Someplace New

So. I think I might be at the stage where my dating life is off-limits. Not up for conversation, ridicule or opinion.

Let’s just let that sink in.

It’s nobody’s business but my own.

You are probably sitting there and nodding your head. Yeah? Yes. Of course.

Except that this has never been my M.O. It's never been the way I sail my ship. My private life has always more or less been up for public consumption. I’ve always considered it the juiciest and most interesting thing about me. And usually the funniest. Looking back, trying to take my emotional pitfalls with aplomb and make sense of the mess in my head just seems sad.

I’m not anymore.

Suddenly what’s going on with me isn’t about notches on my bedpost or bragging rights or sense of identity or success. I have been trying to measure success by my relationships with men. If I was in a relationship/if I could find someone who loved me, I mustn’t be all that bad; I must be a success; I must be a good person; I must be lovable; I must be accepted, safe, valued and secure. I must be (fill in the blanks.)

I can give that security and assurance to myself now, so looking for your approval and outside validation just doesn't seem all that important anymore. I really don't give a shit what you think. And suddenly the appeal of sharing the most intimate details of my dating life don’t seem so important or appropriate anymore.

So friends, what I might be saying here is that Dates # 2, 3, 4 and 5 might just have to remain shrouded in mystery.

But maybe not.

Let’s call is discretionary writing.

Do I really need all my missteps and failures broadcast for the entire world?

Suddenly, I am just feeling very protective of my experiences. It's so soon and I want to savour them. Saying them out loud almost ruins them, making them cheap in their inadequacy and causing them to wilt in the daylight air.