It’s funny how things fall into place when they’re supposed to.
After years of randomly uprooting my life, I’ve finally seemed to find my home. With home comes stability for my family. With stability comes my job. For those of you who aren’t aware of how much I love my job, well trust, I love my damn job. GUYS THEY PAY ME TO TALK ALL DAMN DAY! AND I GET COOL SWEATERS!
In all seriousness, my job gives me an incredible sense of fulfillment. I love teaching people and helping them grow their skills. It’s so exciting to me, and I think I’ve found something that I’m truly good at. Nothing brings me more joy than when I get to prattle on and on about what I do for a living. My job isn’t even a job. It’s fun! I genuinely love going to work every second of my life. But with stability and purpose comes fulfillment. I don’t say peace, because my life is generally chaotic as I raise kids and take care of my elderly mother, so nothing is really easy. But there is a sense of serenity that comes from knowing you’re on the right track.
I’ve never been on the right track before. I always jumped the tracks before I really knew. I left cities, relationships, jobs, etc. But abandoning the nomad life for a house in the suburbs has helped me find myself a bit more. I talk to my neighbours. I go running again. I feel at peace in my life. I’ve even lost 30 lbs. Having peace with my home and my job made it easier to consider sticking a toe back into dating.
As y’all know, I gave up on dating late last year when I went on a date with the human equivalent of Reddit. The only positives were that my salad was really good, and I looked fantastic.
I deleted my dating apps shortly after and gave up. I took a long look at my life and realized that maybe I’m not cut out for relationships. I’m pretty set in my ways, I’m commitment phobic, I run away from my problems and I will always put my kids, cats, and job first. I’m also neurotic af and will always worry that some poor dude is mad at me or will leave. Also, my taste in men is BAD. GUYS IT IS SO BAD. I dated my own stalker…TWICE! If you’ve met my ex husband, you’d realize the stalker was an upgrade. My love life is littered with Mr. Wrong, Mr. Abuser, and Mr. Stalker; no thanks man. It seemed like I was destined to die alone with my cats, and I was actually pretty good with that.
Before I decided “down with love,” I always used to joke that someday I’ll write a book about my love life called “what in the fuck is even happening?” I’d change some names so my ex husband doesn’t try to claim royalties, and I could cast Billie Eilish to play high school me in the movie. The only problem was that the book had no ending. After I deleted all of the apps, my kids (who decided I needed to get back out there) asked about my idea, and I told them I’d need some kind of ending, but “and she lived with her cats,” didn’t feel like the feel good ending of the year. A story of one woman’s constant need to pick the worst possible outcome should have one ending where she got it right, n’est pas?
But like I said, things have a funny way of working out in just the right time, and in just the right way. Around the same time as I had deleted the cesspool known as tinder, I was also feeling my oats at work and in life. For the first time in a long time, I felt like my family was in a good place, I was mostly financially stable, and I regularly got ramen with my best friend. Now that I’m removed from a situation, I realize that maybe some people were dragging me down, as they only wanted to talk to me when they wanted to vent about their own misery. I was a fine sounding board when they thought their husband was cheating or that they didn’t look good in shorts, but never for a night out or laughs. As the black cloud of devastation faded, I realized that I was well rested and happier and much more confident than I had been in years.
That particular day, we were launching some new products at work and I was pretty pleased with my training methods. The teams seemed really excited and I felt like I was really good at this. I was actually just finishing up a really great event when my phone rang. I rarely check my personal phone at work, but I was done my work day and wondered if it was one of my kids. It was not. It was one of my best friends/former high school boyfriend, whom I hadn’t spoken to in a year, save for one rushed conversation two days after my birthday. The conversation picked up like it always did, and two hours later it was like no time had passed. Before long, two hour chats were happening every day. Six months later, I was meeting him at the airport. By the time we went back to the airport for him to resume the Homer Simpson life, the conversation had changed. The “love ya” had changed to “I love you,” and carried more weight. The looks lasted longer. Things weren’t the same anymore and there was no going back. There was also no leaving my house and job. What’s a gal to do, besides figure it out as one goes.
Maybe the reason that the tale known as “what the fuck is even happening here?” Didn’t have an ending is because I didn’t know where to look. It wasn’t on Tinder, or in my marriage, or dating my own stalker (twice). It wasn’t on my own as the cat lady, although I’m never ruling that one out. The reason I couldn’t find the happy ending was because it was all the way back at the very beginning of the story. It was nestled in the nostalgia of young love and senior prom, where romance turned to friendship. It was trapped in the past behind near misses and stolen moments and finally when we told each other, “I met someone,” and the response was overwhelming happiness for the other. But what is meant for you will always be yours and after two divorces, a crap ton of therapy (for both of us), and a few years of space, it seemed like the answer was clear.
Of course, I still made sure to make the most complicated decision. Neither of us can leave our jobs and my family and I have a life in the mountains. Also, I’m obsessed with my house. For the first time ever, a relationship of mine is hampered by my boundary to not move anywhere. Any mention of a long term future results in my asking “why” 37 times in a row. I still sometimes wonder if he’s lost his mind and realizes he could do better than a neurotic workaholic that cries a lot (but is so productive). But, for the first time ever, I don’t wonder when the shoe is gonna drop, or measure every move to protect my heart and ego. Maybe it’s because I have my own life and my person; as well as the space to navigate all of the fears and insecurities that one had when they’ve only been in one healthy relationship in their entire life. Either way, for the first time in forever, I feel very fulfilled in every aspect of my life; personally, professionally, as a parent, and as a person. Everything happens for a reason, and my reasons seem to have fallen into place, even if I don’t really understand how it all worked out perfectly without my even trying.