozens of men I had
rejected based on reasons I thought important at the time, I thought about Guy
#1 and how much I missed him and the lower age gap between us, I thought about
the decade-plus age difference between me and the reasonably nice (yet
semi-clueless) man across from me and I was devastated. Shallow? Maybe. Overly Dramatic? Probably. But who is anyone to judge the feelings of another?
As I walked home from my reasonably nice
evening with a man I would be more comfortable calling “Uncle” than “Boo” – I
felt the space around me get dizzy and I bent down and literally began to bawl on
the corner of Astor Place and Broadway.
I cried for Guy #1, the sweetest soul I have ever met who everyone told
me wasn’t right for me, I cried for all the past males in my life who, for some
reason or the other, I deemed not compatible...and I cried because I was a
lonely, freshly-minted 30 year old girl who wasn’t getting any younger and may
actually, sooner or later, just have to settle for something that isn’t what
her 13, 16, 20, or even 27 year-old self had hoped for.
I went to sleep that night with a simple
prayer – not one where I asked for true love, or that quintessential giddy
feeling known as the “za-za-zu”. I
asked for simply this, “God.
Please help me be practical, help me be happy with whatever I end up
getting.”
And that, my friends, is what turning 30
with way too many past heartaches, has done to your once optimistic guest
writer.
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