Know thyself

My fortune cookie from tonight’s dinner said, “A bold and dashing adventure is in your future within the year.” Gee. Ya think? I’d say the adventure is already afoot. Unfortunately, my cookie’s fortune, a nice little confirmation of the leap I’ve taken, was the best part of the date I just went on.

My date, doing what people do when you are trying to be witty and fun at a Chinese restaurant, said, “You have to add ‘In bed’ after the fortune.”

Little did he know that whatever future adventures I’m going to have in the next year, or in bed, would not involve him. Look. I’ve got no plans for any adventures “in bed” until I have health insurance. (I’m still questioning why I changed the last of my eHarmony subscription/profile to Lakewood, Co when I had little interest in going out with anyone while I was still in Long Beach.)

Yeah… Can you tell health insurance is my big fear demon right now? Seriously, I can’t even think about being “in bed” with anyone until I know I have a regular prescription for birth control coming again. Leave it to me to be adventurous on practical terms. (Friggen wuss.)

Actually, I’m being a bit harsh about the date. The date recap goes like this: Interesting conversation, mostly. Smart, smart guy. COMPLETE gentleman. (Seriously, a total gentleman. He even stood up when I got up to go to the bathroom. Love that!) We had a lot in common, as far as being health conscious and mostly vegetarian. He was tall, Greek, and handsome. He had great lips. Kissable lips, even. And, I could have been physically attracted to him, and wanted to be, and kind of was, but, then again, wasn’t. Mostly, I wasn’t interested because I hardly laughed (which is a major deal breaker for me).

I have to laugh. I must laugh. It’s what I do. If I am not laughing with someone, laughing at life (good or bad) with them, I can’t see myself doing “it” with them. Every man I’ve ever fallen for had me snorting from the start. It’s just how it is. It’s just how it needs to be.

It’s not me. It’s not them. No one is funnier. The funny is just part of what works when it is going to work.

Also, there was that thing he did, where he blew on the straw in his water glass, smelled it (I think), and seemed to need to become one with the straw before he took each sip of his water from that straw. That freaked me out a little.

I’m sure it was an unconscious quirk, and probably not a big deal, and just part of the intensity his overall personality seemed to exhibit. But, to me, the straw thing appeared to be the tip of the personality iceberg. His toe tapping, his calculated conversation, his seemingly obsessive need to be the perfect gentleman—the well executed conversationalist—and the at-the-ready display of knowledge, came off to me as a discomfort in self that goes beyond straw smelling. There was a perfectionist brewing there. And this baby girl, while a comfort and routine craver, ain’t no perfectionist.

Sure. Who am I to judge? I not only have my quirks, I’m basically jobless and so far from my norm, of being set in my ways, that I might just give myself a heart attack. I’m also questioning how durable I am. I had to drive in the rain to get to my date tonight. I wanted to cancel. I don’t like weather.

Yet, I’ve moved to Colorado. Talk about forcing yourself into getting it done, that dream of finishing the book. Tell me that isn’t quirky, and a bit insane, and not exactly attractive, that I am afraid of driving on any road that isn’t dry and offering me sunshine ahead.

Oh, yes. Give me time, maybe even another day; I’m probably going to have some major freak outs about how much I’ve messed with the balance of my life. But, while I am searching for a sense of home, locationally and vocationally, and while I’ve felt homeless in my heart because I have not been pursuing my passions, I’m okay with my mess. (I wish it was fixed yesterday, but, while I am fighting against it, I am not fighting to find me.)

I like who I am. I know who I am. I accept my messy because I accept and know myself enough to know what I want my life to look like on the other side of this adventure.

This guy? You can forget that most of us can’t control how we get somewhere, for the most part. But not even having the slightest idea of where you want to end up, or where you want to go, or who you are while you are getting there, or who you’ve been to end up where you are now, while that’s a normal human experience, and an acceptable plot in life, it’s not an energy I want to combine with my adventure. A man in that state, wondering if he should be a photographer, a psychologist, or a sommelier, is just not “grappling with” material.

Also, in my world, if spending time with a person makes you feel like you are boring, holding back, not even wanting to be yourself, and what few laughs you get feel forced, that means that you and that person are about as suited as a kiwi in a grilled cheese sandwich.

Nuf’ said.

It’s time to sleep and to figure out if I am going to go on the next two dates with the two other fellows that are supposed to call me next week to set a time/place. (Do I really have time to be dating while I’m in the middle of my beautifully orchestrated and chaotic mess?)

Anyway, if I blog nothing more about internet dating… I didn’t go on either date or neither date was interesting enough to report on and I’m over it.

See? At least that part is settled. I know myself. I’ve chosen my messy. But, I still believe that the right people come into your life at the right time. If this is my time for love, it will be. If it is not, it won’t be.

So, thanks, age. It’s nice to wear you as a badge of honor. It’s beautiful that you’ve given me enough of a sense of me that, even with the upended adventure I’ve chosen, I’m good at knowing me and knowing what I want.

That, in and of itself, is fabulous. It is nice to know me.