Breaking Up, Letting Go and Moving On

Syndicated

"This is where I'm going to build and hang our sex swing," he said huskily while kissing my ear.

I looked at the warehouse I-beams above us. "Perfect," I replied. "After we make good use of it we can carry on with our strawberry-chocolate-wine picnic on the bed." I loved the dinners he planned for us.

He used to lift me up, toss me in the air, and catch me in crazy jiu-jitsu maneuvers when we made love every night and every morning. He was my tantric lover. He talked to me in physics. He fixed things and protected and supported me. He used to come to my door, always on time, always eager, always kind and serene. He used to look at me with the gentle ocean blue imagination of an inquisitive and mesmerized child -- one that gazed in awe at a butterfly finally breaking free of her cocoon. I suppose that's why I fell so madly in love with Carey. I saw the me I wanted to become in his eyes.

"You're this tremendous and magnificent puzzle," he said, one still night outside his parents' house. "I don't think I'll ever figure you out."

During our first Venice date on Abbott Kinney, I felt a current between us that I had never experienced with anyone else, not even Chance. Was it just chemicals and hormones? Was it inexplicable energetic harmony? Was he my twin flame?

Whatever Carey was, I knew that being with him would be life-changing. I knew that he was my home. All my journeys had led to him. Slowly, I realized we didn't live in that home together. Carey had responsibilities and idiosyncrasies that I didn't fully grasp until I was already neck-deep in the thick of no return. As time went on, I became insecure, and he became inconsiderate. I'm not sure which transgression happened first, not that it matters.

Being with Carey, and then not being with him forced me to take a good long look at myself. I didn't like what I saw. My reflection projected a young woman who had all of her dreams in front of her, while she clung to an old identity of self-doubt and self-deprecation wherever romantic matters were concerned. I forgot to leave my bags at the bus stop before I stepped up for the ride.

I remember sitting in my car one night and praying to the moon for the strength to let Carey go. We said we'd come back to each other after we'd worked through our individual issues, when there was more time and more space. After we broke up, we talked every day for seven months. (He still checks in on my from time to time.) I'm not sure why he didn't let me go. I know why I couldn't bring myself to sever the ties. I was holding fast to the pretend agreement we made, the one ensuring that someday we'd be together again. It wasn't until Carey told me that he was getting seriously involved with someone else that I disposed of that contract.

While Carey didn't turn out to be the home I'd been dreaming of for so long, I was right about one thing. Knowing him has been life-changing. I learned how to reeducate myself from him. I regained focus. I feel and look better than I have in years. I even built my own company. I'm different now. I see the world with new eyes, and so much of this transformation has happened as a result of my relationship with that man.

This is a beautiful thing, but such a tough act to follow, isn't it? How does the next suitor in a woman's presence ever measure up to the man who unwittingly catapulted her into changing her life?

My heart was dormant for most of winter and some of spring. I'd wake up, force myself to not look at Carey’s Facebook page, and run on the beach, missing him with every bead of sweat that dripped from my pores. Summer is here now, and I'm no long waiting in vain for someone's love.


Photo by Tim and Selena Middleton.

I've found enough love in myself, and the view is quite spectacular up here. Though I have to tell you, I'd like to share this time of legs dangling free and dancing on ice with my twin flame, my enlightened mirrored soul, complete and ready to reunite after years of incarnating through oceans and flames of treacherous time.

I’d also like to mention the fact that I've been sexless in Los Angeles for longer than any red-blooded woman should have to endure.

Enter: New Crush Matthew

Matthew is an art director at the film studio we were using while the main one where we would produce the show was being built. He's artsy and handy. He's always building and fixing things. And he's sexy as hell -- not my type -- but sexy as hell. When we first met he didn't even look at me, or so I thought. Then one day, we started talking and I fell in like with his masculine, disarming, and tenderhearted ways. I grew excited to see him everyday at work, and I figured that since the studio was finished being built, we'd no longer be coworkers. For once, time was on my side.

"I love how smart you are," he said one hot afternoon on the balcony of our Hollywood studio. "I love a lot of things about you." His gleaming eyes glassed over, and his open spirit pulled me into a vortex of new dreams.

One evening, he called to invite me to a volleyball tournament he was scheduled to play in the next day on the beach. We spent the day together soaking up the sun, playing in the water, and laughing with his friends. We held hands, and I longed to lie in his arms. But it wasn’t the time, wasn’t the place.

Then suddenly out of the blue, Matthew began spilling his sad story. You know, the tale of heartbreak and drama we all over share when we haven’t quite detached ourselves from it all.

"I'm not really in a place where I can dive into anything serious right now," he said after eight hours of sexual tension had mounted between us. "I want to be with you, but I also want to let you know where I am. I haven't been able to stop thinking about you since we met."

"I appreciate your honesty," I replied. "I want you to know that there's nothing casual about me. I wish things were different. Maybe they will be someday. Until then, we should work on being just friends."

And then I drove home and BBQ'd with my girlfriends.

Nine months ago, I wouldn’t have even entertained the idea of being with Matthew. Two years ago, I would have done everything in my power to convince him that he's healthy enough to consider starting a new relationship. I would have done more than returned the deep lingering kiss we exchanged as the sun started to set at the beach that day. But I did none of that, because I am no longer my sad stories. I'm no longer ruled by heartbreak and inappropriate relationships with men who aren't capable of giving me what I want and need.

I want my twin flame. I need a new tantric lover. I want to share my transformation.

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