I have way too much time alone. Others would happily try a day or two, and perhaps longer in my place. But, I have never been the typical guy in looking to get away from it all. In fact, I generally look to get into it all. Besides, those looking on are not gaining the experiential knowledge of my circumstances. For example - when I have time then I have no money. When I have money then I have no time. Worst of all? When I have both time and money then I find myself depressed and I have no interest. The really "awesome" days are (you guessed it) when I have no money, no time and no interest. I spend a lot of those moments in asking what am I really living for in light of all this. My current life consists of seemingly wonderful attributes which many men have admitted to envying. These would include:
- I am single and not involved in any romantic relationships.
- I work in an industry where I travel all but about seventy-two days a year and am never in the same place more than a day.
- As long as I meet the deadlines my company ignores me.
- I earn a good income - My overhead and expenses are roughly one third of my monthly gross.
- Most people have no idea where I live and if my email and cellular telephone accounts were canceled I would be untraceable.
- My ex-wife lives thousands of miles away and contacts me very little.
- I am single and not involved in any romantic relationships.
- I am never anywhere long enough to enjoy a social life or make plans to even lounge around and watch a ball game.
- From my divorce, bankruptcy, and foreclosure AND IRS tax lien I am still in a financial hole with no tangible assets and nothing to call my own.
- I have two, male friends and my mother as the only remaining human beings that call me to take a vested interest in my well-being. I occasionally get a call from my children (whom I've not seen in nearly three years) but that's so depressing let's not delve into that any further.
So, for my friends who are wistfully dreaming to take my place I always ask them revealing questions such as, "How's your wife and the kids?" "What are you doing, tonight, when you get home? This weekend?" Or remind them that I can't work on any hobbies or much other entertainment as not much is portable to travel with me in a duffel bag. And I commiserate when they are struggling to figure out why their relationships are difficult sometimes without trying to always remind them that at least they have one to work out.
Then there's the sex thing. Even men have commented on the looming shadow my libido has always cast. One friend described my drive as, "a large house with a three car garage." Women who were merely acquaintances felt compelled to comment on several separate occasions that I would never need to worry about old age diminishing my interest. Sadly, they were all correct. But, that house hasn't been on the market for a while and it looks like I'll be the only one living there in my golden years.
And that brings me to the ego grinding elements of this situation. My pride has really never been comfortable with the whole "Man Needs Woman" thing. Maybe because I'm living in denial that it's primarily true but I think more because of the socially upheld insinuations that men are weak when it comes to women. There's plenty of supporting evidence but I refuse to be the poster child. Also, I very much resent the verbal slaps and inferences that whatever went wrong must certainly have been my fault and the vulture-like hovering of those waiting to watch me wither and die simply because I don't have a woman to save me. It is incredible how many women are slack jawed that I can take care of myself, prepare actual meals and basically appear to function like an adult human being; All while working without a net or the requisite feminine influence, apparently. For their sakes, and their psychological stability, I do improvise masculine sounding faux pas for seasoning when I tell them how I'm doing. Any woman that resents the stereotypes of the damsel in distress needing to be rescued by a man because she is helpless to help herself had better understand why what I'm describing offends me. While some of my favorite songs have a man professing his undying devotion to some heartless bitch who doesn't even notice what lengths he's willing to go to for her so he's compelled to spell them out - crawling, begging, working himself to death - whatever. - I'll be damned if that's going to be me. But, that doesn't mean I'm not damned already.
I think wanting a woman is a far more powerful message than needing one. I am not a player. I'm not after conquests. I don't have an agenda for collecting women for any reason from massaging my ego to any other part of me. I want to love one woman and I want to be married. That's it. From the time I was five years old that has been my ambition. Love is not a matter of chemistry, gamesmanship, bait and deception. It isn't a romantic wet dream. Love is an act of will. It is entirely volitional. I dare you to find anyone willing, however.
WARNING: I'm about to bore you with reminiscences of my life experiences with women. I'm doing this as a man that believes the last chapter has nearly been written on this subject for me - so humor me.
My history with women has been the catalyst for enjoying life but if you want to piss me me off you may ruin it by quoting, "Behind every successful man is a woman" and I might just smack you. (Show of hands - how many just wrote me off as having "issues?"). I was only five when I made the journey into my pursuit of happiness - girls. I grew up in the Northeast, in a major city during the 1960's. You could still safely walk to school, which I did in about twenty minutes depending on what caught my interest along the way. It took longer to walk home, after school however, because my kindergarten class had nineteen girls in it and I needed to escort each one to her door and give her a kiss. To think back now on what a curious sight this must have been really makes me smile. Also, the fact that as I arrived at each door that the other "Ladies in Waiting" would cluster together and await my return from the departing girl's front stoop is just so full of mysteries. That I thought nothing odd about this and that girls were so willing to wait their turn, as it were, is just amazing. There's a fascinating study in psychology and all sorts of other "ologies" bundled up in that. Needless to say it established a precedent that never caused me to pause and give much thought. I simply showed intent and they responded in kind. Only one of them took things a little too far. I still vividly recall the look of my teacher glaring at me while, Sherri, hugged and kissed me during story time . . . Sherri then sent me a Christmas card and I had no idea what tic-tac-toe X's and O's had to do with signing a card until my uncle explained it to me. I shrugged that off and a few years transpired where girls were the other creature that took up space in the classroom and of no other use until about third grade. There was A girl. Even to this day she is the stuff of wonder. Her name was Thordice Olafson and we called her "Disa." She had an older sister, Inga. They were from Iceland. She had a wonderful accent to her English and I was smitten. As you can tell she hardly left an impression on me at all. I barely remember any details about her . . . She probably set the archetype for my preference for brunettes with brown eyes. Sigh. She very sweetly told me she was not interested in me and her family moved over that summer. Thus opened my fascination with the irritating, whispering, giggling things with long hair and knowing smiles. I spent lunch with the girls and let them fight over me - well, more whatever candy or snack was in my lunch. I learned how to sit and observe and listen to all the gossip and "secret girl stuff" and I learned how to be funny and ate up every bit of attention they gave me. That's when I began drawing and writing and probably anything else that girls noticed and appreciated. I was addicted.
Junior high school was not as awkward as it should have been. Circumstances thrust me into a small, private school and I became popular because I had no competition. I started finding the few hidden "dirty books" my dad had in his closet. Found a copy of Masters and Johnsons and discovered not only was I not the first person in history to have an orgasm but about all sorts of strange and curious "practices." I had my first real girlfriend and she is another, like Disa, who makes memories about women nothing but sweet. The girls always initiated and opened the doors to new territories. I was just a willing participant and a quick study. My junior high girlfriend taught me about French Kissing and how exciting holding a woman is. She also taught me that a girl can convince herself and you she is madly in love with you one minute and be totally over you the next. Wish I had committed that knowledge to memory for future reference. My classmates were all reading romance novels, though, and I was too distracted by being told about their lusty dreams about me to learn any valuable lessons for life.
High school was in a different state with different rules of engagement. I was a nerdy guy with a big mouth who was on the fringes from day one. I transferred into the model for every high school angst movie that would be made in the 80's starring Molly Ringwald. It was a small population of very wealthy, ignored children of the leaders of American industry. I was a sophomore that no one knew and so was dismissed as a freshman with way too much attitude. It was a slow climb out of social leprosy and an even more glacial progress toward the female student bodies. There were so few opportunities for me to date that my father actually sat me down and asked me if I were gay. It didn't help that I had gay friends among the artists and intelligencia (of which I was unaware until they started professing their love to me) or that the few girls I did approach left no doubt they wanted nothing to do with me. I had one wonderful friend that had all of my same interests, was super sweet, filled out fuzzy sweaters like no one else and had long strawberry blonde hair. We wrote poems and shared our collective pangs of unrequited love. She was my greatest supporter and kept everything I ever wrote, convinced that I would be famous. We would show up at parties, alone, and ultimately find each other and spend most of the evening snuggled up in a chair consoling each other with promises that one day would dawn where our pining for someone to love would be over. We cuddled, maybe kissed but never pursued anything further. It is quite possible I was just too stupid to realize she was making herself painfully available to me. I couldn't. I loved her too much, if that makes any sense.
And, other girls finally started taking notice and I was too busy trying to take advantage to reflect on what might have been. The drought was finally over and I suddenly had some sort of grass roots reputation spreading that was making me a desirable product. The only thing that set me back after that was the fact I wanted to remain a virgin. A high school age guy that wants to be a virgin defies logic or rational explanation to almost everyone. I know. That's why I'm not even going to defend it. Suffice it to say that not every guy is after just one thing just like not every guy can't live without a woman.
No, Dad. I'm NOT gay.
This choice of mine caused two schools of thought and response. The first school was a group of baffled girls whose only experience prior to me was, "That's what you do. A guy takes you out and you put out, in trade." Some of these girls had been so deprived of any trace of love and only known the physical act for so long that my refusal short-circuited their wiring. The other school flat out interpreted my refusal to sleep with them as rejection. That, and the expense I would cause them in batteries. See, I was already looking for something that no one else around me at that age was: permanence and devotion.
This pursuit of mine was not something most were looking for as I moved into my twenties, either. It might explain why I found myself dating women mostly five to ten years older than myself as a consequence. I was looking to find my wife just as most women were shifting to the idea that wife equals bad. Being a virgin in your twenties, especially dating women who haven't been for quite some time, makes for very interesting situations. The truly odd dichotomy in my resolve was that I wanted to be a virgin when I married but I did not expect nor require that the woman also be a virgin. Again, I wanted to be a permanently married man and prove I was serious by what I didn't bring with me into marriage.
Did I succeed? Nope.
In another of those familiar situations where I followed along blindly in arrangements made by a woman I lost my virginity to someone who was merely curious if the experience would be any different (better?) with a virgin. Her curiosity being the only thing satisfied from the experience - she was gone.
Was I a victim? Certainly not.
That doesn't mean I didn't feel robbed and cheated. In fact, as I wrestled with my moral failure (during the very event) it was a numbing greeting when she looked at me and disappointedly exclaimed, "That was it?!?"
There it is. I somewhat succeeded yet all at once failed. That's my true history. After the virgin-killer I didn't sleep with another woman until I married in my late twenties. My wife was definitely worth the wait. But now she's gone. I have said in other posts it is not likely that she'll be back. But, just like the want to be a virgin when I married I wanted that marriage to last my lifetime even more. One other curious thing is that almost all of my relationships were ended by the woman and likely because of my inertia or unwillingness to accept its demise but I really don't think those are valid reasons. I found what I wanted by having those women in my life. But, each found that I wasn't enough for them.
I hold loyalty and love above all else.
I have not been with another woman in the over five years, since my wife left. I don't want to say that without a woman I can't function - but, I haven't felt like living since. When other women that I dated left I had a simple policy - "Don't think that you can come back." I meant it. But, a wife is a whole other thing entirely. I believe marriage is not revocable. That's what distinguishes it from all other relationships. For my wife (I mean, ex-wife) the door is always open and the light is always on. That doesn't mean that I am pining away and wringing my hands in her absence. But she's not replaceable and what left with her is conspicuously missing from my soul. If I didn't feel her loss I would seriously have to question my love for her. I just have no answers that solve any of the questions that I know to ask. And I have no idea what the questions are that I should be asking. I made a vow and I see no way that I can break it; even when I am so miserably lonely or turn to share something with her and remember she's not there. As cliche' as it has become, she is my best friend. I'm also not without some serious appetites for demonstrable affection.
There's another ridiculous female accusation for you - "Men are afraid of commitment."
Because of my commitment I am likely facing a life sentence without possibility of parole. I am bereft of the promise of any intimacy in my future. I am very much estrogen free out of necessity. I do not engage women in any conversation beyond polite pleasantries nor spend too much time studying their eyes or smiles because I don't dare do anything that encourages the slightest flicker in them or me. I am a very hollow remnant of my former hopeful self. I no longer have the benefit of my muses and going cold turkey from the influence of women in my life is the most empty thing I have ever experienced.
I wish there were an alternative. I don't know what to do. The vulgar answer would be to simply apply an estrogen "patch" and hope my symptoms abate but that has too many risks and complications. Besides - I won't cheat on my wife.
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