Online Dating at 36 - The Good, the Bad, & WTH?

It is rare that I feel like Daniel heading into the den of lions.  There are plenty of places in this city where I have memories of dates -- some good, some bad -- but they are just that, distant memories.  For example, although so far I've had no reason or need to, I could return to the Starbucks where P and I met with no problems. The neighborhood where the ex lives is a different matter.  Heck, that first week I practically lived at his apartment, spending almost every night there.  I can drive there in my sleep if need be.  So when last Thursday had me needing to return to that area, I was a bit anxious.  Many months ago, I agreed to sub a few Zumba classes for my friend L, and two of them are at the branch in the ex's neighborhood. Now when I say "neighborhood," let me clarify.  His apartment overlooks the gym parking lot and front door.  The two are separated by about 100 yards, if that.  The gym address is 11300, his apartment building is 11400.  If it wasn

Update is at the end. During spring and fall, I tend to spend a great deal of time sitting out on my balcony.  The busy freeway about a half mile away is just remote enough and sufficiently masked by homes to provide a gentle white noise, upon which are overlaid the chirping and squawking of birds and the rustle of tree leaves as either a fluffy squirrel or occasional breeze stirs them.  From here, I overlook a small grassy knoll-like area with 10 different trees of varying sizes.  I often sit out here in the mornings with my coffee, and again in the evenings with my dinner or something I am working on. This morning I have both coffee and project.  The project is me. About a decade ago, I was "in therapy," meaning, I had a good friend who happened to be a therapist who was willing to treat me "off the books" as long as the appropriate Consent to Treat paperwork was tucked in a file somewhere.  He was treating me for my depression, which wasn't all that bad

I just got home from my doctor's office having seen her for my one month follow-up for my happy drugs, a.k.a., the anti-crazy-train-thanks-to-the-Depo medications. Yeah, one month.  Happy anniversary. When it comes to the depression, I told her I'm about 80%.  I still have periods, episodes where things are pretty bad.  The irrational thoughts, knee-jerk reactions that make no logical sense, feelings of being overly paranoid (thinking what someone says or writes has an alternate agenda), and hypersensitivity mix with generally feeling blue and down for some rip-roaring fun times.  They are, at least, fewer and further between, and I can generally say that I recognize them when they happen and I am, so far, able to control my reactions to keep them reasonable. Then again, life doesn't always afford us the ability to walk away and take 20 minutes to reboot our brains and emotions.  I know on occasion I'm still walking a bit of an emotional tightrope.  Not the most e

In the last 10 minutes of my drive home today from subbing a restorative yoga class, my intent, or my need, to write this post did an almost 180.  I was going to make it a "well, I guess that's it" kind of post, a post about the fight going on inside me, and that maybe I really should completely cut off ties with the ex because, in my screwy brain I believed, "he clearly doesn't want to be friends."  Then, as I was climbing the stairs to my apartment, it hit me. I'm  the one who is not ready. I might think I am.  I might believe in my heart I am.  But, I am not. Here's what is going on.  I've been reading Dr. Brene Brown's book Daring Greatly.   Dr. Brown is a "shame and vulnerability" researcher, whose work is not only excellent but has been featured on two TED talks that have gone viral.  In essence, nothing great is ever accomplished without risks -- the risk to be vulnerable -- as long as boundaries are also in place.  By

Whether I care to admit it or not, I am definitely a child of the 80's.  One of the iconic cultural figures from that era was a character portrayed by Dana Carvey on Saturday Night Live.   Simply called, "The Church Lady," Carvey dressed up as the stereotypical prim and pious older lady at church and would interview show guests and "answer letters."  True to character, The Church Lady was always judging her guests for their moral impropriety (in her eyes) and to some of their statements she would simply say, "Well.  Now isn't that interesting." Moments later, she'd say her line that we still quote today, which is, "Could it be.... Saaaaaatan? " Today I'm not blogging about Satan.  I'm blogging about... well, isn't that interesting. As we all know, a wonderful friend of mine sent me four books to read to help me through this difficult time. When they arrived, I went into the project with that less-than-enthusiastic at

Shortly after I blogged this morning, my friend L called me.  She's the one who introduced me and the ex, and she is getting married in two weeks.  I am the musician for her wedding, playing both the ceremony and the British High Tea reception. The reason she called was because they'd gotten their final count in for guests.  They'd had a hard time keeping it under the number the chapel could actually seat, but in the end they ended up with some open seats.  So, they decided they would invite some of the friends who didn't make the first list, mostly because they were local and could celebrate with them any time. One of the people they want to invite is the ex.  However, and this was really quite sweet of them, they wanted to make sure that I would be okay with that.  Would having him there make me nervous or bother me?  Would it affect my ability to play or something like that?  Because if it would, they wouldn't invite him. I assured her that I would be just

It has now been just over three weeks.  Parts of my heart are on their way to being completely restored.  Other parts are still somewhat raw and ragged.  It seems a bit of a cruel irony that it is taking me considerably longer to get over the relationship than the relationship itself even lasted, but that is part of the price of love, I suppose. The well-intentioned advice from friends of all types continues to come in.  My closer friends are just checking up on me, asking with sincerity how I'm doing.  My answer is usually, "I'm hanging in there," or "I'm doing okay, I have good days and bad ones." Then there are my Tuesday Zumba ladies. Last Tuesday, I had a couple of them come to me with what they called "unsolicited advice."  And unsolicited it certainly was.  Their advice was essentially to be aloof, play hard to get, not be available, give him the impression that I was living a full and wonderfully active life without him, even if I