The "Date" Is Coming - 10-24-08

When It’s Just Lunch first called last week, one of the most immediate thoughts I had was a fear of regressing. I had gained so much with the Secret over the last 9 months, but I didn’t want to risk losing that when surrounded again by dating and all that has always entailed for me. But then I determined that I had to be changed enough to withstand that risk and emerge whole.

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And I find that while the old thoughts dart back to me as I count down the days to my first date with my first It’s Just Lunch match, I am able, for the first time ever, to access the hope and peace of the future I am drawing into my reality. I am able to hold open the window to the fresh air and blow away the cobwebs that creep back to me. True, I find I have to do this repeatedly, but I am able to. It takes very little effort to call back the vision, the feeling, of being with the One, dating him, being out on a date with him. With the One I was meant for, who was meant for me, it feels so easy and natural. I feel for the first time like I understand how to date, because I’m dating him. All questions are either answered or unimportant. I picture in my head and heart the glorious, quiet feeling of being totally comfortable. I don’t have to do anything, or at least it feels that way. He takes care of everything. I don’t have to balance myself, always thinking in the back of my mind that I have to be careful of the signals I give him so I don’t unduly encourage him in my efforts to keep the talk flowing and keep the atmosphere from being awkward. I don’t have to manage the conversation to keep the topics coming. When I’m on a date with my perfect mate, the man who was destined for me, I just have so much fun. It’s never boring, and I can just be me. With him, I can feel what I feel when I feel it, and show it freely. I am free and natural and happy and balanced.

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So I am able to keep this vision in my mind as I anticipate this date. If he is the One, well, I don’t need to explain how I’ll feel. And if he isn’t, no biggie. I will know at the absence of feeling that the One is one step closer in line to me.

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He is the one I picture, the One I hold to, because he is the one on his way to me. I am calling him. Of all men in the world, he is the only one with this strange, vague compulsion urging him forward, like he is drifting down a long dark tunnel towards the light but doesn’t yet realize I’m the one at the end of it. He is coming. He is coming. He is coming.

Visualization Entry - So This Is What It's Like... - 10-23-08

So this is what it’s like to be in love. Wow. That’s really all I can say, and that still doesn’t even begin to cover it. My mind zings all the time. It’s downright surreal to feel and say all the things I have heard from everyone else all my life. It really is my time now. It seems I begin every other thought in my head with “So this is what it feels like to . . .”

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It’s all new and irresistibly glorious. It’s like I sometimes can’t physically contain the reactions; I sometimes think a heart valve will become overworked and burst like a water main under the onslaught of reactions. My reaction to the phone ringing, to his email address on my computer, to the sound of the doorbell, to the sound of his car engine turning off, to the unexpected touch of his fingers on mine. My heartbeat used to be so regular, but now it’s a pattern of randomness. Constant sudden flares of heat burst out in radiating waves from my heart at every sound of his voice and every touch of his hand.

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I am loved, my heart sings. I am loved. I am loved. This man who makes me shiver with all his many perfections, with the full complement of lovely qualities that so exceeds any other man’s, this man who commands the attention, respect, and interest of everyone in the room, loves me.

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And this man is head over heels in love, too. I am constantly amazed by all the times and ways he seeks my notice. I just can’t seem to wrap my brain around the constancy of it: he is just as fascinated with me as I am by him. He doesn’t lose interest. There never comes a point when we’re together when I feel instinctively that I need to hold back, that I need to edit my single-minded passion and need for him. There is no possibility of rejection. Because he is mine, because he was made for me and only me, because he was the one man to hear and respond to my song, he is then the only man who can draw out of me all I have saved and am capable of. It’s so freeing! I never knew what it was like, to be totally yourself, to loose your passion on someone and know with absolute certainty that they will match you, heat for heat. I don’t worry that I need to be careful or he will discover I am a little too different, or I am not quite what he bargained for. He loves it, can’t get enough, always seems hungry for more of me.

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The world has exploded, busted out of the neat mold I had made of it. Colors and sounds have sidestepped their familiar boundaries and have splashed me every moment I’m awake with a spangled intensity. Whenever he is with me, all is well with the world. When he is not with me, I still carry around the silken armor layered over me by his love. All has changed. All is different, better, brighter, richer, wilder. The only thing that reconciles me to the ending of the moment I’m in is the immediate prospect of the next moment.

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So many times in my lonely life I wondered if any love, any relationship, could be worth all the years, all the missed experiences, all the lost opportunities. Could any love be fantastic enough to compensate for all the lost time? And the answer is yes! Yes, yes, and yes. So many benefits I am gleaning from all those years when the only one to invest in was myself. Because we were both mature adults when we met, we don’t fight like we would have done when we were younger. No festering resentment or simmering anger. We are both so comfortable in our own skin, confident of our choice in each other, and more knowledgeable of how to deal with people and situations, that we can let things go, pick our battles, and address important issues calmly and respectfully. And because we both waited so long for each other, we don’t easily lose sight of that over some petty annoyance. I am glad I waited for so long for him – it makes the having not only sweeter but more harmonious. I always thought healthy relationships necessarily encompassed fights, but it doesn’t have to be fights. It doesn’t have to be that unbalancing or violent. We both make a concentrated, consistent effort to appreciate each other and be considerate of each other, so disagreements, arguments, and annoyances tend to work themselves out calmly.

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And it’s hard to stay mad at him when I look over and see his strong throat I want to kiss, or his relaxed hand that can be so gentle, or that mouth that looks so lonely in our disagreement. I just don’t like being mad at him. I waited so long for him, for him specifically even though I never knew it was him I was waiting for, that I don’t want to waste one unnecessary minute being angry with him. And when he hurts my feelings, I see the whole of him – always so gentle and considerate and loving and solicitous and generous –and I know he doesn’t mean to.

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It just boggles my mind that I have him. I get to keep him. I get to spend eternity with this stunningly delicious person. My toes curl with pleasure at the thought. He’s gotten used to seeing me lost in my thoughts with a forgotten smile on my face. He knows how much I love him. And respect him. He is such an admirable man. Girls do tend to gravitate toward men like their fathers, so it is a really good thing I have such a father, so I could have such a man. My man is such a happy, full combination of qualities that he stands out as a god among men. I about snap my buttons with pride. My chest swells when I observe him. Smart, gentlemanly, kind, assertive, sociable, gracious, funny, witty, clever, irreverent, wise. And he’s mine. He is mine.

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When he touches me, I can’t get over the sensation. A lifetime of quite simply a void of human contact outside my parents makes for a heightened awareness, a sensitivity to all the elements of that sensation of touch that no one else could guess at. The whisper-quiet slide of his big, warm hand over my skin, the heat and movement of his breath on my body when he is close. The feel of his skin beneath my palm. The rougher texture of his stubbled face, the silky yet tougher texture of his skin. I always was aware of how powder-soft my skin was, but I am struck anew by it now that I can feel his skin. And yet his skin is so delicious to me. The taste of it, the especial yield of it under my lips. It’s just so fun to touch him! I never want to stop!

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And I’m so beautiful to him. He can’t keep his hands off me, either. We are constantly touching, whether from passion, familiarity, or comfort. And it makes me shiver with pleasure when he rumbles softly in my ear how soft I am, how irresistible I am, how delicate I am. And I’m surrounded by his strength, his height, his breadth. He’s all around me. I get dizzy by how much of him there is when for the whole of my life it was just me. Small, female me. I only knew my body, my size, my skin. And then he came along and startled me and warmed me with his sheer masculinity. I love it. I don’t believe I’ll ever get used to it. It’ll probably take another thirty years just to expect it. As it is, I always notice our differences and love the freedom I feel to revel in the differences, no intimidation to be found.

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We are so alike, but his differences from me make me feel so safe, so treasured. Oh, he is a wonder. I marvel at him. He thinks he is an ordinary man, but he is never that. He is my every dream, my greatest passion.

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So this is what it feels like . . .

Visualization Entries - My "It's Just Lunch" Date - 10-23-08

Scenario #1

I went on my date with my It’s Just Lunch match and it was so great! Oh, my God! I really had no idea how enjoyable a “date” could be. It was almost in an odd way relaxing. I was totally comfortable, just myself, and I had no fear. There was not a stitch of worry about expectations or next steps or anything. I was just there getting to know this man. It was really that simple. I went there with a positive, fearless mindset, and found to my delight – but not surprise – that it felt so simple and organic. The entire time, I was interested in getting to know this person and seeing if I would be interested in going out again to learn more. “The next step” that always had me so nervous has been revealed to me to be the man behind the curtain: nothing more than what it is – a phone call, a conversation.

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And one of the big chains that has fallen off is that I don’t have to worry about it not working out. Even if I found I was no longer interested, that is not a failure. That is totally natural and only helping me narrow down the playing field. But the glorious thing is that I didn’t feel like that. I didn’t feel disinterested. Rather, I am eager for him to call. He was just so cool and easy-going but he was so interesting to talk to. He really kept up his end of the conversation. And I left the date feeling as if there was still so much I hadn’t learned about him that I really wanted another date to find out more. He is just so interesting. And he made me feel so comfortable. Man, if dating can be this much fun, and waiting for a phone call this calm, I’ve been missing out!

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Scenario #2

I had my date with my It’s Just Lunch match, and oh, my goodness. Is it too early to say I might be in love? I can’t stop smiling. One date! I know! But I can’t help thinking the words. I can’t stop thinking about him. There’s not a whit of nerves when I think about him. Just this pervasive sense of peace and naturalness, as if an egg got broken and out spills happiness instead of a yolk.

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He was so interesting. The whole time I found myself just fascinated by every word out of his mouth. And I felt just as interesting.

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And he struck me as such a gentleman. There was something in his eyes as he was looking at me and talking that made me feel so safe. It was a remarkable feeling. Even on good dates, no man who was that much of a stranger still to me ever made me feel safe. Ever protected me from my own anxieties and wonderings and hesitant predictions. But all that was so much mist before the sun when I was sitting across from him. I had the very distinct thought at one point, “Oh, wouldn’t it be wonderful if he was the One for me?” I’ve never thought that about any man without anxiety accompanying it that if he is the One, he might not meet up to my wishes and expectations. But this time I thought it with perfect serenity.

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And probably the most amazing thing about the whole experience was at the end. It was that typical good-night kiss that I’ve done out of an odd sense of duty before, but duty was the farthest thing from my mind. I was actually wanting him to before we even reached that point! Amazing! And it was so . . . natural. That’s the word for it. It threw into stark contrast all those other touches and kisses I endured. I felt somewhere within me a sigh when our lips touched and I just felt . . . good. Just good. Nothing more complicated than that, which is wonderful. No word so simple ever made anyone’s heart sing. Nothing could be better than “good” when you’ve never known “good” before. Oh, God, I hope he calls!

I Didn't Get the Job - 10-20-08

I didn’t get the job. I found out during resource today. I was in shock at first. The immediate thoughts in my mind were as follows: How can I handle It’s Just Lunch now, when I’m crushed? How can this be, after doing everything I could to draw TowneBank’s management training program to me? Does this mean I’m stuck at Newsome Park for the whole year? What does this mean? And the thought I would not entertain till I was done with my day or I would never have gotten through the rest of it: Do I now truly have to start another job search and deal with interviews and résumés and job fairs and career services all over again? When I finally did get in the car at 4:15, that last thought was the most horrifying, dragging out the most despairing sobs.

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And there was another thought that skipped through my beleaguered mind: I had thought that last night would have made a difference. Let me explain.

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Last night, for no apparent good reason outside of idle curiosity, I picked up some old journals and read a couple of the entries, all dated summer, five years ago. I was smack dab in the middle of my Master’s program for teaching and with practicum still a fresh horror in my memory, I was feeling stuck. I couldn’t see myself going through with teaching but I had nowhere else to go. What else was I to do?

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Along with that fear of a real life at last being one I abhorred, I was also dealing with my spiritual status. I had been back with God for two years, since giving up the ghost, so to speak, of my unchecked imaginings, and was all about church and the Bible and so anxious about doing God’s work. I was living at home still and feeling trapped by that even as I was feeling apprehensive about carving out a whole real life for myself for which I would be accountable. The circumstances of my life at the time were not pleasant for me, but what really struck me about that time was ME. The me I used to be who was spewing out such angst and anger and frustration and longing struck me as so young. So immature. And though that person at that time had been made a woman through the fire of grief and pain, she still was yet so untempered. That girl – for I cannot quite call her a woman, despite her trials – had not yet held a job, started a career, or maintained her own home. She had not embraced friends or known how to handle imperfect people with equanimity. She had learned a lot about herself and her limits through what God had worked in her since she laid down her harmless-seeming madnesses, but she had not yet learned about self-confidence and the strength to admit her true desires.

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And as I sat in bed reading these journal entries, I was aware of a sort of breaking open, a breaking free within me, whereby I was able, for the first time, to really see my life through clear eyes. The scales fell off and I saw what I had been trying to see for the Secret for some time now: I was grateful for my life. It was no longer any litany, empty words I had to recite to myself. No “fake it till you make it.” No, I could finally see what my misery these last weeks had blinded me to. As difficult as my days had been lately. I had a real life. This is a real life I’m living. I am standing on this particular, unique spot on earth, enclosed by these walls of my home. The home I bought with my own money and my own merit. I live in this beautiful home because of choices I made in my life. And I learned so much about life and people and myself because of this job. This job which had become a crown of thorns bestowed on me so many blessings. And me! I was the thing I was most grateful for after reading those entries. It was right that I never feared aging, but rather welcomed it with open arms. While friends of mine were hyperventilating at 20 about wrinkles, I sighed at the prospect of wisdom, serenity, peace, confidence, strength. I looked forward to all those things you earn with age that no amount of youth can teach you. And the me in those journal entries was yet so unstable. She was so angst-ridden and consumed with pleasing others. She couldn’t stop herself from whittling God down to a few frustratingly distant, cold platitudes as she tried desperately to please him, to be the best Christian woman she could be. And I love the me I am now. I may not be perfect, but my life as a general rule (these last few weeks notwithstanding) is not ruled by dread. I know who I am and what I want and I can stand, uncringing, for both. I have a real life for which I am accountable. And this job is part of it. I may be ready for a change, but I can wake up every morning, and get ready in my beautiful vanity, and drive in my lovely, reliable car to a job I know well and can do. I earn a paycheck that maintains my model-beautiful home. This is a real life and I stride into it every day knowing exactly who I am, even on those days when I’m bent over with stress. Such lessons I have learned in the intervening five years since these entries, and some of the most important of them I have learned at my job. And I was gripped with such a gratitude! A gratitude for this good, real life. I went for my run, straight for the night-lit water as on every other night, and everything looked different to me. I was a little star-struck by my peace and happiness. And I came home and thought if I just knew I had the job, I could do this teaching thing for longer than the two weeks’ notice I was begrudgingly ready to give. And I got dressed today in very sharp clothes and accessories, standing tall, and ready for my day.

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So it is not incomprehensible that when I got the news this afternoon that I in fact did not get the job, I was, beneath the shock and crushing disappointment, confused. How could this have happened? Was last night not evidence that I had more perfectly aligned myself with the Secret? Had I not finally unlocked the full measure of gratitude within my heart for a life I had struggled to find worthy anymore? Was I not in the most serendipitous place in my life for lightning to strike? How could everything have fallen apart? I felt so stupid, so foolish for all the measures I had taken to draw TowneBank to me, even as I knew all the way through me that it was not all for naught. But how was I to pick up these pieces? It seemed to me that just when I had found a way to go on, the rug had been pulled out from under me, and that it had been happening like that so many times since I had decided I wanted to leave this job.

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Then Dad invited me out for a Daddy-Daughter dinner to share some “thoughts” he had on the subject since he heard the news, I agreed but I thought, oh, please don’t let his thoughts be a new game plan, some tips on my forthcoming job search. Let the burn ease first! I drove home and as soon as I got in the car, let the tears flow. Groaning sobs that curled me over the steering wheel. I still don’t quite know how I managed to avoid a wreck. But what a found interesting as the tears fell and slowly subsided was that I wasn’t wallowing. I was ready for whenever I was done with them so I could get back on track. I thought, let’s be done with these tears before the commute ends so I don’t have to cry all over Dad again. I knew I had to cry, but I was going to recover as soon as I could so I could resume drawing the life I wanted to me. I wasn’t sure what that would look like now that this thing I had been counting on so desperately had splintered away, but I was going to figure it out. And when Dad showed up at my door, I was remarkably composed.

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The thoughts he shared with me were nothing like I expected. Rather than brainstorming with me on a new game plan, he showed that he had been considering the patterns in this whole life of mine that is unfolding. He believed that the timing of all this was too close to be coincidental. I hadn’t even gotten near the point of considering the timing. He pointed out that the next business day after deciding that It’s Just Lunch was a sign, I get news that TowneBank doesn’t want me. His interpretation of that is that I have already decided what I really want, and it’s not an outside job. It’s not TowneBank. And I had to admit I didn’t want TowneBank for its own sake. I wanted it as an escape from this job and as a sort of placeholder until my real life started, that real life being my roles as a wife and mother. And Dad thought that maybe it was really the universe bringing me what I want. The management training program was going to run 15 or 16 months before segueing into the actual management position for which I will have been training. And learning not only a new job but a new profession would have necessarily taken my focus from what I really wanted. I had thought this before but had been so desperate to get out of my current situation that I couldn’t let that influence me. But I thought back while I was talking with Dad on all those times I never put into words when I thought on the commitment I was ready to give to TownBank’s training program. And every time I thought of it, I thought to myself of all those months, will I have to wait that long to be home with my family? I didn’t want to wait two years for that dream. Through our conversation, I came to realize Dad was right. Wisdom was dripping form his lips.

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And that threw a whole new light, a refreshed perspective, on last night’s revelation. Yes, I did come into a more perfect alignment with the universe by finally feeling the gratitude for the life and job I have. And yes, that did yield some benefits to my pursuit of my dream: after all these months of waiting with no word, it was as if the next step was waiting for me to decide on It’s Just Lunch and to feel truly grateful for this life. As soon as I did, my dream got another jumpstart. And now, I am even happier and more at peace than I was last night or this morning. My friends won’t know what to make of it! They were quietly commiserating with me this afternoon and now I’ll be walking in with a smile on my face and dawning love in my heart.

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My life is coming!

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And I won’t have to put in my résumé for it.

My Plan - 10-19-08

Here’s my plan. This is what I want to happen. Per my declaration last January, that winter is the last I ever spend alone. This winter is creeping up and I will meet my perfect mate at the first cold snap, so by deep winter I am past the introduction stage and I am not alone. I see no reason, once I’m in love and know that this is the man of my dreams, to date for years and be engaged for years after that. I am of an age where I know myself well enough, and what I want well enough, that a few months should do it before an engagement. I am attracting a man who knows what he wants as well as I know what I want. A man who is ready for marriage and a family now, as I am. So by next summer, I will be engaged. And by the end of 2009, I will be married. 2009 is my year. And by the following summer, two years from now, I will be pregnant. That is my plan.

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I was always as suspicious of life plans as I was irresistibly compelled to make them. I came to the conclusion that they never worked out. They always changed. And given what I always knew of the short-sighted frailty of humans, it didn’t seem so surprising. After all, human-made plans are like setting a path at night in a storm – you have no idea exactly where you’ll end up or what you’ll encounter along the way.

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So why do I so boldly make this plan now? What has changed my conviction so drastically that I give no thought to my plan going awry? Simply this. I want my husband and my children more than anything else in the world. I want them. I claim them, draw them straight out of the ether. With every day that passes, I feel myself more harmoniously aligned with “God” and “the universe,” humbled and malleable. It is by doing both of these things – aligning oneself with the universe, or God’s plan, and focusing all one’s energy on the desires of one’s heart – that one can attain that much-desired future. And I make this plan, singing it boldly out into the universe, because I now believe I can. That I have the right and the power. I want these things and I’m done waiting. That life is mine. It is mine now. On some parallel reality, I have already come into that future. I am there. Anything to do with teaching and schools and report cards is a memory. I am home with my family. I have someone else’s breathing in the house. My belly is swelling with my firstborn. I am full and loved and happy. I am surrounded by family and friends. I am beautiful and glowing with health and happiness. I am part of a unit, no longer floating alone. I am slender with beautiful skin that begs to be touched. This is my life. And it is being birthed into my current reality, slowly squeezing from that parallel reality into this one.

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And what is really intriguing is the timing. When I was going through my grief, my period of mourning all those years ago, I was so clouded over with my own misery and anguish that I missed a great deal of what was happening around me, but one thing that would occasionally poke me sharply enough that I would drag my drugged attention around to it was the timing. I broke truly on the 49^th day of my grief, on the 7^th 7^th day. 7 is the number of completion, as 5 is the number of grace and 6 is the number for evil (catechism, Catholic or not, drifts back to you at the oddest times). And my grief ended up lasting 9 months, from August 2001 to May 2002. one day, it just broke like a fever. No more fanfare accompanying it than came with the onset of my grief. It was simply as if the hard, raking sobs of the last 9 months has ceased and I was now left to pick up the pieces of the destruction of my opiated happiness. I shifted by some power outside of my own, for I had none left, from a ripping agony, the constricted breathing of pain day in, day out, to a pervasive yet calmer sadness. The madness of my influx of sanity had eased and settled into the wet, clear vision one gets after a storm of tears. Seven sevens. 49^th day. The worst of all those months, the day I cried out to God to show me a reason to stay on this earth so I wouldn’t take a razor to my wrists in a hot bath. And 9 months until the grief was over and I was on the path to being a recognizable human. And it occurred to me that May morning when I woke up and brushed my teeth and drifted to the kitchen table of my parents’ house, that it was as if these 9 months of grief was a gestation period, as if when the time had reached its fullness, the thing that had been growing and festering in my belly turned out to be a real life. I thought then, and think still, that it was significant: 9 months. It was truly like the verse in Isaiah that says does God bring you to the point of birth and not bring forth? It could have been 7 months, or 12, but it was 9.

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And it occurred to me yesterday as I determined that It’s Just Lunch was not out of the blue, that it has been another 9 months. It was the third week of January that I picked up the book of the Secret out of nothing more than resigned obligation to the promise. I’d made to my parents that I would read it. It is now starting the third week of October and things are changing, the force behind events shifting into a new, purposeful urgency. 9 months. It was as if that third week of January, the seed was planted within me and through all the doubts and discussion and truth-seeking of these months it grew, and now it is being brought to birth. It is time.

There Is a Man For Me - 10-19-08

There is a man out there who is for me. Soul mates is not a fantasy. Say what you will, relentlessly practical people of the world, there would not be so much written and painted and said and sung about true love if it was all merely the mechanism of someone’s mind whirring away. It is real. And since it is a vital, inextricable part of me, one I can neither change nor expel, the Secret must work with it. I want a soul mate, I have only ever envisioned it, it must be my reality. As within, so without. If I was a person who expected only to find a compatible partner with whom I could be happy for the rest of my life, then that would come to me. But there is nothing wrong with wanting passion and wonder that doesn’t age.

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I want it. It is the desire of my heart. The law of attraction dictates I should be able to attract that which I want and focus on with all my heart. The Bible says God will grant you the desire of your heart, and it is only a true desire of your heart that warrants such stamina and energy. So here is the desire of my heart. All of it, unabridged:

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I am drawing my lover to me. He is here, right now, on earth, being readied as I am. His soul is hearing my unending siren song and he finds himself inexplicably drawn in a certain direction. When I meet him, however it is supposed to happen, he will see me and the lines of me, the look in my eyes, the sound of my voice, something, something will compel him to stay, to draw closer. It will not be long before he knows he wants to see me again. I will be in his thoughts, and he will be such a man to make me comfortable with that prospect. I will draw him in, but he will fill me with a sense of comfort and safety. I will want him to think on me. I will want him to call me. And he will be confident and creative enough that he will decide where we go on a date. I don’t have to lift a finger. I won’t need to manage him or us. And he will take me on interesting, creative, fun, unusual dates.

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When we’re together, the gates break open and we never lack for topics to discuss. We will have rich, interesting conversations. He will make me feel delicate and beautiful. And he will make me want to touch him. The physical line blurs into a non-issue. I will be so comfortable with him that I can focus on how nice it is for me to touch and be touched, and not what signal I’m sending out or how he will interpret it. This man will be so easy to be with. The entire time I’m with him, I will be easy and happy and not realize until after it’s over that I never had a single anxious, analytical thought. I don’t have to worry about impressing him and more importantly, he never gives me the impression that he is trying too hard to impress me. I will always get the vibe that he is more natural, confident, and easy-going than any man I’ve known and I am impressed without undue effort on his part. He can just be himself with me. We truly are like old friends.

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And when that time comes when he kisses me, it will be wonderful. Because he is at last the right one for me, my perfect match, that first kiss will be a species apart from other kisses and touches. My heart will soar, and my brain will light up the understanding – so this is what it’s supposed to be like. This is what centuries of poems and songs have been clamoring about. I will finally understand. He will finally make me feel.

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That will be the sign that he is the One: he makes me feel. All those years feeling like I’m stuck behind a glass wall will be done. All my murky numbness that made me wonder so many times if there was something wrong with me will dissolve. And all the passion I knew was in me, locked up and dormant, frustrated with no outlet, will finally come out. And his touches, from the first innocent hand holding mine, will finally warm me, will thaw out the frozen desire no man had ever been able to crack. It will seem to my dazed mind that all the romance novels have suddenly spilled into reality. All those goofy, ridiculous thoughts that no woman nowadays would ever dare to admit, even to herself, will be proven to have had a purpose. He will make me feel all these things. I will feel a little shaken at the utter destruction of thirty years of stillness, boulders thrown into a virgin pond, ripples curling outward where there had never been movement. And above all other thoughts and wonderings and considerations will be the wonder that it all feels so natural. I will want to see him again, no awkwardness or questioning to be done. It will strike me as so easy. Why would it be otherwise – the clicking together of two pieces? It would only ever bring a sigh of relief, an unclenching, to have finally the other half of me that would make me whole. No other man could have given me that. But this one. This one’s special.

The Way to The One? - 10-18-08

I did say it. All those months ago, when I first started using the Secret last January, when I had only the book Mom and Dad gave me for Christmas in a last desperate effort to give me hope, and I would go for runs with my “Wistful” mix on my iPod and my breath would frost in the frigid air and my fingers would freeze, and I was exploding with hope and a blazing vision of finding my mate after so many months of dark hopelessness – all that long time ago, I did say it. With conviction, with hope, with joy: “This is the last winter I will spend alone.” I thought to myself in my sobering reflection of the lonely years of my life that I wasn’t going to stand for it any more. No more cold with only my own heat to warm me, no more holidays with only three people to cook for, no more redolent, evocative scents of autumn and winter to arouse my soft joy with nowhere for it to go. I determined it and threw my newfound, untried, blissful faith into that determination.

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But I have considered, furtively, hoping to get away with these thoughts, that the dark moments I’ve had in the intervening months, those periods when I despaired of ever meeting the One, when my own faith was revealed to be the earnest yet faulty thing it is – if I was counteracting that determination to spend no more winters alone. I couldn’t help but wonder if my focus has split or if my joy and faith weren’t enough, but then I would wonder if all the times when I did believe was enough to take the hits.

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Time will tell, but I’m inclined to answer, “yes.”

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It is the middle of October now and I had just over the last couple of weeks begun to wonder, in spite of my faith, how that determination would come to pass. Time was a-wastin’, and I was still no closer in manifest reality to meeting my mate. It is not my job to worry about how my future will happen only to believe with unwavering faith that it will. But I am only human, and an admittedly analytical one at that. So the question was there.

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Well, ask and ye shall receive. My mother had mentioned It’s Just Lunch a couple of times over the last few weeks and I had always shrugged her off. I thought It’s Just Lunch couldn’t possibly be the vehicle of the future. That wasn’t inspired action, that wasn’t easy and harmonious. That was a cut with lemon juice on it, that was a blister that wouldn’t ease. And I thought I would meet my mate at my new corporate, non-female-dominated job, with loads of context to make getting to know someone easier. So I didn’t give her suggestion another thought.

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Until last Tuesday, Life always blindsides you on a Tuesday afternoon, doesn’t it? I got a call out of the blue from It’s Just Lunch. They’ve called a couple of times since I put my account on hold two Junes ago, but once a year had passed, I assumed the membership was void and I was rid of the thing, and good riddance. So when they called because they had happened upon my file, I was merely annoyed. When will I be rid of them, for heaven’s sake? was all I was thinking. I politely but quickly refused renewal of my membership, and promptly forgot about it until later that night when it occurred to me that this could be the answer I’d been looking for. And felt my stomach drop into my shoes. Surely not, I thought. Was there no other way? What kind of sick cosmic joke was this?

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What I really wanted was to talk to someone who knew if this was the path I should take, but anyone I talked to I knew would say yes just because they thought I needed to do something. “For heaven’s sake, Nicole, just do it. Do anything!” And that wasn’t the insight I needed. I wanted God to give me a sign. I may have been humbled and more malleable in his hands than ever before, but if I was going to go back into that particular foxhole, I was going to need something more to go on.

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And then I had my hair appointment with Stephanie Duggan, who is like my monthly mentor. I swear, the girl has a standing invitation to my wedding. By the end of our appointment, I had found the perspective I was looking for and had perfect peace about calling It’s Just Lunch back and saying, “Hell, yeah.” Here’s a synopsis:

· The real anxiety when I rejected It’s Just Lunch out of hand was the virginity issue. I automatically anticipated the awkward disappointment of turning a guy off before too many dates because he would inevitably incorrectly interpret my slow pace as either frigidity or disinterest. And, as Stephanie pointed out, I’m going into it anticipating that one thing and so I’m putting out a lot of negative energy. I need to focus on anticipating a man who is cool and on the same page, who is respectful and old-fashioned, who has no problem with me needing more commitment before I get more physical. And I can just say, when or even if that point comes, “I’m just not ready for that yet. I need a little more commitment before I go there.” There is someone out there who believes as I do, and who is looking for a girl like me. Who wants a wife to have those particular morals.

· A perspective I had never had before which I now hold to is that God did put scales on all men’s eyes when they looked at me. And even if they looked and liked what they saw, there was no response in me. I had taken each of those lackluster dates or failed-to-launch relationships as evidence of something wrong with me or something wrong with them or proof that I was just too different to have a match in any man I would meet. I saw it as a failure, a negative thing that only made it harder to keep looking. But even though I’ve been told it’s a harmful myth that there is only one person meant for you, only one person with whom you could be happy, I have never, never been able to excise the belief that there is only one person out there for me. So if there is only one man out there like me, who can satisfy me, who can understand me, then how could I not have a lot of experiences where “it didn’t work out” or “I didn’t feel a connection”? If only one experience was going to work out? So that throws my whole dating experience in an entirely different light. Maybe eHarmoney and the bar scene and It’s Just Lunch didn’t work out, for whatever reason, because he wasn’t there yet. What if he’s there now and that’s why It’s Just Lunch called, long after my membership hold expired?

· I have felt for some time now that meeting my perfect mate is right around the corner, that I am on the cusp of my longed-for future. And maybe it has finally come.

· I worried about regressing to my old, nervous, ragged, hopeless self if I dived back into traditional dating – the me I was before the Secret. And I didn’t want to lose all that I had gained, all that I had learned about me and life and hope from the Secret. But I am too changed to go backwards that far. I know too much. I have too clear a picture now in my head of being with the love of my life, someone who cherishes what I uniquely have to give. I can visualize with remarkably little effort going on a date and making the connection and going from there. I am different, so my experience in this unchanged situation must be different as well.

· I have done everything I’m supposed to do, with feeling happy and hopeful on top of it all, to bring my mate to me. I have used half of my closet and dresser drawers, leaving room for my mate’s things, I sleep on one side of the bed, leaving room for him, I have written out a detailed list of the qualities I want in a man. And above all, and most powerfully of all, I have begun writing detailed accounts of my life as I wish it. Those are so powerful, it’s like looking through a window into that life. I have done everything I can, I have taken every suggestion, done everything I can think of to have the feelings of having it now. It has to work. It’s too coincidental and I believe God is too much in control for this to be some random fluke that goes nowhere. As it says in the Bible, does God bring you to the point of labor and not bring to birth? All of this, all of these efforts that I’ve invested for months into my future have to work. They have to yield something grand. It would go against the law of attraction and the law of God if it didn’t. and it occurs to me for the first time, as I write this, that those journal entries of my life as it will be only started a little over a week before that call came. Coincidence? I think not! I am powerfully drawing him to me. He doesn’t know why he is doing things he’s doing, or why certain things are happening the way they’re happening, but it’s all because I am singing him to me. He’s searching for me and he will find me although he doesn’t yet know quite how or when. But he feels as I do, that it will be soon.