Vol. 1, Post #10 Soft & Tender Places

Out of the mouths of babes. My ongoing sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds, AKA, people with readers.

The other night, I had a young friend and her new girlfriend over for dinner. New love is pretty delicious, and Young New Love is like puppies and springtime and the first glass of champagne after you pop the cork — so fresh and unspoiled and enough to make you sigh.

We ate this (I said I’d occasionally offer up a recipe so here you go — I sauteed bok choy in coconut milk and homemade chicken stock* (SEE BELOW) instead of tossing in watercress at the end of the braise, and subbed quinoa for farro), drank wine, and while I asked some questions, I mostly listened to them talk. They told me the stories about how they met, stories about each other as if the other one wasn’t sitting right there at the table, stories about what they were discovering about themselves via this relationship. I could tell that they were utterly smitten, and then my young friend said this:

“I don’t think that many people have seen the softer side of me. I mean, my family has, and you know that part of me, but most people don’t see that. She does,” she said, gesturing at her girlfriend. “She also takes care of me. That’s a first for me. I’m usually the one taking care of people.”

I was moved to tears. Not just because my sweet pal was so clearly in the first blush of love, relaxing into it the way you ease yourself into a warm bath, but because I know so many people my age who are currently arm wrestling with Eros, mostly women. My heart swelled for my young friend and later that night, cracked a bit, as I replayed some other recent conversations, like these:

• A slightly older friend has survived a harrowing divorce after a marriage where she pulled the weight for everyone, and recently had a bounceback relationship that consisted of lots of attention and adoration, but really, when push comes to shove, was not the short of passion that she really craved. Now she was unsure of what to do next: sit out a spell or hold her nose and dive back in. She feels both expansive and curious and also, concerned about the passage of time.

• A slightly younger friend thought she was falling in love with one of her lovers, a man I distrusted from Word One. He did in fact turn out to be an unworthy partner, which wasn’t surprising, and she is a catch, that rare combination of honesty and vulnerability, totally GGG and a LOT of fun. What was hard, for me, was to see my friend go through a classic bout of “What was wrong with me?/Was I too _________ to make this work?”

• Lest you think that I’m only writing about the hard times that some of my friends have endured lately, I’d be lying to you, Dear Reader (and myself), if I told you that I wasn’t having some twinges associated with my recent break up. While I acknowledge all of those feeling are a necessary part of my own healing, there have been some late-night moments when I’ve turned to the dog (he is an excellent conversationalist) and continued a few chats that I’ve had with my ex, letting off some steam that is a combination of righteous anger and some raw pain; those convos have not been pretty.

In the end, all of those scenarios (theirs and mine) have one thing in common. They are about disappointment.

Love ending in disappointment, not in flames but in the quiet sad fizzle like champagne going flat, can sometimes be the most disheartening. The could-have-been. The secret shorthand and the private jokes and the ridiculous nicknames that you’ve shared are now evaporated into the ether, and while you most likely will go on to love again, that particular part of you that was known to another, your another? That part of you and your Beloved will never be seen again by anyone. That’s some pretty sour swill to swallow.

Most of us look back on our younger years with an eye on at least a few outlandishly good times, when we were carefree, maybe even a little reckless, no watching the clock (biological or otherwise), no worries about the mortgage or the college tuitions or retirement accounts. Car keys, a couple of $20 bills, lipstick, condoms, and you were all set. Adventure abounded, and whether that adventure took you to the town limits or to the limits of your mind, it was probably one for the books if it’s stayed with you this long. Venturing to guess that there were a few comrades alongside of you, riding shotgun or cheering you on? If you’re all still in touch, you can tell “that story” for the zillionth time and you know they’ll start laughing, crying, nodding at the dramatic pauses and punchlines. They are the witness to your experience; likewise, when you love someone and then come apart, part of your collective experience enters the witness protection program: you may glimpse it again, but most likely, it will answer to a different name.

Back to my dinner party and my young friend, with her wonderment at being seen as soft. With her delight in being cared for, when previously she was doing the caretaking. How simple and beautiful. Maybe that’s what we crave as our youth dew — not the unlined skin, not the perky tits or strong backs, not the ability to stay up past midnight or the ability to make it through the night without getting up to pee — that gift of being seen or held for the first time in a way that feels both wholly foreign and familiar. Maybe that intoxicating potion of poignancy and authenticity that we always feel in young love is starting to seem like a fleeting memory and in its place, disappointment can creep in, like a lousy houseguest with loutish manners. Like that bad houseguest, disappointment often overstays its welcome and when you finally give it the heave-ho, it’s often not without tears and sometimes handwringing and footstomping. Disappointment tries to return for encore visits, sticking its foot in the door, insistent yet indolent, pissing on your parade. Disappointment does not bring you flowers and does not sing you love songs.**

**I think you need a little lightweight moment right now, since I’m going down the garden path a bit with this post, so instead of Neil and Barbra, take a look and a listen to the link above^^^. I don’t know this song and I didn’t watch the Grammys but Sweet Merciful Jesus, is this woman is utterly fuckable and I want every piece of her.

OK, where was I?

Here’s what I’m doing about my current bout with disappointment: not much. Sometimes I am giving in to dull sadness or fury, playing THAT song over and over again, noticing an anniversary or birthday on the phone calendar and feeling my heart thump as I hit “delete future events.” Do you know why I’m not rushing to staunch this flow of unease? Because sometimes in that proverbial bloodletting of fever pitch emotions, new growth that you’ve never imagined is jumpstarted. For the same reasons that modern medicine believes donating blood helps cleanse the body, replenish, and regrow cells, so too does the bitter pill you wash down with a lukewarm glass of disappointment, fresh from the tap. Tears of angels, maybe.

In other words, I think it’s all going to be ok.

It’s spring here in the Catskills and although it was an unusually mild winter, it’s no less thrilling to see the crocuses on the lawn and the buds on the trees. Birdsong is completely different in the morning and the dog is running around the yard, following so many scents that he doesn’t know which way to turn next. That’s what young love feels like, doesn’t it? Hell, that’s what ALL love feels like. The heady luxury of not knowing where to turn next but the utter confidence in the fact that there are million places to turn.

Let’s go out and sniff around.

Now…a little housekeeping:

Photo is Emma Thompson as Elinor Dashwood in Ang Lee’s 1995 “Sense And Sensibility” in what might be one of the greatest (and utterly surprising) sobbing moments in film history and if you have not seen, I’m not sure we can be friends.

*Homemade Chicken Stock – this could not be easier to make, even from a supermarket rotisserie chicken, and then you can freeze it and NEVER be out of chicken stock, which is almost as good as springtime new love.

• carcass from chicken with some meat remaining

• 6 cups water

• 1 lg. onion, quartered

• 1-2 carrots, cut

• 1-2 stalks of celery, cut

• 1 teaspoon garlic, crushed

• 1 teaspoon ginger, crushed

• 1-2 bay leaves

• 1 teaspoon celery salt

Directions:

1. Place chicken in pot, cover with water

2. Bring to boil

3. Add veg. and spices

4. Simmer for 3 hours or so