On one Saturday evening in SoMa, I strolled down a dark secluded street and entered a bar to attend a party. The DJ blasted his music, my friends were talking and ordering drinks from the bar, and I saw a whole bunch of people I've never met.
Then I spot a gorgeous woman dressed in a long black flowing dress. A scarf covered her shoulders. She wore high heels with straps. She took good care of herself and had an uncanny resemblance to Lucy Liu. Later I found out that she was in her mid fifties. Though, I'd never guess that she was anything over the big four-oh. I approached her and began to flirt only to find out that she had just recently ended a five year relationship.
As the party went on, in between the other guys hitting on her, we form what I thought to be a start of a beautiful friendship. We talk about what we like/don't like about relationships, what kind of things we like to do, our workout routines, trade gossip about our common friends, her two adult kids.
Our connection seemed to cement us as being good friends. And I was fine with that.
Over the next few months, we went out to dinner, talked about our dating histories, attended parties, forging a close friendship. It was one of the few that I'd treasured. And I enjoyed watching many men trip over themselves to get at her. Truth be told, she enjoyed that a lot, too. She needed outside confirmation of her attractiveness to feel good about herself.
Then she did the one thing that all women seem to do at some point in their lives. She went back to her boyfriend.
I wince because this guy had refused to call her his girlfriend. For the first three years of their five-year relationship. Say what? And of course, all of her complainants from their past surfaced up again: he doesn't listen, isn't attentive, spends too much time at the bar with his rowdy friends, is insecure. He didn't want her hanging out with me because he felt threatened by little old me, but he could hang out with anyone he wanted. What a guy...
So, during my epic trip to New York City, I texted, talked, and counseled her with her relationship that was barely treading water. I saw the signs, the massive tidal waves that had begun to break. Though, I never told her to break it off, that was a decision she had to make on her own. She feared being alone because she couldn't see that she could have a good man, despite all these men hitting on her.
My advice was simple. Stay with him and accept him for who he was, a perfectly good option. Or break it off and heal. And for the umpteenth time, she broke it off. So when I returned from my epic trip to The Big Apple, I tried to get her out of her house, to get her to be social again. I invited her to a whole slew of events, which she agreed to. And every single time she'd flake out. After a while, I stopped inviting her to things, and our texting conversations trickled to a slow halt. She admitted that she needed closure, but didn't really know how to get it. It's hard. I get it.
A few months later, I texted her to see how she was doing. No response. I emailed her. Chirp, chirp. I checked Facebook. She had unfriended me.
Now I wish I could say that I did something to piss her off. But reading over the last few texts didn't reveal anything to me. I assume she went back to her boyfriend and promised to severe all contact with me because our friendship seemed to be a sore spot for him.
Obviously, she ended our friendship. I don't have a lot of close friends, the kind I value the most, but I'm not one to beg to hang out with someone if they don't want me around. What's the point?
For the past five months, I've been counseling a friend about a break up. Now, his relationship was a little different. You know how some women say that they want their man to be their best friend? That some of their best relationships started as friends? This was the case. Sorta. Keep reading.
I'll call him Mr. Vagina (and by this designation, he'll know I'm talking about him).
Mr. Vagina met this woman at a Meetup event. By his telling of the story, he was enthralled by her and the connection they had. Not only could he feel said connection, but he knew in his heart of hearts that she wanted him. So he did what any nice guy would do. Looked out for her, texted her day in and day out, hung out with her and her friends as often as he could. But he made no real move toward her until he couldn't stand it anymore. He gathered his courage and asked her out, and she said, "OK."
Then the one thing that guys hate happened. She texted him and flaked out. Not only that, but she specifically stated that she wasn't interested, wasn't ready for a relationship, and that she wanted to just be friends. Good friends.
A couple months rolled by. Mr. Vagina continued to hang out with her, became a good friend, even looked out for her when she had drunk too much. It was this particular night where he thought he'd give it one last good old college try. And why not? History is filled with successful people who had never given up, never heeded naysayers.
He took his nifty iPhone out and poured his heart out in one long single text. Shakespeare's sonnets were a far cry from his outpouring. Poets of ye olde couldn't come close. The movie Ghost couldn't touch Mr. Vagina...his text that is.
And like Godzilla putting a stomping on Mothra, this woman cut him off, kicking him out of her Meetup group, telling him never to contact her again.
It's been eight months since this event occurred. And Mr. Vagina has yet to get over her. Human babies are conceived, gestated, and given birth in this time. Faster if you consider premature babies. God could have created forty earths if he didn't take the seventh day to rest (34.3 if He was lazy).
The one thing Mr. Vagina wanted was to reconcile his relationship with her. There are two issues with that. First, the relationship was completely made up in his mind, so he thought what he had was real. It was! But only for him.
Second, closure is a myth. Mr. Vagina chose to hold onto this for eight months. And who knows how long he'll continue to do so. And that's the crux. It's an idea in his head that he's holding on to. Just like the Lucy Liu lookalike, she can't see that men are attracted to her, so she grips to the idea that her ex, or current boyfriend, is the only man for her.
Now, I know how traumatic it is trying to get over someone you love. No doubt it hurts.
Mountains of books have been written to help people through this painful event. And I explore this in my own book, except I write about a father who has to get over a significant tragedy. Nevertheless, there's a time after the mourning process where we have a choice: to let go, or to hold on.
It is very difficult to see through the epic fog of despair when that moment arrives. But it comes. I told Mr. Vagina that we naturally heal from emotional wounds. He didn't believe me. So I told him to think of it this way: You get a cut from a knife on your arm. You'll feel the pain. The deeper the cut the deeper the pain. It'll hurt for a while. But your arm will naturally heal. It won't remain cut, unless you reopen the wound.