At the age of thirty-one, a group of friends took me out to sushi. I remember announcing to everyone at the dinner table that by the time I turn thirty-two, my life would be very different. I just didn’t know how different. Shortly thereafter, my artist and I broke up. We had learned as much as we needed for our growth and our spiritual contract was complete. Now that I had entered into therapy, I began becoming aware of how I wanted to control him, much like my father controlled me. I didn’t want to taint our 2.5 years with anything but fond memories, so I broke up before it got ugly. I also knew that he had a lot of talent and needed to venture out in that direction, later hearing that he and a friend had a coffee table book published that is read globally.
April 14, 2001
Four months after breaking up with my artist, I created a whirlwind of a romance with a man, Hank. We had one week together, but it wasn't an ordinary week. From the minute I woke up, Hank was calling me, incessantly. He came over every night and we stayed up until four (sometimes five) in the morning, mostly talking. I would drag myself into work and then do it all over again the following night. I created an energy like a force field on maximum overdrive. Some friends tried to warn me of what looked like a "too good to be true" type of union, but I was not going to allow anyone to break my love bubble.
Throughout the week, Hank and I spoke about future vacations. During this short period of time, he also told me that the appearance of my eye did not bother him, and that he yearned to be a... "family man." FAMILY MAN?!? That was all I needed to send me down the aisle. The "getting to know you" phase was not needed-when you know, you know.
He was a magazine model, and I held his picture close to my chest while singing, "Going to the chapel.” Being a level-headed and college educated woman in her early thirties, my friends did not recognize me. Up to this point, I had three long term romantic relationships, and had never acted this smitten or love crazy. I had always been teased for wanting a "Soap Oprah" kind of relationship, and now I knew it could be true (without the drama or murders.) I felt complete, and he was the one making me whole. He definitely "had me at hello" and seemed to feel the same way about me. Key word being, SEEMED...
By the end of our seven days, we spoke about having sex. At this point, we had only kissed. Being the "good little girl" that I was, I told him that I only had that type of intimacy in a committed relationship. We were yet to solidify our union. He immediately replied that he wanted to be my boyfriend. Oddly, we didn't discuss it any further, and we said, "goodnight."
We never did the deed, but I briefly spoke to him the following day, sensing that his energy had shifted. I thought, Does he still want to be my boyfriend? I chose to say nothing, hoping that he was just in a “bad” mood. As the days progressed WITHOUT a phone call, my dream was beginning to shatter. It was beginning to seem like he was a player. I mustered up the energy to put on a bikini and go outside. While blasting the tunes from my boombox, I lathered up with baby oil and covered my swollen eyelids with sunglasses. I was in a state of recovering from "A herd of elephants that had just trampled my heart," (At least, that's what I had written in my diary on that life-changing day). In retrospect, I was really recovering from what seemed to be the worst day of my life. Nursing my wounds with sunshine, I really didn't care about the possibility of creating skin cancer. My only concern was...WHY HAS HE NOT CALLED? Did he get in an accident? Is he dead? Or, or, am I being....DUMPED? Would I rather have him in the hospital than the probability of me being thrown to the ashes? Oh, Kathleen...you are a terrible person to think such a thing. Stop it. Stop it, now!
I wish I could have stopped the mind banter, but it relentlessly continued, Nooo...it can't be over! After all, the psychic (My first time ever speaking with an intuitive back in December) told me that I was going to meet my soulmate on the last day of February; and then, magically, Hank casually walked into the dental office on...THE LAST DAY OF FEBRUARY.
To me, he was the most gorgeous man in the world... tall, broad shoulders, muscularly slim with an olive, flawless complexion, and five years younger than I. His eyes were a powder blue, and he had the most gorgeous oversized lips I had ever seen since inhabiting planet earth. His demeanor was sweet, and he seemed to not know his own beauty. A humility that made him even more attractive. I cleaned his teeth and told myself that he was "The One!" I always knew that this kind of love existed. I gave a co-worker my phone number on a small piece of paper, asking her to help me out.
"Kathleen would kill me if she knew," she said as she handed him my number, "but you have to call her. I think you would make such a great couple."
He smiled and received the kind gesture. Little did he know that I was behind every word. Or, maybe he did.
He called a few months later.
One week before Easter Sunday.
As Easter approached, I knew that we were done. I continued to bathe in the sun and lick my wounds, grieving over a lost dream. My friend then popped by to console me, analyzing all the different scenarios of what could have happened to Hank. Our minds crazed with problem solving and solutions. Trust, surrender, and faith to the 'what-is' of my "hell bent heart" were nowhere in sight.
As I was getting deeper into my story of victimhood and despair, my friend immediately raised her hand and stopped me from talking (not an easy thing to do). She then pointed and said...
"Have you heard of this song yet, Kathleen? Listen. I dedicate it to you."
Le Ann Womack's sweet sounds of, "I Hope You Dance," came right through, lovingly piercing my core's knowing. On April 15, 2001, my biggest fear had come true. I was being DUMPED which felt like the first time ever!
I took a much needed break from staring at the phone ALL DAY LONG (You know...just in case he was lying unconscious in some hospital bed and had finally awoken from his coma), and went to see the latest release of Bridget Jone's Diary. With my parents.
It was Easter Sunday and that is how we decided to celebrate. Bridget Jones, played by Renee Zellweger, is a british woman determined to meet the man of her dreams while writing about her journey through self improvement in her diary. There is a pathetic or funny scene in the movie (depending on where you are in your life) where she is in her PJ's, laying on the couch, drinking red wine, and singing: "ALL BY MYSELF, DON'T WANNA BE ALL BY MYSELF...ANYMORE!" I squirmed and held my breath. It didn't work. Inevitably, tears began to roll off my chin. I looked away from my mom sitting to my right, hoping that she didn’t notice. I did not want her to know that I was much like Bridget and (at the time) I thought of Hank as Daniel Cleaver (the womanizer), played by Hugh Grant.
In the following weeks, the lyrics of "I Hope You Dance" quickly became my living and breathing mantra...
“I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance,
Never settle for the path of least resistance,
Livin' might mean takin' chances but they're worth takin',
Lovin' might be a mistake but it's worth makin',
Don't let some hell bent heart leave you bitter,
when you come close to sellin' out reconsider,
Give the heavens above more than just a passing glance,
And when you get the choice to sit it out or dance.
I hope you dance.”
Four months later, Hank actually called, leaving me a message on my answering machine. I rolled my eyes, not bothering to call back. My ego was in full throttle, and I got to save a smidge of what I had left. Lucky me.
For a few months after Easter, my mind raced with questions: Why would he spend so much time with me and then disappear? Why didn't he just have sex with me and then dump me? What was the point of all those endless hours of late night chats and intimacy? Why bother? WHY?!? What an asshole.
I wish I could say that I learned my lesson and followed the song's lyrics. The words had become everything to me, but I had still not tapped into the meaning of true love. In retrospect, I can see clearly that I was bitter, telling myself that "love at first sight" was a total fantasy. I vowed to myself that I would never be "love sick" again-my walls were up and my mind began to intellectualize the mysteries of that which could not be understood. Love is to be felt-not dissected and analyzed.
About two months later, I met The Kaptain. This time, I was going to make a “smart” decision and be with someone who wanted the same things in life: marriage, a house, a kid, and a dog.
Yeah, that’ll work.
