Stuck in the Future

I have a dear friend who’s husband is going through a mid-life crisis at 38.  I’ve known them both for many years, even before they got married or started dating.  My sister asked about them last Sunday and I explained the crisis that had gripped the husband.  “So he’s left her?  He’s gotten an apartment and he’s gone back to living single?”  No, I explained, he’s undecided.  “So he’s still at home with his family?” she asked, confused.  “Sometimes.” I said, unclear myself. “But sometimes not.  Sometimes he’s back to his old family guy self, other times he’s trying to relive the past.  He’s trying to figure out what he wants to do.”  My sister said that it didn’t make sense.  I grunted a little.  “I’m not going to say I condone what he’s doing but I kind of understand it.  We’ve gone through it. We just didn’t have kids and a mate to watch us do it and suffer the consequences.” 

I’d come up with that while talking to her.  I’d sounded just like her for the past month while I was a listening ear but at that moment I looked back on my recent years and what I’d gone through.  At 38, I too had tried with all my might to remind myself of the best times of my youth.  I’d fulfilled my dreams I’d written down when I was 10, convinced myself that the achiness I felt in my body after doing regular tasks was laziness that I had to work out, decided that age was not going to catch me, and made a list of all my regrets I could recall.  I’d taken a good hard look at my personality flaws and after a year or so, decided what I could live with and what had to change in order for me to keep my self-respect in any kind of shape.  It was tough and brutal; I had many a wine-filled weekend where I just cried for two solid days and felt sorry for myself.  I did all this on my own time and at my leisure.  The only constant interruption was work and walking my dogs.  My dogs don’t really ask me why I’m crying as I walk or why I’m not in a talkative mood for days at a time.  I work with women so they know when to back off and let a woman have her reconstruction time.  Three of my co-workers are a little shy of 50 and had warned me of impending mental illness as I cried over my spent youth and upcoming adulthood. 

Some people welcome this time in their lives.  They can’t wait.  They have children on purpose because they await with open arms the waves of years to wash over them.  They’re excited about their mistakes and can’t wait to benefit from them. They take their place in the world early on – solid in the satisfaction that this is what being a part of mankind is all about.

 

Others of us have chronic “Peter Pan” syndrome and believe that time should stop for us and repercussions should be selective.  Youth is a place, not a time and aging is an evil task master that must be outrun at all costs.  Sometimes you get caught up with having a good time and wake up one day to find that you’ve been robbed.  Robbed of surprise, innocence, ignorance.  You no longer get that euphoric feeling of experiencing something for the first time – you can relate everything to something else you’ve done or experienced.  And like a sugar addict coming off bread, you get angry about it sooner or later.  The indecisiveness sets in – sometimes you’re happy you’re grown up and knowledgeable but sometimes you wish you could get away with some of the stuff you did when you were younger.  Finally (and thank God the learning curve is sharp), you realize this is a no-win situation and you should cut your losses, cherish what you have accomplished and change what you can.  This is my first year out of the “crazy years” and I feel calmer each day with less sadness.  But, like I said, I did that at my leisure with really good friends and family that interjected periodically.  My friend has a whole family in his wake.  His tantrums will be the building blocks for relationships for his children and his wife is becoming shell-shocked.

My sister shook her head at my explanation and though she too is going through her transformation without any casualties, she explained that not everyone has that luxury – especially when they bring children into the world.  We sat in silence for a few moments, both thinking our own thoughts about our own father, who’d lost his mind early in our lives and when he recovered, he had a new family.   I could see why we would not cut anyone any slack over this situation.  Either way, I realized that there were a great many of us stuck in the future, unable to travel back and forth at will, disgusted that time had solidified on us and left us to age with the rest of humanity. 

One the same day somewhere in time...

I had a birthday recently.  Though most people may associate this with parties and unbridled happiness, my birthday comes at the exact center of the year and stands for nothing more than more bills than usual to pay.  One of the most suspenseful of bills is the long tradition of getting my car emissions done in order to register my car.  I have a penchant for older cars with lots of health problems.  If I was a 6 foot blonde, I'd have a history of dating men on life support.  For the past 10 years or so, the week before my birthday was spent visiting various emission stations to see the machine with the most issues that would pass my oil leaking, coughing, clanking car.  This year was no different.  8 months ago I fell for a 19 year old Saab with imported health problems (i.e. expensive) and finally found an emission station that took such old boys and spoke Swedish.  While sitting in the waiting room praying to the car gods, I came face to face with a version of myself from the future.


She pulled up in a fairly new car - it looked maybe 5 years old at the most.  It was a sedan/van hybrid but still hip for the 75 year old woman that parked it and came inside the waiting room.  She asked for emission testing also and the service guy told her she was after me.  She looked at me, smiled and came over to sit down.  She was really old but dressed to the nines.  White suit, periwinkle blouse that was low enough to show a fancy gold necklace and white sandals.  She had a white patent snake-skin clutch to match and her toes and fingernails were the same shade of purple as her blouse.  She was made up like she'd done her makeup a thousand times with products that I could never afford.  Her hair was a reddish blonde and cut short like Dorothy Hamill’s used to be in the 80’s.  The only thing that showed her true age was her wrinkly and spotty skin and the fact that she walked hunched a bit and very slow.


She chatted like older people were taught was polite to do.  When she mentioned that she had to get her emissions before Saturday, I mentioned that my birthday was also on Saturday and that was also the reason I was there.  She looked at me longingly and smiled slowly.  “Oh, I’ve got a lot of years on you, dear.”  For the first time in a long time, I was impolite by mistake and agreed with her.  Somehow the conversation got onto the using the internet to pay your taxes and she bewailed that nothing good had ever come of her using the internet.  Her granddaughter had gotten her on Facebook awhile back and a guy from her college years had looked her up.  “College was over 100 years ago,” she said, touching her face. “and he found out I was recently single again.  He told me he’d had a crush on me all these years since college and sent me a picture of himself then and now.”


I nearly fell off my chair.  Before my eyes, she transformed back into a 19 year old petite winsome creature with blonde highlights and fresh skin.  She was probably really perky and didn’t have a shortage of friends or admirers.  Then I thought of this pimple faced lanky guy sitting outside the wooden doors of a Auburn University classroom waiting for the woman he fantasized about day and night to come out so he could ask to carry her books.  She’d giggle, look around at her girlfriends and tell him he was a sweetie before chatting off down the hall.


“What did you do?” I exclaimed.  “Did you recognize him?”
 

“I did.” She said as her voice trailed off a bit.  “But it’s been over 50 years.” She screwed her face up in realization of logic. “That was just weird; to contact me like that.  That’s just weird.”


It hit me then that it would never stop.  This game between the sexes was time proof.  If we lived to be 1,000, someone somewhere would always have a story to tell about the mating ritual between men and woman.  Even if you found “the one” as some people believe, in this world, someone always dies first and then you’re back at square one.  Deciding to date, learning how and who to talk to, proclaiming your undying love to those you’ve known before.  Here was a woman, born on the same day I was, in the same situation as I was – single and deciding if or when to become involved in a relationship – 35 years apart and two totally different lives.  I felt the earth stop moving for a second – at least for me – and my outlook on life shifted.
 

The service guy came in then and told me that my car had broken his machine and that I had to go somewhere else.  The older woman was also grumpy about that and mumbled that the traffic would be horrible on her way home.  Before I went back to panic mode about the car, I patted the woman on her knee and told her it was a pleasure to meet her.  It was – more than she would ever know.

 

Fighting Boredom...

Quick blog post...I know it's been awhile but I am still amidst the adventures of having an all-season boyfriend.  I have learned a lot - patience is NOT my virtue - but it does come in handy more often than not.

Now I'm dealing with the "boredom" issue.  I seek advice from those frequent boyfrienders or (ACK!) married people.

The boy is now quite comfortable being around me and we still chat periodically and generally have a great time.  Lately, though, I have been competing for attention with the iphone that he has.  He mentions that it is nothing important that keeps him on the couch and speechless for over an hour when he comes to visit.  He says that he's just reading up on interesting topics when he sits in the car for hours on end waiting for me to come home.  He sits here now while I do my blog, on the phone reading.

How do you confront this?  How do you deal with the missed questions, the glazed look in his eye, the "I know you'll be there when I finish reading whatever the heck I'm reading on my phone" attitude?  He's not texting so it's not a person I'm competing with.  He will, at rare times, squeal about some random fact that he found out about financial upgrades or whoever took over some soccer club in Europe or Brazil.  I've done my best circus performance but I'm not as young as I used to be and I'm quite used to being ignored so I tend to just stop trying and go do something that was on my list for the day.

Today, though, it occurred to me that this may be how you lose someone and perhaps I should try harder instead of resorting to my "Winter Boyfriend" ways...lol!  So, I ask, if there is any solution at all, I should try to learn it and apply it.  He sits in silence next to me, staring at the every interesting iphone, and I think he mentioned something about Johnny Depp so I can only assume it's about a movie.  I'm tempted to go shave my legs.  But instead, I believe I'll try once more.

Wisdom from Atlanta Housewives

I don't watch television.  At least I don't at home.  When I am elsewhere, I'm like a 2 year old in front of flashing lights...I can't turn away.  So, I'm at the spa last Sunday, relaxing and they had Atlanta Housewives review show on tv, which is basically where the cast of the show watches the highlights of their videotaped reality from the past couple of months and talk about each other.  Apparently, there was a new girl that just joined recently and she was tearfully telling them that she didn't know they were so ruthless and unsupportive as people. One of the main women bluntly told her, "Have you watched the show?  You don't come on here looking for support!"  I literally laughed out loud.

That being said, I've actually had boyfriend issues even though it is well past Winter and quite Spring.  This is my latest and greatest - he's a True Blue boy and we officially hit 6 months on April 11.  I thought we were doing quite well until this last week and especially yesterday.

First to note, he is 11 years my junior.  I'm not officially cougaring because I'm actually working on a relationship, but he is young enough to note.  He is 31 and a full blown man of that age with a laundry list of things he must accomplish in the next 5 years to be able to hold his head high in the world.  He can do it.  He IS doing it.  But if anyone remembers their early 30's, we all had a list the size of a dictionary of things we had to do to feel worthwhile, to feel like we'd be leaving our mark on the world.  And in the end, you accomplished maybe 3 or 4 of the things on that list.  They always turned out to be the most important and when you hit 35 or 39, you started laughing at all the things you wrote on the list. So, True Blue is there, at the beginning of that stage and feels he is not accomplishing fast enough for himself. And, being a real man, for me either.

I want to help. I want to be supportive and tell him I can help accomplish some of the stuff on his list for him. I want to give him good advice about how most of it doesn't matter anyway and that I think he's awesome for being so dedicated and focused.  I want to be his sounding board and BFF and counselor all at the same time.  But he is a proud Black man and if I am to be his woman, I cannot do any of those things verbally.  If he was a girl, we'd sit down and make a list and cry and check in every week to whine about what didn't work and laugh and celebrate what did work and get excited about the next thing on the list.  I am brazenly aware though, that he is not a girl.  

I tried to give him advice Friday night (with the help of my first glass of wine in 4 months - which did NOT help).  By Saturday, he revealed a little of his insecurities and by Sunday he was not really talking to me.  He wasn't being mean and as one of my long time friends always says to me, it was "not about me".  By Monday, there was a distinct lack of communication and today we're as social as bus-mates. My best girlfriend's advice is to leave him alone and let him work it out.  The old (younger) Audra is screaming inside that we need to get our cape and fly to the rescue.  But this newer (older) version of Audra is sitting back and crossing her legs to wait it out.  This is a first for me and I'm uncomfortable and afraid I may do/say the wrong thing.  Everything I read and hear says that this is the correct way to be supportive in this situation but it's a lot like performing spinal surgery - one wrong move and you can lose the person indefinitely.

So I'm practicing patience every hour - I would say every day but I'm not the type of person that can make that kind of personal commitment.  I've put my phone down 6 times in the last 2 hours to stop myself from trying to get him to talk about it.  I've stopped myself from reading into every line he's texted from the last 2 months on my phone. I've tried to be normal during the short and polite conversation we've had today - not being too casual but not trying to draw him out.  This is exhausting and it's only been 2 days.

Well, we'll see how I do - although if you've taken anything away from this blog, you know I'm a sprinter when it comes to relationships, not a marathon runner.  I have my fingers crossed for myself.  Can you do that?

Side Note: Update on me...

I am taking this moment to share something about me (aside from the boys - or lack thereof lately - yes, I know!)

I mentioned in my last post that I was in physical therapy for a busted hip. That has turned out not to be true.  What is true is that I'm now seeing an Orthopedic doctor for 3 herniated discs and learning to live with constant pain.

First, I refuse to believe I'm old enough to have to deal with such issues but slowly I'm coming to the realization that that is not true.  I have led a pretty whirlwind life (they say this problem may have been caused by my topple from a 10 foot wall during the Warrior Dash two years ago) and it's not like I don't have vivid memories of doing things that were exciting and thoroughly enjoyable. It's the fact that I have to slow down so immediately, deal with conundrums such as how much pain can I endure if I go to the supermarket or if I can make it back from the laundry.  I walk with a crutch because I refuse to get a cane to support myself.  They say my discs may be reabsorbed and not cause me trouble in 6 months or so.  They also say the complete opposite can happen and I end up needing surgery to stop the constant aching down my leg and bring back the feeling in my foot.

I have gone through some intense feelings in the month that this has been my real challenge.  I've been feeling rather alone in my journey and forgot that I have a blog for just this kind of thing.  A place I can get my points out and make myself heard.  I've had to rearrange my life tremendously and depend on family and new friends to get things done.

I was feeling extra sorry for myself today when a friend's, who is extremely positive (almost to an unrealistic degree), comment popped into my head.  I was feeling sorry for myself when I had so much going for myself.  I was not dead.  I was not in so much pain anymore that I couldn't sleep, or eat, or barely breathe.  I was not crying in pain to go to sleep at night.  I have family that is relentless in bringing me dinner, walking my dogs, even doing my laundry and cleaning my house.  I have a boyfriend who has taken the role of my warrior with making sure I'm safe, secure, and without need at all times.  I have pets that although they show out a bit at the change in their schedule, are still being good pets.  I have a belief that someday I really won't have to deal with this injury - it won't even cross my mind.  I have to focus on these things as I wake up each day and groan to get up.  There are people way worse off and they are happy they're alive.

It may take awhile to permanently change my attitude and the readjustments are painful as is dealing with an issue that won't take a break.  I'm working on it, though.  I'm working on it...

Ingrid

Well, yes, it's been about a month.  Nothing new really on the Winter BFX radar.  I will still fill you in the new boy but it's just at 4 months now - 6 months is the milestone.  I am getting old though.  I broke a part of my body I didn't know existed while running.  I've been in physical therapy for 3 weeks and I'm really excited I've learned to walk while not screaming in pain. 

Ok - now that we have the nicety phone conversation out of the way - I have a friend - Ingrid.  She is recently boy-less.  Her boy of 10 years hit 30 and decided to "go find himself", to quote my father in the 70's.  So she's been acclimating to the world of singleness and has gotten indoctrinated quite well.  She's just a few months on the market and she's already in Phase 2.

Phase 1, as we all know, is when you're not sure if you're awake or asleep and you date anything that reminds you of home.  Ingrid has a thing for men with glasses and was hanging out at a Nerd Bar - so yeah, that went on way too long. 

But she is progressing nicely into Phase 2 - where you realize that you need to pull yourself together because not everyone is a Kardashian and can be a full time whore and not have people avoid them or laugh in their face...ok -I'll stop before I get too far on my tanget.

Anyway, she's got some stories that rival mine - hands down.  She's also given me permission to share so I so will be...

Stay tuned..

Red Friday...can't wait!

"Haha!"

I literally just laughed at myself as I bunkered down to write a scathing blog about the horrors of getting old and how I imagine post traumatic stress must feel like.  Then I looked at my stats and saw that 27 people clicked on my blog yesterday.  I said to myself "What's so special about February 13th?" Then a big "Ohhhh..."

"Valentines Day" or "Valentines Season" (in my mind basically this whole week).  I've never been a fan.  I rarely had a boyfriend to get excited about it with and I found the "Anti-Valentines" parties and events way more interesting.  But love is the name of the game this week and there are those looking for that someone special to get junkfood and blood colored toys and balloons from. 

This year, in my particular department at work, nearly everyone is paired up.  There are the married women, who got their flowers yesterday from prompt and obligatory husbands and I actually didn't throw up a little when I gathered with the rest and "Ohhh'd" and "Awww'd" at the cuddly phrases of love and affection bestowed upon their wives via florist card. But the new boyfriends have shown out this year with stuffed toys, Valentine trinkets, a million calls a day, flowers, and the grand finale "Valentines Date" tonight.  It has got to be a hassle - truthfully - to keep up with all these shenanigans (my new favorite word this month) that relate to a holiday based on the most fleeting of emotions.

My work husband came by today and asked a question that had him stumped all week.  He'd gone out with a girl twice since January and he like her very well but wasn't sure what level of Valentine he should extend.  "Should I text her "Happy Valentines Day" or call and tell her?  Should I buy her a flower or candy? Is it too much because we've only gone out twice?"  I told her I thought he should at least text her (since I'd gotten a text that morning from the corner grocer - and yes, I thought that was weird) and that should do it.  The supermarket was ablaze with Black Friday-like old and young alike picking through cake, candy, cards, and flowers last night and once again, I wondered when this had become such a big deal.

I'm not a Love Scrooge.  Me and my new boy both yawned at the thought of this day and really can't wait until this weekend when all the candy goes on sale. I just think I'm finally in the mindset that you love your sweetie (or just yourself) whenever you can and don't put so much emphasis on a day that somehow got on the calendar to show someone you love how much you care by buying stuff.  Unless you want to.  Then do you. But don't be bummed if you don't get to participate (or if no one wants to participate with you - I hear it's a partner kind of game).  Just pretend you're at the circus, or the zoo during mating season, grab some popcorn and watch the happy couples in the parade.  Then tomorrow when they're back to being normal, rack up on the cheap and dying roses, plant them at your desk or decorate your house with them, buy a big bag of dirt cheap chocolates and have the best time of your life being fat and happy all weekend.