But wait… Why wasn’t I the one? What the hell was wrong with me? I... I gave him a party. I kissed him. Now, he was showing me charts and graphs, handouts and... PowerPoint... thingies... for another woman. I felt sick. Another kind of sick. A different sick from the sick I was sick before. I held it together though, told him to dress nice but casual, bring her to his place, serve her wine and some nice food. He would feel more comfortable on his turf. He agreed. He packed his things and started to leave. I was livid. I wanted to smack him and then, at the door he stopped, turned to me and made it all better.
He said that he had never had a friend like me. He said that, if he hadn’t met me he never, ever would have had the courage to finally ask out Hilary, the girl who the charts and graphs were for. I thanked him and then, he took my hand and said that he had tried, he had tried for a whole week to make the math of us work. He tried every configuration but, in the end, he had to admit that we just didn’t add up.
“It was the first time I ever hated math,” he said and I almost cried. He left. Two days later, he gave his presentation and... it was a stunning success.
There’s someone for everyone. It had been mathematically proven.
***
There is a danger in saying things like that. An even greater danger in believing things like that. If you say to someone, to make them feel better, to give them hope or simply just to shut their noise and stop their complaining, that there is someone for everyone, they may actually believe it. And once they believe it, they spend their lives waiting for it, looking for it. When it doesn’t come, when all around them they see others finding their “one” and yet they continue to go home alone, eat alone, sleep alone, drink alone... They can start to feel that there is something wrong with them.
Oh, who am I kidding, all this “they” and “them” and “their” just scratch that... replace it with me. I believed, for the longest time, that there was someone for everyone and that meant there was someone for me. I started to think I was owed this... this divine gift, this promised man. Moses, lead me to the promised man! The Lord has sent us these ten condoms, use them wisely.
I was angry that he wasn’t showing up. I was deeply disappointed when date after date turned into nothing. I was hanging all my expectations, all my future happiness, on each time a guy opened the door for me, or picked up a check. I compromised myself to appear better, more worthy, more... what? I don’t know. I do know that if I had half the orgasms I faked...
Well, the point being, I faked a lot because... Because I thought that would bring me the one. Because if I was responsive and easy to please in bed, I would find the one. Counterintuitive, sure. Desperate, sure. Pathetic and sad, sure. I freely admit all of that, but, what else could I do? I wanted my someone. I had completely given over my true self because somewhere at some point in my life, probably as a little girl, probably by a well-meaning family member or TV doctor, I was told there is someone for everyone and I drank that cup of Kool-Aid and waited for the results.
One October morning, broccoli and cheese omelet, side of bacon, cup of coffee... I stopped. I finally, fully, completely stopped. My dear friend, Karen, walked into the corner joint, the Windsor Diner, where I was having breakfast that lovely, clear, crisp, October morning, and she was with a man. They had the tussled look of lovers who had spent the morning in bed and decided to go out, get coffee, without showering or changing into new day clothes. They held hands and giggled at each other. They brimmed with the confidence of lovers together daring the world to see them as they were, to realize they smelled of sex.
Let me explain this: When I say ‘my dear friend’ what I mean is, Karen is a woman I worked with who drove me to the edge of reason and sanity every single day, whom I would liked nothing more than to staple her face shut, who is dumber than a bag of clams, but, who means well, tries hard and truly hurts no one. She was just the fingernails on the chalkboard of my life. She is a dear woman who is just unaware. Also, and I say this with all kindness, she wasn’t that interesting. But there she was, cooing and nuzzling with a good-looking man. I watched them. I ignored my omelet, which was astounding because, I don’t know if you’ve ever had a broccoli cheese omelet at Windsor Diner, but, they are not to be ignored. Really. I once saw a man try to ignore one and the omelette got up from the plate, poured hot coffee into the guy’s lap, threw the orange slice garnish at his face and screamed, eat me you bastard. I may have been tripping my brains out at the time but, that’s beside the point.
What is the point is that Karen’s arrival with what was obviously her new boyfriend caused me to ignore my omelet. She saw me, waved and then, once they had retrieved their coffee and croissants… Seriously, what is it about new love that makes people want to eat French pastry for breakfast? I swear the whole croissant craze was fueled by Tom Hanks and Meg Ryan romantic comedy movies. She brought her man and her trying self to my table.
I didn’t stand up. I didn’t greet them. I looked up at them from my, prior to this moment, comfy breakfast chair. She introduced him as Chad, or Charles, or Chip, or... Chewbacca... I have no idea. It was just a name. The name of a man who was with Karen. The name of a man who was with someone else, not me. They were in love, they were happy, they were... everything that I was not.
I smiled, I nodded, I did a stunning impersonation of a woman who really cared about Karen and her new love. She and... Man Who’s Name Began With a C, left, and I ate my omelet, had a second cup of coffee, walked out of the Windsor Diner, and I stopped. I gave up.
Actually no, that’s not true. I let go. Yes, that is the truth. I let go of the childhood hope, the girlish desire that was fueled by a cruel lie. I stood on the street, flipped off the universe, let go all the neediness, the sickening hope and decided to just move forward.
Because this freedom, this release, was not fueled by drugs or alcohol, or a clever combination of both. Because it was not done in a haze, late at night while I was weeping and giving myself one of those sad pep talks. You know what I mean? One of those, bedroom mirror, bottle in hand, assuring myself I was hot but, not just hot, oh no, I was smart and driven and nice and blah, blah, blah... I was passed out on the floor with a shoe under my face. Because those were not the circumstances in which I decided to finally let go, it seemed real to me.
I didn’t just say the words, then go through the motions. I truly let go the whole someone for everyone notion and felt completely at ease with the world around me. Also, I made a remarkable discovery. Most of my life, up to that point, was done in halves. This is what I mean: Half of me would be doing something, while the other half was wondering if it would make me look appealing to the someone for me. As I moved through that lovely Saturday in October, I realized that I had been living only halfway. Everything I did, I did with an eye to that mythical someone for me.
I walked into a bookstore and, for the first time in as long as I could possibly remember, and, yes, I admit my memory is a little addled due to consumption of... things... but, seriously, for the first time, I looked at books. Books to read. I didn’t go to the section that would make me look most interesting and approachable. I looked at books I wanted to read. Then I bought three books and, in the next two weeks, I read them all.
I stopped at a new coffee shop on the way to work, to get coffee. I didn’t go because of its location and the girls at work had said there were nice-looking men there. I went to the market to buy groceries in my sweats and a Frankie Says Relax T-shirt. Why? Because frozen peas don’t give a rat’s puckered behind if you’re not wearing makeup, that’s why.
I stopped living in halves and began to focus on what was in front of me, to focus on life. I started fully living. Sure, yes, I know, it sounds cliché to say it, but is there anything more cliché than, there's someone for everyone? If I was going to live a cliché, I might as well live one that wasn’t so deeply damaging, right? So, the cliché I lived and, I mean it, I started to truly live.
For the first month, everything
was a discovery. I went to movies – alone - something I never did before because I always felt it projected an image that was not conducive to allowing the one to find me. Sweet heaven, I sound like a rejected fortune cookie. Anyway, I love movies. And popcorn. I was finding myself saying this sentence all the time: “Why haven’t I done this before?” It struck me, like a kick in the gut, how sad it was that I had missed so much. That I had been living only half a life, waiting for someone, another one, to make me whole. I didn’t dwell very long on the sorrow. Instead, I moved forward, and I lived the way one should live, fully, completely and in the moment.
***
I went to Henry’s wedding, alone. He had a math theme. Seriously, the cake was a cube, and there were math games on the tables and the vows they exchanged were full of math references that, well, I didn’t get at all. But, they did. The two of them, bride and groom, standing in front of everyone, they exchanged their math vows and giggled and kissed. They were perfect for each other, there was no doubt in my mind. There was no jealousy either. There was no backslide. I didn’t suddenly return to my old ways and rekindle the belief that there was someone for everyone. I simply saw Henry and his new bride as two people who... Well, they just added up. And I had a wonderful time. I danced because I really can dance, and not just with gay men either.
Spoiler alert here: I did not find the man of my dreams and marry him two months later. No, I just had a good time at Henry’s math-tastic wedding.
***
A year later, when I walked into work one morning, there was an envelope on my desk. I opened it to discover it was an invitation to Karen’s wedding. Karen, of causing me to ignore my omelet, fame. Since the time I met her boyfriend, walked outside and let it all go, I had come to discover that I really liked Karen and that she had become, truly, a dear friend. All of her optimistic life outlook which, before I let go, seemed to me to be a facade, turned out to be true. She was an optimist, and she was funny, sweet, kind and someone I grew to admire.
One time, in the kitchen at work, after we had become actual friends, I confessed my previous dislike of her. I told her I used to think she was false and putting on a brave face and, I don’t know, playing a role. I told her that I disliked her. She laughed and said that I had tried to dislike her but that my heart was too good, too kind, too clear to really feel that way. She told me and, I swear, I believed her, that she saw the real me, and she liked the real me, and she would always be a friend to the real me.
Her wedding was a blast. Again, I went alone. Again, I danced. Again... I did not meet the man of my dreams and get married two months later. Something wonderful did happen though: Henry and his wife were there. Yup, turns out, they knew Karen’s husband and so, they were invited to the wedding.
Late in the evening, after some drinks, we were sitting at our table, and Henry told the story of the party I threw for him. He spoke with this, I don’t know, deep, passionate, tone. He told everyone, his new bride, Karen and her new husband, how he was aware I didn’t know anything about the achievement, that I knew only it needed to be celebrated and how much that affected him and his life. He told us all that, because of the care I showed him, it gave him confidence to make his presentation to Hilary, his wife. He told me he had done the math and that he saw the inner workings of my heart and that he would always be my friend.
When I stopped living half a life. When I stopped keeping an eye on the door, hoping the someone that I thought was promised me would walk in and take me, allow me to start living, I actually did start living. I spent more time with friends, just being with them, basking in their love and admiring their relationships and finally, without jealousy or pettiness, feeling great happiness for them. I stopped worrying about being a third wheel or avoiding parties because I didn’t have a date. My friendships deepened, my awareness grew, and my happiness suddenly arrived, alone, without sentimental promises. I was finally living a real life as a whole person. It was like waking up from a very long, very troubling dream and realizing I never had to dream that dream again.
***
One summer night, I was at a party. Henry had just published another book on mathematics, so he and Hilary had a weekend long party at their beach house. As I was sitting on the beach, in front of a huge fire, watching the white strips of surf vanish into the sand, looking around the circle of friends, drinking, laughing, being present, I realized that I was very lucky. I realized that, after stopping this silly quest to find that one someone, I had found many, many someone’s. I had found people who filled me, inspired me, loved me, and I didn’t have to give away half of me to get it. That was a truly wonderful moment.
I got up, got drink orders and walked back to the house, filled with the glow that comes from allowing the universe to do its work and hearing a wonderful life lesson. I was happy, and more than content. I was living fully and never going backward again.
In the kitchen, I opened another bottle of wine, gathered a few beers and then, the door opened. I turned to see a very fine looking man walk into the room.
“Hi,” he said. “I’m Michael, Henry’s brother. I hope I’m not too late.”
Spoiler alert...
Michael and I have been married for three years now.
***
Number Theory Page 2
