The One Who Got Away

The one love of my life got married two months ago. How I came to find out, just now, is a funny (read heart-wrenching) story.

I'm home alone after M stood me up and my roommate is out with her new boyfriend. I decided take a break from my Netflix streaming marathon of The Secret Life of the American Teenager after the protagonist got married. One more episode about a bunch of teenagers deciding whether or not to have sex was going to be too depressing to my 34-year-old virgin self, so I decieded to switch to something a little more adult. I started Season 1, Episode 1, of Ally McBeal, which has been sitting dormant in my queue forever. I'd seen a couple episodes here and there in the past but I just wasn't ready to commit. Tonight, however seemed like just the right time as I'm mature, alone, and working on my career. I assumed (correctly) that Ally and I would have a lot in common.

For those of you who have never seen the show, it opens with Ally starting work at the same firm has her childhood / high school / college sweetheart whom she hadn't seen in years and who is now married. Her one true love, her "man that got away," is now staring her in the face, never having given her a good reason for their breakup. I paused the episode in the middle as I often do (I have a bit of ADD when it comes to TV) and found myself at my computer. I clicked on my inbox to find an email from American Greetings reminding me about T's upcoming birthday -- my own "one who got away."

T is one of the few men who steer clear of computers to such a degree that he typed all his poetry for class on an old manual typewriter, so when I google him I never find much. Every once in awhile I will see something related to his graduate school studies on Latin American Language and Literature, but other than that a search brings up almost nothing. Today, however, the online register of his grad school city lists him and a woman under "marriage licenses." Middle initial: check. Age: check. There is no question that this is my lost love.

Now, I don't believe in god or fate but I do believe in something writing my life story -- everyone's life stories. And today that author threw me a curve ball. How else in the world could these four things connect: 1) TV show with a wedding, 2) TV show about a lost love getting married, 3) a birthday reminder about my lost love, 4) the registry of his marriage license from just two months ago. It's been almost exactly five years to the day since I have seen T (another un-funny joke by my unknown author, I'm sure) and I still have not gotten over him. Intellectually, friendship-ly, and physically, he has remained at the solid top of my straight man connections.

Five years later I sit here being stood up in the same manner in which he used to do, by someone I don't like half as much, or at least haven't been able to get to know well enough to know for sure. Ally's voice-over claims that being a lawyer was secondary to loving Billy. She went to law school because he did. She became a lawyer by default. Her entire career is based on trying to have kept a man. Now, I didn't go to college because of boy chasing, in fact, I got divorced in order to go back to school. And I'm certainly not a writer because of chasing after a boy either. But I've often wondered how many of us professional women are what we are because we have loved and lost -- and namely the latter. In fact, Ally McBeal was such a big hit namely because us women can all identify, to varying degrees, with making life decisions based on an emotional quest.

In a way the 21st century woman has the world open to her. She can choose what roles she wants to take on, whether it be work and family, just work, or just family. But in the end I can't help noticing that we all feel a bit guilty for whatever we choose, and we are always left feeling a bit dissatisfied... a bit lost. I can't help but feel that women are currently under an intense microscope of conflicting definitions. Ally followed Billy to law school in order to keep the man she loved. I went to graduate school because the love of my life didn't want a relationship. I can't help but feel grateful that I was given the chance to pursue my dreams because of being rejected, but at the same time, like any 21st century woman, I want it all.

Episode 1 ends with the following voice over:

"The truth is, I probably don't want to be too happy or content, 'cause then what? I actually like the quest, the search. That's the fun. The more lost you are, the more you have to look forward to. What do you know? I'm having a great time and I don't even know it." - Ally

She Ventures Forth

In the U.S. we're obsessed with finding "The One." When we have relationships that don't end in marriage, we tend to see them as either stepping stones for our "real" relationship, or as stumbling blocks that have gotten in the way of our true path and destiny. The mindset of "The One" is what The Bachelor is based on. Never mind that the Bachelor is always sure his future wife is in the room of 25 women that the show has picked out for him, and never mind that he is (almost) always sure he has chosen the "right one" at the end of each season. This quest for perfect wedded bliss is what draws so many women into the series. We judge the female contestants based on what they do or don't do, and we try to mirror those in our own relationships so that we can find our special one. Even if we don't out and out say that we are mimicking or rejecting their behavior, I'm sure many of us sit in front of the TV screen going "Of course he rejected her," or, "What a nut case." Let's admit it, at times even the best of us can be catty bitches.

Women watch The Bachelor for the very same reason that it is criticized and made fun of. In all of its 14 seasons, only two couples have actually gotten married. One bride was the runner up swapped for the winner after the show was over, and the other couple weren't even on The Bachelor but The Bachelorette. Every other couple has split up, and often rather publicly. Not that there haven't been other Bachelor weddings, but these are made up of contestants who meet each other at Bachelor reunion events. Which makes sense. Let's face it, a room full of 200 plus people making up an equal number of men and women is much more likely to have lasting hookups than one contestant with 25, especially when the one goes around making out with multiple women at once.

As I watched the "Women Tell All" reunion episode tonight, it struck me that while the show purports to be about finding the ONE love of your life, maybe it isn't really so much about the destination as it is about the journey. What struck me today is that the current bachelor, Brad Womack, wouldn't let any girls apologize for anything they thought they did wrong. Ashley H., who had his heart from the beginning and let insecurity overwhelm her as the show went on, apologized to Brad on stage saying that she was at fault for things ending badly. He replied with something to the effect of, "Never apologize, because you are an exceptional woman. Maybe I just wasn't the guy to bring out that confidence in you." And really, can you blame her? I would be insecure too if a guy I had a great date with started kissing all these other girls. Who wouldn't get jealous? He had also sent away Ashley S. -- a girl much like myself who always has great first dates and then the guy says he's not looking for anything -- and she asked Brad tonight what he meant when he said she would make someone a wonderful wife, but not him. "Who am I to say if you would make a good wife or not?" he responded kindly, helping the girl realize she was not defective, just one girl that one guy didn't want to spend the rest of his life with. Who knows, this may all be a plot by the producers to boost women's ego and have them continue to watch the show, but it worked for me.

For the first time in a long time, my head is filled not with finding love, nor my medical condition, but with an entrepreneurial endeavor. For the past day and a half my roommate and I have been consumed with a business venture that kind of took on a life of its own. While because of my anonymity I won't go into the details of my idea, it combines my love of writing, my sappiness, my non-traditional upbringing, and my plethora of gay friends. Suddenly I'm not worried about what I will say to D or when I should say it. I write what I want, when I want, and he responds. In between his responses I'm not thinking about when I will receive the next one but am lost in my current project. Finally I have something I can focus my attention on even when in flareups, and with this quest, it's all in my hands. I do believe "The One" is out there, but making my own way is what's important right now. As is knowing that all those relationships that didn't turn into marriage (and the one that did) were not roadblocks or stepping stones but merely connections made between two people that had a start time and an end time. Sometimes things really are just that simple.

Let's start from the beginning

Fibromyalgia really has no beginning. It comes on you gradually and threatens to take over your life just like a boiling pot of water does to a frog. It first appears solely in terms of its side effects -- IBS, TMJ, PMDD. You start to feel like you are crying out for help. Mostly because you are in fact crying. But then one day you find yourself in bed hit with the un-flu, unable to sit upright or walk more than a few steps for two weeks. Three years later you get a diagnosis and are put on medication. Finally your cry for help is validated and treated as a real illness. Now the fun part comes: finding love.

My symptoms came on when I was still married. They exacerbated an already loveless marriage that fell apart as unromantically as it was put together. Much of it was my fault. No one expects their new wife to suddenly suffer from then-inexplicable wrist pain (later diagnosed as a repetitive strain injury), the inability to digest much of anything (later diagnosed with gluten sensitivity and the need for digestive enzymes), and, worst of all, the inability to have sex. That latter one, diagnosed ten years later as vulvar vestibulitis, kept me from having sex with anyone, ever. Now as a 33-year-old with two surgeries to correct the problem, I actually have a chance at keeping whatever love I find.

This blog will document my search for a suitable companion who will find me an ideal match despite my inability to drive due to motor issues, my need for twelve hours of sleep a night, and with the knowledge that my flareups can come on any time without warning and last just as long as they feel like it. I've almost graduated with my master's degree, my next online teaching assignment is a successful interview away, and I have a wonderful life filled with wonderful friends and family. I'm finally at a place in my life where I can accept someone into it as an almost completely independent adult at the ripe young age of 33. Welcome to my journey.