Remember that guy I wrote about in a previous post, my crush, Jay? He stopped by the store yesterday (…to see me? and) to get some paleo bacon and cashew butter, and he wanted some spinach that was not baby spinach, ie, “adult spinach.” There are so many things right with that previous sentence. First of all, he stopped by the store. My store, my domain. I own that place. Not really, but I love it there. I am the happiest grocery store worker you’ll ever meet. When I bounce into the store in the morning, it’s “Good morning, Al,” and “What’s up, Rashal,” and “Hola, Valentina,” and everyone else is like, “Good morning!” It’s a place where everybody knows your name, and they’re always glad you came.
I would have loved for Steven to come visit me there, in my domain.
If you’re new to this blog, I’ll stop for a moment to tell you about this wonderful little corner of the world. It’s an organic grocery store owned by a compassionate couple who, for example, paid for the funeral of one of the employees who died suddenly of a heart attack two years ago. When I first moved to the area and found this grocery store it was like the clouds parted, and a ray of light shined down on the store, a haven in the midst of a cookie-cutter DC suburb, and in my mind, not even that swanky compared to the Atlanta suburbs, yet this is what they call prestigious here–not that I really care about prestige. I shopped at this little grocery store all the time. And the owners and employees give a damn about other living creatures and the environment. They are what you call woke.
So Jay came into the store after a conversation in which he’d casually mentioned he might stop by Saturday, after which I casually mentioned I wouldn’t be there that day but would be on Friday. And lo and behold, he shows up on Friday. It would’ve been more convenient for him to go on Saturday because we both go to a meeting near there on Saturday night. But he went Friday.
I feel like such a teenager, dissecting all of this.
It is so fun!
This is the fun part of dating, of being single, the prospect of a new love, the dawn of new opportunities, relationships, an awakening to the reality that there is a sea, a vast sea. A whole nother world.
Steven was my world.
It really helps to have a therapist, sponsor, or friend who can help me remember what’s important. My higher power, which I call God, speaks to me through my friends. They remind me that I don’t want what I had before. Sure, I’d turn back time and take back my hurtful words, absolutely. But I would also be able to speak my mind without an overreaction from him. My sponsor reminded me that he’s not my higher power, that for this to work the relationship will have to be different. My therapist reminded me that I’m a more confident person now, a woman who got her shit together, and that he’ll need to be able to deal with that. She said he may be the kind of man who respects me for that, and I responded, he may be, but he may not be. I truly do not know.
What’s happened through all of this is that my obsession with Steven is dissipating.
I’ve awoken to the fact that there are other men out there. In particular, there’s Jay, this other man who goes to Al Anon and meditation, ie, focuses on living a spiritual way of life, cares about the food he puts into his much younger-looking, strapping body, who’s been trying to get tickets to the Hirschorn for weeks now to the Yayoi Kusama exhibit (apparently it’s damn near impossible). Talk about woke. And he has two dogs, a boat, and a motorcycle. Ie, he’s fun and loving.
Presumably. None of that really means anything if there’s no chemistry. But as of right now, there’s mad chemistry.
One interesting little caveat. Dude is 57 years old. 57! That means in three years he’ll be 60. In three years I will be 44 (going on 17, like I am now). That’s a big age difference. I thought the guy was in his 40s. That’s how healthy he looks… And the other problem is he just got out of a seven-year relationship.
One might guess where I’m going with this. I’m already deciding it will never work, and at the same time, I’m wondering what woman (women?) Steven is talking to right now (because I will kick her ass. I will kick all of their asses.*), and why he can’t have me come over for dinner right now. Why are we waiting for a few more weeks? Oh, right. To move into his new place. It’s what we in recovery call a geographic. He’s doing a geographic. It means that we think our lives will change by new scenery but then we learn that wherever you go, there you are. Though I do think it will do him some good, to be fair.
Who knows what will happen with Jay and me, if anything. The point is, I’m seeing that Steven’s not the only man in the world. At the same time, do I really care that Steven devours store-bought, processed cupcakes and hates museums? Nope. Not really. I love that man. And the Fresh Market peanut butter explosion cupcakes are heavenly. At the same time, does that mean our relationship will work out? Not necessarily.
So this infatuation with Jay is like I’ve traded one drug for another. It’s like I’m getting off heroin and now I’m hooked on methadone, or I stopped drinking just to smoke pot, that sort of thing. I get it. But I have a couple of weeks break from school and it’s a fun diversion. When school starts back, I’ll focus on school. I promise. Maybe.
This is what’s called getting over him, or trying to. It’s all part of the process.
*Just kidding. I’m not really going to kick anyone’s ass.