by Kim Goldman
Dating is as confusing to me as trying to understand why men have nipples. Having a sane, successful, stable relationship should be considered the Eighth Wonder of the World. I was so excited to write about relationships for this book, until I actually sat down to do it.
Considering all the therapy I’ve had, all the failed relationships I’ve survived, the ridiculous dates I’ve endured, and the incredible (and not so incredible) men who have danced across my stage, you’d think I would be better at it!
My father would tell you I have been boy crazy since he can remember. In the spirit of total disclosure—he is absolutely right.
My diary was riddled with I love Mike, I love Brady, I love Jordan, I love Monte, and on and on, depending on which boy circled “yes” on the note that asked, Do you like me?
I was a boy chaser, and it made my father nuts.
He always would tell me, “Let them chase you, until you catch them.”
Daddy, thanks for the advice, but seriously, could you have given me a less difficult riddle to solve? I am still stumped.
* * *
Back then it was easier to land a boy: most of the time your friends did all the work for you.
They were like a real-live version of Match.com. They would identify the target, determine if there was a mutual “like,” organize the meeting, and then sit back and watch the show. The only thing for me to do was to say “Yes!” when I was “asked out.”
Looking back over the course of my dating career, I think I have been fairly consistent: awkward, insecure, prudish, nurturing, great listener, great friend, cute, funny, and loyal. But eventually, I recognized a more disturbing consistency in my dating life.
I let men into my world who presented themselves as healthy, stable, and emotionally available, but over time a truer version would appear. One that possessed heartbreak, insecurity, selfishness, and a cap on their emotional vulnerabilities. And despite those “cracks,” I created a safe, nurturing environment where I nursed their wounds and tended to their bruised egos and shattered spirits. They gained their strength, built up their confidence, and then bid me farewell, leaving me to wonder why I wasn’t chosen to accompany them as they rode off into the sunset.
Each of these experiences forced me to look deep within myself. Maybe there was something about me that made everyone want to leave. I mean, if my own mother didn’t love me, why would I expect anyone else to?
I have had a handful of significant relationships in my life, and by “significant” I mean ones that left indelible impressions on my dating psyche, both positive and negative.
I have had bizarre close encounters of the third-base kind over the years. They are part of what has made me me. The list of some of my memorable hits and misses includes the very first boy I French-kissed, right in the family room of my house in Buffalo Grove, Illinois. He closed his eyes, stuck his tongue out, and moved toward my motionless body as all my friends sat by and cheered us on. We were twelve, we didn’t know.
Since then, there is the hit parade of present-day wonders whom I seem to meet without even wanting to, such as the guy who showed up on a first date wearing nothing but a gold medallion and a lambskin wool vest. Or the childless man who lectured me about how to raise my kid, or the one who stalked me on the airplane and cried for the entire flight, inconsolable, from Chicago to Los Angeles after he realized I was that Kim Goldman.
* * *
During my marriage, you would think I could figure out what was working—and what wasn’t—between my husband and me. With Mike, I often felt stupid, insignificant, demoralized, and invisible. He doesn’t challenge me to be a better person—instead, he points out my vulnerabilities and mocks me for them.
Maya Angelou said once, “It’s not what people say to you; it’s how they make you feel.”
Like many other young women, I mistakenly thought the announcement and the anticipation of the baby would help us to work out our difficulties: help to seal up our differences.
In fact, being pregnant had no impact on our relationship in any way. It didn’t bring us closer together, nor did it really drive a wedge. Instead, our marriage remained stagnant.
That was painfully evident on the day we went shopping for baby furniture.
* * *
I am so excited that my husband is home for a long weekend. Our time is jam-packed with registering for the baby shower and furnishing our baby’s room. After much searching, I finally find the crib and dresser I think are perfect for us. I even locate the store where the furniture is on sale.
We hop into my car and head to the Valley, where we are hopefully going to make our first big purchase. Getting a crib makes the experience so real.
The radio is on in the background, set to an AM station, as it usually is when my husband drives. He considers himself to be very politically savvy. On this day, President Bush is delivering his speech that we are going to invade Iraq; it’s no surprise that both of us have strong feelings about it. I am a registered Democrat, while Mike is a staunch Republican.
“Wow. That was a powerful speech. I think it’s the right thing, but I just feel so manipulated after his speech. I mean, he had one hell of a speechwriter on his team,” I remark.
Well, Mike ignores every word after “manipulated.”
“How dare you accuse the president of doing such a thing! He is the leader of the Free World. You feel manipulated? You have always been so naïve when it comes to politics, and this is another example,” Mike shoots back.
It is all downhill from here.
“I am saying his speechwriter was good. He did his job. He played on the very raw emotions of a wounded country to get support for going to war. I just wish he could have delivered the facts, and left out some of the manipulation. Is that what we need in this country, more emotion about the attacks? I don’t know. I just feel like—”
“Played on? You mean he tricked you? How could you think a president would do such a thing? You feel like? Feelings don’t have a part when it comes to war.”
“That’s my point. The speech felt very ‘emotional’ to me. Listen, if it were Clinton in office, his speechwriters would have done the same thing. That’s their job.”
Here I am, bickering about politics with my husband, when all I want to do was pick out crib bumpers.
By this time, we are pulling into the parking lot. I am doing all that I can to shift the mood and the conversation.
I am drowning fast, and there is no recovering. He is outraged by my comments. He is disgusted by me and tells me so.
“I can’t believe you feel this way. I always knew you were a Bush hater, but this is just bullshit. You are so stupid when it comes to this stuff. I am not sure I can look at you or love you the same way anymore.”
And with those words, he speeds away, leaving me in the parking lot.
Obviously, this is a lot to digest.
My husband just told me he might not be able to love me anymore because of political differences.
I wander around the store, and as I walk aimlessly up and down the aisles, all I can think is:
How is my child going to love and respect me, if my own husband doesn’t?
Forty minutes later, Mike comes back. Needless to say, there is no purchase to celebrate our baby who was on the way. It is a very long car ride home.
I don’t think we ever did look at each other in the same way after that day.
* * *
I have settled into the single life.
I have my son, my friends, my career, my freedom.
For the first time in a long time, I feel completely ready to be in a relationship, but it continually frustrates me and evades my reach. Hearing how amazing I am, and how incredible I make someone feel, as they close the door on my face…it’s like an emotional noogie.
I keep putting myself out there. I am not a believer in the “soul mate” theory of romance. I believe there are hundreds of people out there for each of us, but the chances of us
meeting all of them are slim to none, so we focus on meeting “the one.”
I thought I had found that when I first met my husband, and maybe back then he was the right person for me. But that changed over time, and we parted ways, leaving a lot of dust in our path.
Honestly, my dating life—before and after marriage—could be a great sitcom: the characters are amazing, and the story lines are rich with humor, love, heartache, and mass confusion. Every episode would end with me hanging out on a limb somewhere, scratching my head, saying, “What the hell just happened?”
Then I make some grand exit for dramatic, or comedic, effect.
I think my willingness to love—and my unlucky tendency to “lose”—is captured in my relationship with a long-term boyfriend. We’ll just call him “Vegas.” It’s not the ending I would have scripted, but I learned a lot and realized much about my expectations and my limitations.
* * *
“I can’t do it. I can’t be with you anymore. I am so sorry,” he whispers, as he held my hand tightly in a dark tiki bar in Manhattan Beach in April 2006.
I just returned home from a long day in court with my ex, and am so excited to be back in the arms of the man I had fallen so deeply in love with since my marriage had ended. Vegas is the love of my life, but in a few short seconds, he rips my heart out and leaves it on the floor of the Purple Orchid lounge.
I am so incredibly stunned that all I can do is get up from the table and ask to be taken back to my car. He wants to talk some more, but there is nothing more to say. I can’t bring myself to ask questions, to argue, or to beg. I just need to walk away with my dignity intact. I sit in the car, with my arms crossed, looking out the window, continually wiping the tears away so he can’t see me cry.
How could this be happening to me?
What did I do to cause this?
Things were so good.
How could he want to leave me? Leave Sam?
The more my thoughts chase each other around in my head, the angrier I become.
This is the first and last time I feel deeply loved. He is my first and only true heartbreak, and when he leaves, he takes a piece of my heart with him.
* * *
I met Vegas on the first of many annual girls’ trips to Las Vegas with Denise and Michele sometime in the late ’90s.
Sitting poolside at the Flamingo Hotel, we heard an obnoxious “Helllooooo, ladies.” That was the beginning of a more than decade-long friendship. Vegas and his buddies approached the three of us and we spent hours with the Los Angeles–based boys, who made us chuckle and made the hot afternoon seem so much cooler.
Vegas was flirty. As much as I was entertained, I was dating someone at the time so I didn’t pay much attention to his advances. Michele had expressed her attraction to him, and before you knew it, the two started dating. It was a wonderful relationship to watch develop over the course of the next year. We all stayed friends, and spent a tremendous amount of time together. However, when they broke up, Vegas and I slowly allowed our friendship to disintegrate as well.
Until eight years later.
I was online one night in July of 2005, and an instant message appeared on my screen: Helllllloooooo, Kim. A slight smile appeared on my face.
I was in the beginning phase of my divorce, and spending a lot of time in my attorney’s office or in a courtroom. I was excited for the diversion. It was late in the evening, but that didn’t stop our immediate reconnection and chatter. I made a comment about being out of wine; the next thing I knew, Vegas offered to bring me a bottle. In a moment of weakness and excitement, I accepted his offer. Forty-five minutes later, he appeared at my door with a nice Merlot and a gigantic hug. It was as if no time had passed.
We sat on my back patio and talked for hours. I saw a mature, sensitive man who still had “the funny,” but had married it nicely with a soulful wisdom, to which I am immediately drawn.
It was nearly dawn when he left. I didn’t realize that I started to fall in love with him in a few short hours.
The next morning, I called Denise and confessed my late-night rendezvous. She burst into laughter and wanted to know every detail. She could hear in my voice that something deep inside of me had woken up. Like me, she was worried about Michele. After all, she had been really heartbroken all those years back, and I felt like I would betray her by feeling what I was feeling. Still, I couldn’t stop thinking about him and our instant chemistry.
Vegas and I started spending a lot of time together. He and I talked a lot about whether or not we felt we “had enough” to risk the impact to our friendship with Michele. I finally shared with her that he and I had reconnected—as friends—and how nice it felt to have someone to talk with. It was actually her suggestion that I should consider dating him. I was so grateful for her openness.
With her permission, we threw caution to the wind and fell madly in love.
* * *
The next few months provided me with freedom from my insecurities and anxiety. I felt revered and respected, adored and desired, loved and admired. I allowed this man to see the gritty parts of me that I was so afraid to show. My marriage had taken a toll on me; I had covered up a lot of what I felt were my best attributes because they weren’t received in a way that felt good. Vegas put me on a pedestal and then joined me there as we experienced a true partnership.
We quickly created a nice “family” for ourselves. He and Sam immediately bonded. Sam was still very young, barely two years old, but was crazy for Vegas. I was finally going to have my modern-day version of a Norman Rockwell painting. We fit together and I was overflowing with love.
My ex had checked out for awhile and my legal proceedings were stalled, which gave us some room to explore what our “family life” might look like. But in the shadows lurked the reality of what our life would actually be: an ex-husband, a stepdad, dual homes, and custody issues.
I was prepared for that, but Vegas wasn’t willing. He questioned his position, his role, his connection, and ultimately, his ability to be enough for me, Sam, and himself.
I was ready to move forward. I was confident that leaving my marriage was the best decision for me and for my child, and willing to do whatever it would take to make my life with Vegas succeed. I knew we had the makings for a spectacularly happy life together; we just needed to ride out the storm. So I continued to trudge through, peeling back my layers and giving him the space to reveal his.
Months passed. We were on a good path. The pieces were falling into place and plans were made to merge officially, once my divorce was final at the end of 2006. I was finally seeing the clearing beyond the trees, and felt that Vegas had settled into his place carved out special for just him. The struggles we had didn’t go away, but they certainly dissipated.
Or so I thought, until the night he dumped me.
He walked away without a fight, and seemingly without remorse. I felt humiliated. I had turned my insides out, opened up my home, my family, shared my friends, my funds, and my child. All of it was chucked aside because of fear.
I had never experienced this kind of anguish over a man before.
Then it dawned on me: I had never been in love before.
That made me both sad and angry. Suddenly, I became fearful that I would never feel that way again.
After my brother’s murder, my life changed. What I believed to be my destiny was altered, so when I had the chance to redirect my life, I clung to it. I was so confused about why I had lost this partnership. I blamed myself; I beat myself up; I fell into a really dark place. I lost weight, I couldn’t focus, and I didn’t sleep.
Meanwhile, I had a three-year-old child depending on me, a business to maintain, a board of directors to answer to, and students to counsel. I was at my limit, but I was taking charge. I have been in worse trauma spots before. I was a fighter, and I would survive this heartbreak.
Each day, I got a little stronger as I realized that while my love affair with Vegas had ended, my heart was itchin
g to stay open. I resisted becoming bitter and shutting down. I had suffered the worst kind of rejection by my mother; I wasn’t going to let a guy destroy the best parts of me that I had worked so hard to maintain over the years.
As crushed as I was, Vegas eventually moved into a part of my heart that would remain sacred and serve as a guideline for what I would aspire to have again.
I was finally standing upright once more, taking full deep breaths, belting out ballads in my car, eating full and fattening meals, laughing from the pit of my stomach, and holding myself in high esteem.
And then he reappeared, just as my divorce was final.
* * *
Sam was still at day care, so I had privacy as I listened on the phone to Vegas try and break through my icy exterior. At first, I was reluctant to allow his charm to affect me. But soon into the conversation, I began to soften as I was reminded of his kindness and his compassion.
I had gotten to a place with our breakup that allowed me to see him leaving as a decision for him, not for me. He left because he couldn’t manage his own issues and insecurities, not because I wasn’t worthy (at least that is what helped me sleep an extra hour longer at night). I know I am worthy of love.
Then he asked if we could continue communicating.
“Um, I wasn’t expecting that. Why do you want to talk to me again?”
“Well, Kim, I have never stopped loving you. I care deeply about you and Sam, and I want to know you are okay. And I miss you.”
“Uh, well, I have worked really hard the last few months to get my bearings back. You hurt me in ways you’ll never understand, and I would be taking a big risk. I don’t want you as my friend. I don’t need you ‘checking up’ on me. I am in a good place.”
“I am sure you have a lot of support, and it’s not that I just want to check up. I care about you, Kim, and the way you make me feel.”
“Well, let me say this. I still love you. I know that and can’t lie about it. I miss you. I wish and want for our lives to become one again. If you want that, if you are open to that, and if you are committed to making our relationship work—then yes, you can call me again. But if you are trying to make yourself feel better, if you are looking to relieve yourself of guilt for hurting me, then move on. I am not going to be your confessional. The choice is yours. My boundaries are clear.”
