So, here I am. 40 and Fabulous. Or Am I?

Yes. That is just one question, and one sought after answer, among many other questions—which may or may not have answers, or may or may not have anything to do with being 40 or fabulous—for which I intend to be the basis of this blog.

That pretty much leaves everything up for topic, doesn’t it? Okay. Good. I never was one to color inside of the lines. Although it might be interesting if, during the course of this blog, I figure out whether it’s taken 40 years to become fabulous or if I’ve been fabulous all along and it’s just taken me 40 years to realize it. Hmm…maybe it’s both. (That didn’t take long. Problem solved.)

Anyway, knowing myself (and by the length of this first entry you’ll get to know me in no time at all), me thinks being a single gal at 40, and everything that entails, will likely emerge as a prevailing theme. It is the “everything that entails” part which I suspect will get most of my attention. After all, is it not the trappings of life that we focus on? Those day in and day outs that hurdle us through or bog us down? They seem to take up most of our attention. Wouldn’t you agree?

So, while being single does have a lot to do with how my life is ordered, it is each present moment I always seem to be the most focused on and ultimately want to write about. You know, it’s the bad day or the good one, the amazing week that’s flown by or the rough month that’s taken its toll, and it’s the great job or the shitty one (which, incidentally, I am currently residing somewhere in the middle of the super-to-pooper job scale).

But, before I go on to explore one of my most recent curiosities, which is figuring out what it is that makes up the difference between those women who can’t be alone versus those who can, I want to talk about what I believe to be a similarity in all women and that is: we have perpetually obsessive natures.

I recently read that we, as totally unoriginal human beings (this includes men and women), only really think about 10 thoughts at any given time. I undoubtedly read this from one of my Eckhart Tolle books, as I am completely addicted to the spiritual teachings he offers, but it could have been in one of the many other books on metaphysics and/or spirituality I’ve been reading or have read over the years (these books/concepts are starting to blend, which may be proof that I am going in the right direction). The point is, I am not sure where I read it, but I think it is important that you know that I was paraphrasing my understanding of this concept, and regardless of where I got it from, I also want you to know that I’ll do the what-I-think-it-meant-to-me thing quite often. Therefore, I apologize in advance if your understanding of any related concept is different than my own.

Anyway, what I took this to mean is that we think our 10 same thoughts, which appear to be different, and which might run the gamut from thinking about our relationships, our spouses, our children, our friendships, our money issues, our job problems, and/or our fat assess, and we think these same damn 10 thoughts over and over and over and over and…ugh! It’s like our life is wearing a bad scarf and all we want to do is obsess about that scarf. The scarf is fraying. It’s an unattractive shade of red, an orange-ish red—the worse kind of red for all skin tones. It’s out of date. People are staring at the scarf. Worse scarf day ever! Might as well be wearing a scarlet letter.

I’m no different. Whether I’m obsessing about a bad scarf… Wait. Actually, I wouldn’t do that. As an artist, the last thing I’d give any obsessive brain power to is something that I’m wearing. I’m a pretty good dresser, and even if I am not, I don’t care. Plus, once I stopped throwing away all the clothes that would meet my three to six sizes bigger or smaller age/hypothyroid weight gain/loss fluctuations, and decided that I deserved to have a closet packed full of clothes that I love, no matter what my weight is, I stopped wasting brain power on wondering if I look good or if my ass looks fat. Chances are…my ass probably does look fat—all the time. But, I don’t have the energy to care about that so much anymore. I’m all growd up now. That’s why 40 already feels good. Who gives a rat about that extra cellulite in the scheme of things? Really? I’ve finally figured out that those dimples in and around my thighs aren’t the road block to getting a good man. (As a side note: I plan to meet the man I am going to marry this year, so if you stay with me on this blog long enough you might enjoy going along on this journey with me.)

Getting back to our 10 thoughts, I’ll admit that I often stay focused on and obsessed over other proverbial scarves in my life. Everyone does, and they’d be lying if they said they didn’t fasten themselves to one thing until another thing swoops in and seems to require more of their attention. This new thing will usually carry with it a bigger and better promise for crazy-making. As such, WHAM!, a new revolving-door of 10 same thoughts starts anew. Yay! We suck. Can’t stop thinking about that thing, can we?

Of course, nothing in our lives needs this much our attention. But we can’t stop ourselves. We forget that our worrying is essentially negative prayer, inviting more negative energy in, ultimately perpetuating what was, before, just a situation, but what we’ve decided to turn into a problem (because we can’t stop obsessing about it). We also think our obsessing makes change possible. Wrong. Turns out, as I’ve read in those many spiritual/metaphysical books I mentioned earlier, it’s easier to just accept things as they are, and see them for what they are. Then, from that vantage point, one can begin to embrace the change that’s coming, which is often inevitable, or they can accept the lack of change and realize that it is only through acceptance that change is possible. Change is, after all, only one letter different from chance, but if you are not willing to take a chance on changing, or unable to accept where you’ve come from to get to where you are going, well…you might as well go back to your current same 10 thoughts and keep on keep’n on with spinning your wheels. (Let me know how that works out.)

The other reason I wanted to be able to focus on what’s going on at any given moment in this blog is because it is all the good, all the bad, all the ugly and the beautiful which make up the main events of our lives. When we’re in it, whether we’re drowning or winning the race, or whether we’re conscious or half asleep while our life is carrying on (and most of us are sleep walking), it is all those tiny little moments, the right Nows and the right Heres, which are making our memories and therefore making us who we are becoming.

Have you ever found it curious, though, how once we’re out of a situation, over that guy, or on to that next job, we reduce it, him, and/or that gig to just a chunk. We immediately forget the nuances from which everything is made. We go on to say things like “Remember that horrible job?” or, “Remember that hell-and-beyond of a break up I had with that one guy?” We don’t even give him a name anymore. We don’t have to. Our friends know who we’re talking about.

But when we were in the middle of it all he had a name, we called him by it, and he was our obsession—our everything. We talked about him so much that we had to call 10 different friends just so that the stories we’d exhausted seemed different. They weren’t. Our complaints about all the what he dids and what he didn’ts weren’t different, either. Nope. Nothing about him or what we said about him changed, that is until we finally ditched the crap-hole, then we began repeating how full of crap his hole was.

The point is, our basic day ins and day outs, from relationship highs and lows to our financial woes, are not only pretty much the same, so seem to be our thoughts about it all. That’s why I want this blog to be a lot like daily life. It’s ever changing—like it or not. We’re all the same kind of obsessive, whether we’re conscious of it or not. And, every bit of it all is completely wonderful, though we usually say it’s not.

Plus, even though the title of this blog is “The Fabulous 40s”, and I am sure becoming 40 and beyond will play into my opinions, I don’t want to focus exclusively on age itself, or on what becomes of us during the coming of age. Frankly, that’s boring, and, outside of all the normal things I would expect to feel as I've gotten older: more wrinkly, more saggy, more bumpy, poochey, and occasionally grumpy, I don’t think age is the issue for most things. It is, after all, only a number and being 40, or rather turning 40 (as my birthday is not until the 24th of January this month) already feels like one of the nicest suits I’ve ever worn. Well, that is when it comes to the spirituality I’ve acquired, the peace of mind I’ve gained, the sense of self I’ve fought for, and the rights I’ve earned to not give a crap when I don’t want to. Oh yes, 40 already feels fabulous.

Although, I admit that I am having a hard time processing the fact that I now have high blood pressure (stupid family genetics!), accepting that estrogen is only one of my hormone enemies (I recently went off the pill to deal with the high BP and can I just say: CRYING FREAK!), and dealing with the general lack of sleep that seems to come with getting older—which, unfortunately, has nothing to do with late-night partying. Man-o-man, if all these sleepless nights could be attributed to the sort of activities I engaged in during my twenties, um, yeah…probably wouldn’t still be single. I’d at least be knocked up with some sort of child support and might own realestate.

Anyway, getting back to what it is that makes up the difference between those women who can’t be alone versus those who can, which is my first official blog-type subject, I have to say that all along I have thought that the difference has to do with age, with maturity. But, I don’t think that that’s it anymore. You see, in case you are wondering, I happen to be one of the girls who can be single and likewise would rather get plugged by plastic and batteries then give up my cave, or an ounce of my precious time, for a meaningless romp with some Neanderthal, and my age has little to do with it. I’ve mostly always been this way.

Yup, I’ve never been one of those girls who would rather be with and complain about some jack-hole then be on my own. A lot of my friends are that way, too—able to be alone—including my friend Ava (no real names here, folks, as this is my blog, not my friends' blog, or anyone else's, and I want to respect the privacy—even if I intend to write about them). Ava and I even discussed this whole concept the other day, which is why it is on my mind. She, like my best friend Jen, would both sooner rip out their own eyeballs than settle for some guy, or even some friend, who isn’t enriching their lives in some way.

What’s weird for me is that I’ve always known that I’m choosy. I’ve dated too many wonderful men not to be (I’ve just unfortunately been a victim of the right-girl-right-guy-at-the-wrong-time thing more than I’d like. And, no, I am not kidding or lying to myself. More than anything, timing is key.) But what I never realized, that is until Ava and I were talking about it, is that I really have absolutely no problem being alone. This dawned on me when, during the course of our conversation, I started to say, “I can understand how some women don’t want to be alone or can’t be alone, it’s just that—” Then I stopped myself, and I said, “Wait a minute. I don’t understand it. I honestly don’t. I never have.”

That’s when Ava and I tried to figure out what made us different, more independent if that is the word for it. Why is Jen different? (Jen is married now, BTW, but back in her single days she never wasted her time on losers.) Why, we wondered, are some women, put aside the occasional one night stands and the short lived and/or intermittent booty fests we all engage in, more capable of being alone than others? How is it that some women are more able to make it through one, two, three year gaps between relationships whereas there are the women on the other end of the spectrum who can barely manage a week or two of going it on their own? Why do some, for that matter, overlap? Which is, no matter how you look at it, still cheating—even if you are trading up for a lesser asshole then the current one. (And no, I have never cheated on anyone in my life. I have been cheated on, though.)

All that Ava and I could come up with is that the women who do not have a problem flying solo seem to have a couple of things in common. The first thing they share, and what is probably the most important thing, is that they like themselves. They genuinely, seriously like their own company. They also seem to be on a spiritual path. Now I don’t mean that they’re religious, although women who are religious seem to be better at being alone, too, as they have faith that everything in their life has a reason, a time and a season. But, there is a difference between Spirituality and Religion as I’ve come to understand it in my own life.

Spirituality, to me, seems to be a search for the truth, regardless of where the truth comes from. People on a spiritual path seem to be looking for what connects them to the whole, to the ultimate truth, and they seem to be comfortable accepting that the truth is the truth regardless of what everyone thinks or believes is the truth. In other words, the truth exists as itself independent of belief and those on a spiritual path are seeking out that truth. Whereas those on a religious path, in my experience, seem to be more comfortable being told what the truth is and being given a set of rules to live by that governs that view (that religion’s view) of the truth.

Now I am not saying that one is better than the other, religion or spirituality, or that my definition of either is correct or even good (yeah, I’m that diplomatic). That is up to the individual. I am, however, saying that while choosing how you view or search for truth in your life may be different, having some degree of truth (something higher that connects one to the whole) in one’s life, be it through one’s spirituality or one’s religion, seems to account for a very basic difference in whether someone feels alone in life whether they are with someone or not. More often than not it seems that the people who do not follow a path in life which provides them with a faith that connects them to something larger than themselves not only have a hard time being alone, they don’t like who they are with when they are alone: themselves.

This may not be the case all the time, and my intention is not to offend those without, but I am going to take a leap and say that it is probably the case most of the time. And, when I get an email out of the blue from a total stranger, asking: "Are you dating my boyfriend?" it makes me wonder who (or what) happened to this gal's sense of self worth that she ended up with, or stayed with, a guy who has brought her to sending such an email to a stranger such as me, and, I wondered: Does this gal at least have a sense of spirituality in her life to get her through this?

Yeah. That recently happened to me.

Some gal, out of the blue, contacted me via my private email, which I have no idea how she got my info (probably from breaking into her boyfriend’s email. Go, girl! Get your power back one way or another!), to ask me if I was dating her boyfriend. Her boyfriend, by the way, is this guy from High School who I friended on FaceBook, like months ago, with nothing but platonic intentions—no different than how I friended many of my other High School friends I lost touch with when I switched high schools during my sophomore year.

I told her I was sorry to hear that she was going through whatever she was going through with him, but while her BF (boyfriend) might have many wonderful qualities (obviously cheating on her for the last 6 months not being amongst them...SNAKE-TIRD), I have had another kind of man entirely in mind for myself so, no, I was not dating her boyfriend. I also congratulated her on what appeared to be her getting her wits together and being smart enough not to continue on with a man who did not have her best interest at heart. Though I was concerned that her wits, nor her desires to walk away from him, were completely intact, which is why I reminded her that we all deserve the very best for ourselves and need to remember that we are worth it. Then I recommended that book "He's Just Not That Into You."

When she wrote back and said she’d really needed that advice, and said I was a doll, then she preceded to say that she was “…so tired of this drama,” and “I can’t believe I wasted four years of my life on him,” I was pretty sure she might need another earful and was glad I hadn't offended her or pissed her off with the first earful.

Okay, truth is, I couldn’t help myself. The whole reason I set out to write the book I am writing (yeah, slipped that in, huh?) is that I wanted to build a character that would ask women, like this gal, to ask themselves who they are. This book of mine isn't strictly to do with dating, or even cheating men (although those things are covered), rather it mostly focuses on the main character's coming of self. It’s about this woman’s journey to find out who she is and why she does the things she does. (This character is kind of a slut, but I love this broken character of mine). This sort of exploration, obviously, would include looking at one’s dating B.S./history, along with addressing a lot of one’s childhood crap (hello, we could all stand to lose a little past luggage). But this character is so much more. She’s, well…she's all of us! All women. It is through her coming of self that all of the usual emotional suspects and/or life's trials become present in her journey and it is through her journey that the reader is asked to look at their own life and start their own journey.

So, if I’m honest, I saw this this gal, who appeared as lost as I've been in the past, as one of my first readers. Sure, I’m single so one might think I’ve got nothing to say on the matter, that I am the furthest thing from a relationship expert. But that’s not the point. I’m not unhappy. She appeared to be. She seemed miserable, in fact. And, I wouldn’t stay with a cheating boyfriend. She’d been doing it for six months. And, sure, I have my moments where life can do a big SUCK IT, but all in all, I love my life and, without a doubt, I love myself. Yet, it turns out, most women don’t—especially if they’re single.

So, that’s why I thought it would be a great idea to borrow the hell out of my friends' stories, their dating lives, their childhoods, my own...etc., to construct this main character for my book. And, the experience of writing this book has afforded me the opportunity to do a lot of research on the patterns all of us women engage in when it comes to our interpersonal relationships, especially with men. As such, I've also become even more invested in my sisterhoods (if that’s possible) and in the wonder that is us, that is women. That is why I couldn’t help myself but to remind this girl of what she apparently forgot: We women are wonderful, loving, and resilient creatures! Even though we're also pretty stupid and screwed up sometimes.

I went on to tell this gal how the co-author of the book, He's Just Not that Into You, was, as I understood it, a self professed, and then converted, man-slut/cheater/not caller-backer/etc. He only changed when he met the woman he was "into", which is his now-wife of several years. I also told her about the movie that came out, with the same title, and suggested that she give that a watch, too.

Incidentally, it seriously is a great movie to own for any girl who has a pension for telling herself crazy stories and hoping she'll be the exception to that dog-tird of a man and a great movie for any girl who needs a quick one-and-half-hour reminder and/or in-your-face-therapy session because she doesn't have time to read the book again. Because, after all, don't all of us girls tell each other, and ourselves, out of both delusion and love, that when some brick-head is treating us badly that he'll eventually behave for us...because we're the exception?

Reality check: DREAM ON ! We are not the exception until we are the exception. Period.

The truth is, as the book and movie point out, in different fashion, the exception is the exception. Meaning, when a girl is the exception, she doesn't have to do a thing. She'll know, by the way that she's being treated (like she deserves) that she's the right girl for that guy at the right time. Most guys will think the woman who is their exception is more special than the other gals who were not. They'll think she's more something. In some ways she will be. But, mostly, in many ways she won't be. The real difference, and what the book and movie will not say, but what I've come to learn through my research and experience, is that the man just grows up and the girl who's there when he's done getting his pile together becomes the exception.

Yes, men wake up on their own and get ready to treat a girl right when they're ready (when all their emotional ducks, work ducks, life/financial ducks are in a row) and nothing a girl can do for a man wakes him up for him. Trust me on this one. I was with/dating one of the most amazing men ever, years ago, and he just wasn't ready. Then, years later (we’d remained friends) when he started dating this other gal, I asked him, "Is she your WOW, the one you've been looking for?" And he said, and I quote, "No. You were the biggest WOW of a woman I ever met. I was totally in love with you. I don't even know how her and I ended up married. We were just friends, I was at a better place than when I was with you, and..."

Bla, bla, friggen bla!

There you have it.

That was just one of the times I was the right girl with the right guy at the wrong time. I was with a man who treated me like gold, made me feel more seen, more adored and more loved than many women will ever get to experience in their lifetime, and when he lost his job and other things had happened (not having anything to do with our relationship) it all went Kaput. He moved eight hours away and went back to school for more education. Why wouldn’t he? Men identify themselves with their jobs and his job was no longer. So…our relationship? Done.

So, see? Even a great guy can be NOT the right guy. And trust me, this guy, my WOW, he was the gold in standards.

The point is, as I explained to this girl (yes, it was a terribly long email that I’d written to her, much like this first entry for my blog, and she probably wanted to flip me off) some men are never ready. They're the ones we need to walk away from. They are the men who start treating a woman badly so that she'll kick him to the curb because he's too lazy to end the relationship on his own. Sad, but true. Most men do not want to treat a woman badly, but they can't help themselves (because they haven't grown up yet or the woman they're with isn't the one for them in their minds (which is no reflection of her) so they get sloppy. They get caught, they keep getting worse, or they keep getting anything to make the girl do their dirty work for them: the breaking up. Or, they keep treating a woman how she'll let him treat her: Shitty. If a girl stays, that's as good as saying: I'll put up with your behavior and give you a cookie for crapping in my lap.

I even told this gal that sometimes a woman might wonder which guy she is with, the right one or the one who needs to grow up. Regardless, she shouldn't wonder. Once a guy starts treating a woman badly, it's time to leave.

To make certain that I did not alienate her (totally piss her off by being the stranger who seemingly is smarter than her, when I am not, just older and willing to put up with less shit), I admitted that I, along with my dearest friends, have been every girl we've all been when it comes to men. I've been strong. I’ve been stupid. I’ve been pathetic, amazing, jacked, whacked, and hopeful. I've lied to myself. I've done worse to myself. And, I've done better.

More than anything, though, I told her that I am a girl's girl and a sister to my friends now and to those I'll ever meet so she could contact me if she needed to. I also told her that before I am anything to any man I am a friend to my friends. I've finally learned in life that the saying: The man who is worth your tears will never make you cry is so true that I've also come to understand that the man who you'd put before your sisters would never put you in a situation to do so!

The last thing I said to her was that she shouldn’t feel that she had wasted time with her BF. I said, “I'd hope for you that you change your mind. I'd hope that you won't see your time with him, with any man, or your time in any situation (bad or good) as wasted time.”

I knew I might have sounded like one of those overly granola spiritual nerds, but I do believe, with all my heart, and told her so, that every moment we live is a moment to learn and grow from. Without all the moments that come before our next moments, we'd not have all the experience, tears, joys, and, well...all the equipment and wisdom to deal with those next moments coming.

Everything in life is necessary and completely connected.

Think about it. Maybe I was the stranger she needed to contact; the one who she needed to think was dating her BF to get her to the next place she needed to be to move on or move in a different direction. I wasn’t there to judge her. I'd never judge anyone. Shoot, none of us should have anyone in our lives that would judge us, anyway—friend or stranger.

I left her with something to think about. I told her: Whether you're next move is with your BF, or away from him, what's most important is that you decide to do what is best for you. Just promise yourself that you will not believe that you can change your BF, or any man, or love him enough into changing. It doesn't work that way. The choices are always: Accept him as he is, flaws and all, or decide that the flaws he has are not the ones you want in a man.

Then I started to think about how my last serious relationship was about nine years ago. Yes, there have been lovers, 3-9 monthers, 1-2 daters (not worth of the 3rd date), but while that might seem sad to a lot of women, I've been happy and true to myself. I know that if I've had great guys in my life before (not just Mr. Gold Standard, there were a couple others, too), there will be others and eventually the one I'll marry. I'd rather wait until I'm 50 for him than spend time with anyone who subtracts from me rather than adds to me! (Although, again, I can’t really explain it, and I feel corny for saying it, especially if it does not happen, but I really think I am going to meet him this year. I can just feel it and it feels amazing.)

Well, that’s it for today (as if that wasn’t a lot). I’d love to say I’ll be back tomorrow and hereafter daily or at least commit to blogging a paragraph or two once weekly, but I can’t. I’d like to be able to, at the very least, offer up some kind of a writing schedule you can count on. But, as I am starting this blog in the middle of also editing/working on the final touches of my book, and haven’t even given my book the commitment it needs, and since I am officially writing into an abyss, I cannot commit.

Although, my next entry will likely show up, much like things in life do—in its own do time (which will probably be after my 40th birthday). Um, duh. Who wouldn’t want to write about a 40th birthday?

Happy New year.

Keep being fabulous!
Levan