Lately, I’ve been discussing dating and relationships at great length with my “uncoupled” friends. I’m purposely choosing a variation of Gwyneth Paltrow’s euphemism on being single because I’ve been talking to both widows and my “normie” divorced friends about the subject, so it’s less a widow thing and more a single woman thing.

Dating for me is a fairly recent occurrence; you can count the dates I’ve been on on one hand, less than one per month since I decided to get out there. (Rather sad, in some ways, don’t you think?) Some of my friends have been doing it for years and aren’t in a much better position (which doesn’t bode well for my chances of success – I’m not getting any younger, you know. *insert sarcastic eye roll here*).

I have seen (and heard of) the dangers of those individuals – men and women – so desperate not to be alone that they become entangled with someone who only makes them lonelier. Or penniless. Or both.

Being widowed already makes me vulnerable. Widow’s fog muffles the world at times, making it difficult to see the bigger picture. And the zombie-like state I found myself in for the first year-and-a-half of grieving sometimes makes a brief return so that my judgment might not entirely be trusted. It is because of these things that I’ve found myself extra cautious about who I potentially will open up my heart to.

My vetting process of individuals who ask me out, with whom I actually go on a physical date is pretty serious (at least in my own mind), but at the same time, I have been trying not to limit myself to a “type”. I’m not looking to replace my husband; any partner I have from this point on would be making my life more beautiful without changing or erasing my past. That’s a lot to put on a person, but it would be more unfair to ask for an A 2.0.

While A was a handsome, brawny, brooding alpha male with a big heart and wicked sense of humor (and surprisingly romantic, sweet streak), that may no longer be what I need at this stage in my life. Sort of like a dating evolution, while I once needed protection and strong genetic material for my children, my cave-dwelling days are behind me and now that I’ve discovered fire and can forge my own swords, the best person for me likely has different qualities.

My problem is, I’m not entirely sure what those needs are. I’m still learning who I am in the now. Part of that process has been discovering that I am sapiosexual – I lean less toward a physical attraction and more towards an intellectual one. If there is a sub-classification for humorphile (my made-up word for being attracted to someone who can make me laugh), then I’m that, as well. I’ve always believed Marilyn Monroe’s quote about making a woman laugh. It is certainly true in my case. A sense of humor is my kryptonite.

I haven’t been able to find my fellow Kryptonian yet, though. (Is that what someone from Krypton is called? You see… my mind is such a “cesspool of useless knowledge” (as one respected boss once told me) that I constantly mix metaphors and my mind goes off on tangents and ooh… squirrel!) Is it ironic or pathetic that a professed sapiophile is pretty much an intellectual mess??

In any case, my entire dating experience thus far has been learning more about who I am, what I will and will not tolerate, and setting boundaries. You see, my 16 y.o. self was much different than my 50 y.o. self is. (That’s pretty much a very good thing, although I wouldn’t mind having that body back. It’s that saying, I wish I was still as “fat” as I was when I first thought I was fat. 🙄 But… I digress.) For that reason, coupled with the fact that I had been half of a duo for 32 years, it’s necessary (and beneficial) that I take the time to truly learn more about myself before getting too involved with anyone.

“Millions of people live their entire lives without finding themselves. But it is something I must do.” ~ Marilyn Monroe

I’m actually surprised to discover this about myself – and a bit fearful, as well. Am I truly capable of not settling or am I merely not ready yet to date? Physically, I feel beyond ready (and the dry spell is ongoing), but emotionally, I haven’t found myself distraught when things haven’t worked out. Am I really that strong? Or cold? (Or perhaps it has more to do with the fact that I’m the one who is nixing further interaction because I wasn’t really emotionally invested anyway.) I’m not sure, but I intend to find out.

As I write this, I am staring down the barrel of a long-distance, temporary relocation where I will work, play, and hopefully make more self-discoveries on the path to my future, whatever that may be.

In my mind, the Summer will be Under the Tuscan Sun meets Eat, Pray, Love meets How Stella Got Her Groove Back. What all of these movies have in common is that by learning or rediscovering who they are through some sort of physical journey, their lives are forever changed for the positive. That sounds like the perfect way to spend a summer vacation to me. (And it doesn’t hurt that romance is involved in each of them, as well.)

I leave in the next few days, so my blog (and I’m hoping to have more time to devote to it) will make a slight shift from grieving and all that it entails, to my journey of self-discovery (or rediscovery).

I’m with Marilyn; finding myself is something I must do. Wish me well.

xoxo

Cheri G

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