making sense of a dysfunctional culture
Why would she still be angry enough to say nasty things about me 10 years later?
That’s all I could think about today when I found out — quite by accident — that an ex-girlfriend is still bad-mouthing me 10 years after we broke up.
Even though it’s a long-dead relationship — and it’s one that should have ended long before it did — I still hate the thought of someone speaking badly about me. I’ve spent much of the day trying to figure out why it bothers me.
Most people find great love in their lives at one point or another but the vast majority of them end up with someone other than with that person they had so passionately connected with. Why is that?
A friend sent me a song a couple of days ago and had some thoughts about lost love which she shared with me — and that’s left me thinking about why this common pattern happens. I still don’t really feel like writing, so pull up a chair and just let me talk with you about what’s on my mind — about why most of us give up what does matter in order to keep projecting an image which doesn’t really matter.
Somewhere in this world, there is a woman who wonders tonight where I am. There’s a woman who wants me and needs me and is willing to choose to be my wife. Somewhere tonight, there is this woman who I will want and need just as much as she wants and needs me.
I’m certain of that.
I no longer know her name. I no longer know what she looks like. She presumably doesn’t know I exist and I don’t know she exists. But I know she’s out there — and I know she’s looking for me.
It’s been almost six years since I’ve actively searched for a partner. I’ve gone out with some women over the past few years, but it was halfhearted. I don’t recall going out with any of them for a second time, except for the one who pursued me enough that we dated for an unhappy four months.
This week has been the first time in nearly six years that I’ve resumed an active search for someone new. The only thing I can be sure of is that the woman I met for dinner Wednesday evening wasn’t the right one.
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Little boy for whom I was named shows what my mother hoped for
Will you uncover your blind spots? Or will you ignore red flags again?
What if repairing my worst flaw meant losing my greatest power?