Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Marilyn Monroe, Destiny and Jail
Somewhere along the journey, I worked my way up the cynical ladder to eventually become the full embodiment of a jaded woman, unable to trust or extend myself beyond a safe boundary. Just read through the annals of ex-husbands past and you should be able to understand how I got there. But with this last devastating end - I had crawled down off that ladder, and handed it all over. Here you go, here is my heart. Here is my faith. Here is my future, our future - take it and let's build a life together. I trusted him as an old soul with a sixth sense. A wise person, a strategic thinker and a loving boyfriend.
I've been hanging out on the back row, more like the nose bleed section of Match.Com. Letting people filter through with their underwhelming attempts at cracking my shell. It has provided some much needed humor during a dark time. I love it when Match sees my inactivity and tries to encourage me with juicy tidbits about a potential hand selected candidate they wish me to meet. I mean, who could resist when they advise me, "you both fancy felines, like you - he's not a smoker and he enjoys bowling." Well, there you have it.
I've been working on my Masters Degree in being alone. I've climbed upon the large platform that is built out of confusion and angst instead of scaling back up that jaded ladder. I have launched my spirit off this platform and allowed it to come back to me with renewed intention and belief. I wish to be without a relationship, not out of fear but because I am enthralled with the changes I'm seeing in me. There is meditation, exercise, clearing alcohol from my system, weight loss, and an awareness that I am standing at the crucible that is my destiny. This is my test. The universe is guiding me. It's as if I can feel the hands of generations past, all the way to the beginning of time, nudging me forward, patting me on the back and in some cases, embracing me with their light and energy.
That's not to say if the universe decides to throw the perfect man at me, I'll walk away. No, no, silly thought, no. If that happens, I will dive in to the deep end, knowing I don't know how to swim but trusting a strong set of arms to shore me up. I love the line from the book, Eat Pray Love, when Liz is told she doesn't need a man, she needs a champion. I suspect there is a dearth of true champions at this stage of the game but I cannot, ney, will not settle for anything less. For not only will I be continuing to leap off of platforms, I will be doing it with all of my kids depending upon me as their sole provider for the next two and a half years.
Mr. Sunshine was sentenced on Monday. He's going to be going away for thirty months to a federal minimum security camp. We are devastated, reeling, shocked and somewhat numb. I am hoping with all this jumping, leaping and soaring I've been doing during my alone time, my cape is ready. Thus, if a man intrepidly seeks to enter my life, he had better come equipped with his own cape, a championship belt, or a shit load of trophies for character, stamina, and the ability to talk me down from the occasional platform, or dare I say, ledge. And in return, he will deserve me at my best, which I don't mind saying will be a life beyond his wildest dreams.