Confessions of a Twice Divorced Dater

As she rejoins the dating world, she struggles to find the confidence and zest of her youth. 

by Ginger Long • More.com Member { View Profile }
Photograph: iStock

I’ve only recently started this new and disastrous technique. I sort of decided that I want to live life full on, and worrying about being shy and awkward is not going to cut it. Only my new approach is going to cut and slash and bludgeon small villages if I don’t reign it in and figure out how to just present me, as I am without a keg, or a sharp instrument or a firecracker popping, tap-dancing, fire-eating, juggling routine. So far I’ve noticed I talk too much. Like way too much. Like I have to explain and share and retell every thought that comes to mind in the madcap hopes that one of my thoughts will be appealing or important. I think they just come off as desperate or intense instead. You know like a man's worse nightmare, a woman who wants to explain every last detail of almost nothing. I think I also start blabbing and vomiting information and explanations because I’m not being asked, and I want to make sure that nothing goes unnoticed. At which point the potential stud is left praying for pea soup or blood instead of my verbal upchuck. I don’t allow for mystery or intrigue or fantasy and high hopes. It might also be O.K. to decide if the potential stud isn’t asking, that could very well be a signal for me to back-up and run in the other direction. Maybe it just means that we’ll get there, in due time, if things work out.

I believe this new ineffective approach has been enacted because I want to somehow present that just because I’m divorced, twice, doesn’t necessarily mean I have loads of troubles or that I am Satan’s spawn. Except that my attempts sort of validate that I must in fact be and have satanic-size troubles. I also believe I want to be active and participate, compensating for a long period of inactivity and becoming an unlikely and unwilling spectator of nothingness. 

I seem to be acting like a rubber band as I move along the road toward single and confident. Occasionally I am keeping up and then I go too far ahead until traffic stops and builds up in perhaps an attempt to stop and quiet me. A few false starts and failed attempts isn’t such a bad thing. I’m not supposed to be in a rush here. I’m not looking to hook myself up to a hitching post and grab on tight to anything that comes along (although there is the appeal that I could be released from this part of the nightmare).

I have realized that talking and texting is not going to be my area of strength but being severely quiet and lifeless will not work either. O.K., fine, I didn’t just realize this. I have known it for quite some time. I have been considering setting up a lemonade stand on my front lawn and selling cold drinks and kisses. That might be enticing to some hot, dull, or fair-to-middlin’ stud somewhere, dontcha think? If it doesn’t work, I wonder if eBay sells "help" or kegs.

I suppose patience is a virtue, and I am missing two of the four cardinal virtues these days — prudence, restraint, justice, and courage. (Feel free to guess which ones I have.)   Fortunately, I still have, hope, faith, and love. Oh and a really good haircut.

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