It's Been a Long Time

It's been almost a year since I wrote anything, but it seems like the blink of an eye. So what's changed?

Well, I appear to have developed balistophobia, the debilitating fear of missile silos. Yet somehow I still make it through the day. Think I can get a medical marijuana certificate for it?

Other than that, not much and everything.

"Not much" in the sense that I still have the same house, the same job and haven't crossed a damn thing off my bucket list. I'm beginning to wonder whether I was full of shit when I wrote it, or if I'm just a big pussy.

"Everything" in the sense that I've sort of moved on and found someone new.

The phase "sort of" deserves an entire blog post. I've moved on to the degree that I think I am capable. It would be akin to a drummer losing an arm. Life isn't over, he just needs to find a different career. Or not...

What I'm trying to say is that I've lost my naive innocence regarding relationships. The last time it was inconceivable to me that any "real" marriage could fail. Hardly anyone I knew had ever been divorced, and for "those people" there were obvious explanations - infidelity, alcohol, a lack of commitment from the beginning. That wasn't me. Or any of my friends. They were different. I was different. We jumped in headfirst - damn the depth of the river.

The second time around there's a vague awareness in the back of your mind that you're not special. You know exactly how bad it can end and how quickly it can turn.  And because of that, you're extremely reticent to go "all in". It's not like you've got one foot out the door, but you always know where the nearest fire extinguisher is.

Based on what I've read, this is pretty typical. It's the baggage that everyone who goes through a divorce carries with them. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice and I'm ready to sue.

In fact, "moving on" was the one major reason I stopped posting. When I started this blog I had nothing to lose. I was so embarrassed and shamed by my divorce that there wasn't anything that I wasn't willing to write about and share with total strangers. It was "public therapy", a semi-safe place to work out all of the pain, anger, shame and rage that was eating me alive. I was at my lowest point, so the thought of people pointing and laughing at my failures didn't really bother me. Or the fact they would be preserved for eternity where prospective employers and my kid's friends could review and comment.

Granted, I wasn't really taking the "long view" at the time.

Last year I got to a place where I no longer felt it was appropriate to share every random embarrassing thought that popped into my head. I felt it would be a terrible invasion of privacy to blog or write about anyone I was dating, even though the stories would have been great. The potential of being seen with me in public can be embarrassing enough. Having it posted where her parents, kids, friends or husband could see it is just wrong.

Once that filter went up my writing became banal bullshit and I stopped posting any of it. I have 14 semi-finished posts that will never see the light of Google. They all started with a spark of clever inspiration. They all ended with bullshit generalities, platitudes and a lack of any true "feeling."

Granted, it's not like I set the literary bar very high, but if I couldn't control my gag reflex for three paragraphs I doubt any of you would give a shit.

So what's new? Well, my girlfriend is moving in next month.

I'll let that one settle in for a minute.

Yes, I am scared out of my mind. I'm not sure I should be writing about any of this, and if / when she sees this the move may be cancelled. But I've got to work this stuff out, and I don't have time for therapy.

I'm better as part of a team. BLT says that I always wanted to be married. I think he's right. I like being part of a team. I like the support. I like the feeling I get when I can help someone else. Even when I was going through the divorce, I was absolutely certain I would eventually get married again, even if intellectually I was telling myself "Oh hell no".

The woman I have been seeing is wonderful. She's kind, supportive, thoughtful, smart, attractive, progressive, exciting, active, funny, great with my kids and more than willing to put up with me.

You're probably thinking she's perfect, well I'm here to tell you "far from it". She can't make a decision, thinks sleeping to 10:00 AM is acceptable behavior, says Corgi's aren't real dogs and doesn't hate Jhonny Peralta anywhere near enough for my taste. Basically, she's a basket case.

So why am I scared shitless? Because I'm afraid that I didn't learn enough from my divorce. I'm pretty sure I'm a jerk. I try not to be, but it comes so naturally. It's a gift. Or a curse. Now sure, a few of you will feign disbelief and say "Oh no, you're just being a drama king Bob." Thank you for trying to soften the blow. I'm sure a few of you even said that with a straight face, but we all know it's true. I'm a jerk.

Do any of you have a Facebook page dedicated to how big of a jerk you are? I do. For real. And it wasn't even started by The Ex. If you count the Ex's Facebook page, it's actually two pages dedicated to how much of an asshole I am.

I know it's not unusual for children to have contentious relationships with their parents. But I've managed to become estranged from not one, but two mothers. Yes, the people who are hormonally evolved and socially conditioned to nurture and protect their young both think I am a jerk. Granted, one of them is mentally ill and the other is biologically related to me (which is a reasonable excuse I suppose), but still. You couple that with my sociopathic Ex and you can see that I may have problems with women.

Once is bad luck. Twice is a coincidence. Three times and it's probably your fault.

What happens when my girlfriend realizes that she's living with a jerk? Hopefully she's less sociopathic than my ex, but then again what if I'm just a horrible judge of character? It's not as if rapists and serial killers introduce themselves with their chosen avocation while announcing their intention to gut and skin you for sport.

"You got a pretty mouth boy."

"Um, thanks... I gotta go. Bye."

If only it was that easy.

So what do our friends think? Most of them say it's "too early". But when asked "How long would be long enough?" they shrug.

Twelve months? Eighteen months? Six years? I don't know either. People in arranged marriages may only meet one or two times prior to their wedding and yet statistically they are very successful. According to multiple sites, the global divorce rate for arranged marriages is only 6%! Now granted, there are numerous caveats to that statistic since it is heavily culturally biased. It doesn't consider the impact of familial shame, the poor economic prospects for women in countries that favor arranged marriage or local laws prohibiting divorce.

But believe it or not, November will mark two years that my girlfriend and I have known each other. That's a significant amount of time. It's longer than I knew my ex-wife before we moved in together. In fact, by the two year mark we were engaged and well into planning our wedding.

I know full well this could turn out to be a flipping disaster to rival the last one. But it could also be a wonderful start to a new life together. In life there are no guarantees and no one knows how this is going to end. But I know that I'm a lot happier when I'm with her. So nothing ventured, nothing gained.

I'm going to jump in that river again, even if this time I'm keeping one eye on the life preserver. Wish me luck.