Vol. 2, Post #53 Birthdays & Teslas & Dating, Oh My!

Just bear with me; I have a point. My 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.

Today is my 57th birthday. I’m older, but healthy, still attractive, sassy, and upright. I can play the drums well enough that picking up almost any song I want to try to play makes at least a little bit of sense (I hear like a drummer now, which I love!) I can cook a gorgeous meal, write a decent sentence, fuck as long as I or my partner desire, wear a bathing suit with zero weirdness, hang art on the wall without measuring first, take red lipstick to new levels, and I still believe in love. Ta-da! Here’s me as of late (reasonably pulled together, which seems like a fucking miracle):

Of course, I’m not remotely where I thought I’d be, in terms of enjoying a blissful, celebratory mood. But it’s actually OK and there’s a lesson here about what to do when you can’t harness happiness (for me, for you, and especially for anyone who is thinking about dating in this moment in history) and that lesson starts with a Tesla.

A few of my friends have Teslas. Most of these friends are pretty uncomfortable right now. Some of them have owned Teslas for years and are just slapping those magnets or bumper stickers on the backs of their cars, the ones that read “I bought this before I knew he was an evil asshole,” but for the friends who purchased Teslas in more recent times, there is more anxiety, caused, in part, because of people like me.

Like most of us, I am not doing what I’d call a bang-up job of regulating my emotions lately. There’s been crying at the gym as I’m lifting weights and feeling my body just vibrate with both the heft of the weight and the weight of the world. I’ve been preachy (preaching to the choir, no less) at dinners (and there are no Republicunts in my life). I’ve gotten overly indignant about things I can control and more than slightly unnerved (or more than slightly) at the things that are entirely out of my hands.

What a joy it is to be around me right now.

Image above courtesy of @effinbirds, who I love.

Last week, three different friends told me they are selling their Teslas. The first one sent a bunch of us a group text announcing this decision, which I simply “hearted” and waited a few hours before I also wrote back, “I bet that feels really good.” The other two friends mentioned their respective plans to me on the phone and, again, I hope I sounded supportive, because, really, I am. I hate the idea of anyone I know driving a Tesla and I have zero poker face about it. I don’t want a Tesla parked at my house if a friend comes to visit. I don’t want Uber to send me a Tesla when I’m in the city and looking for a ride. I think (passionately) about keying every Tesla that I see on the street.

However…here is something that I realized last week, and, yes, it has to do with owning a Tesla. And dating. I told you I’d tie this all together.

I was catching up with another set of friends the other night, and we were intermittently laughing and crying about Modern Times. The topic of Tesla ownership came up, yet again, and this time, the owner/person we were discussing is someone I don’t particularly like.

For some reason, this enraged me, that this person who I already dislike is also driving a Tesla, adding insult to injury. I was off and running, spouting this and that about this person, and pre-supposing that I know what goes on in their head, and cutting off my friends when they tried to interject and just being a total crazy cunt, even though WE WERE ALL ON THE SAME PAGE, which is that Tesla ownership is just BLECH.

The difference being? My friends were doing a much better job of regulating themselves. They weren’t flying off the handle at the thought of someone driving a Tesla, and in fact, they both told me (I was on a multi-person call), that given how much pain and despair we are all experiencing, with no end in sight, that they were going out of their way to find other things to think about, to enjoy. And that someone owning a Tesla and not selling it or whatever, was nothing that they cared to get upset about.

Well…

At first, I double-downed, getting louder and shriller, while my friends were getting…quieter. Sensing the conversation was starting to go off-course, we switched subjects.

What happened next got me thinking.

The next morning, one of my pals who was on that call sent me a text. In it, he told me plainly that he cared about me, not the Tesla owner we had been discussing, and because he cared about me, he wanted me to know that my screaming louder than anyone else on this was not going to help get my point across, nor would it get me the support that he suspected I hoped for in the midst of my yelling. He wanted me to know that because of his own current upset, he could not judge or dissect anyone who was on our side in this war, also reeling with pain, even if they owned a Tesla, even if I suspected they were not writing checks to support the orgs I hold dear, because, as he put it, “we have to get through this together and we really have no idea how people are coping; we need to give people a little bit of grace.”

“Give people a little bit of grace.” Ouch, he was correct, and the realization stung. I was being nasty, for no reason except to be righteous and for that matter, who cares about my righteousness? This person driving a Tesla has nothing to do with me and while I don’t like it, it’s no reason for me to lose my marbles with my friends who are barely holding on to theirs. That was selfish of me. They told me that they were fragile when we started our conversation and I ignored that, barreling along. Not nice. I felt ashamed of my behavior.

Related — and just as important to note — I spent a lot of the morning beating myself up for being so nasty. After apologizing to my pals for being a shrew (of course we kissed and made up), I also made a few calls to some other people in my orbit who have shown me, over recent weeks, that they have a different way of dealing with this horror show — friends who might have felt like I was rolling my eyes at them. Again, I was met with nothing but love and understanding and I cried more than a few times.

Why the tears? Because, my Dear Readers, this has nothing to do with Teslas or even #notmypresidentever. This is about my coping skills, which need work as I care for myself and my business and my little dog, to say nothing of how I need to hone my coping skills for whatever comes next in life, sex, amusement, and love. Basically, I need to cope LESS. And let myself feel MORE.

I need to wipe clean some the residue that remains a sticky wicket from the way I grew up, the way I protected myself as a little kid in lieu of having loving parents, as I’ve written here before. With no support system in place in my home as a child, I raised myself as a right proper Little Miss Take Care Of Everything Myself and Little Miss I’ll Show You. Anything I do, I do well. More than well. I manifest like a champ. I move mountains. I am powerful and fearless.

And yet, what about those instances when I DO fail? When things don’t go my way? In a sentence, I can fall apart, much to the puzzlement of my good friends who might say to me, “So what? You’re only human.”

Maybe that’s why heartbreak can impact me so deeply. Other Young Olds have (no doubt) lived through their broken hearts and broken dreams since they were mere teenagers, trying people on for size, right? Me? I’ve hardly been single, and I’ve rarely been broken up with, so when it happens? I don’t sit in it and take time to heal. Just the opposite. I start looking around wildly for the next thing that will cheer me up, inspire me, distract me.

And, on top of that, I get ashamed at being human, at getting upset and — heaven forbid! — feeling something dreadful in the first place. It’s simply too scary. As my darling friend Acacia has told me on more than one occasion, “Everyone in the world has felt a broken heart, has been humiliated, has not gotten what they wanted. You don’t have to have the world’s hardest shell.” And I need that reminder, because, a lot of the time, I think, why yes, I do have to have the hardest shell.

And that’s what fucks me up. And that’s what was fucking me up that morning when my friend told me I added to his upset with my screaming. Even after he accepted my apology, I had a tough time acknowledging that I behaved badly, and an even tougher time letting myself off the hook for it. I wanted to explain it away and say it was the Tesla’s fault. It wasn’t.

This is a great lesson for me, single and thinking I’ll stay single for the time being, making a ton of mistakes along the way. Single and working on not having such a perfectionist streak. Single and allowing all of my flaws and unhealthy protective habits to be on display as I coax and soothe my unruly tendencies into a more tender and receptive head and heart. I know it will be better for me as a single person. I KNOW it will be better for me and my next Beloved(s).

All of that self-protective bullshit needs to stop here.

Hi, my name is Abbe and I’m not perfect and in fact, I’m currently aflame in upset and uncertainty. That’s a HUGE part of my story right now.

Because, Dear Readers, what I’m realizing (and maybe this is far more important to me, having this epiphany, than it is to you reading about it but I think most of us are pretty insular now and a little self-exploration never hurt anyone, so join me, won’t you?), is that during this downtime from life as we know it, and dating as I know it, I MUST get more comfortable with fucking up. With letting someone down or hurting someone’s feelings and then having to deal with the clean-up, not trying to get past it as soon as possible, and letting everyone take their time with it as needed. I need to take my time with it. With not being “perfect,” or above reproach. Not being defensive when someone tells me I did something that they did not like — that’s not ALWAYS my response, but it happens enough that I need to look at it. Likewise, I need to learn to say quietly and without any “solution” in sight that I’m hurting, when that does happen, instead of yelling it to the treetops or, even more my style, burying myself in something else to take away that hurt. Precisely why I’m not dating right now. Just because I ended my last relationship doesn’t mean I’m gunning for a new one right now. The opposite.

I think that it’s time to sit in this, for the benefit of everyone I know or haven’t yet met.

Listen, I know I’m a good partner when I’m in a relationship, but if you look at my dating history, I tend to take on partners who need me to carry more than my share SINCE I’M SO STRONG. Not always, but that’s been my default. Well, guess what, I don’t think I’m up for that anymore. Nah, I KNOW I’m not up for that anymore.

I’m going to learn how to be a “more human” human being for the foreseeable future. I’m already a wonderful human being. But this newly minted 57-year-old woman is looking for more peace and tranquility in her life as she navigates the world of Teslas, the world of Young Old singlehood, and, at some point, the world of dating.

Join me in resetting your own narrative, if you like. I think this might be a perfect opportunity to upset the apple cart. Let’s get messy. It might be fun. Actually, I think it’s going to be pretty painful but that good kind of pain. The kind that spurs new growth and knowledge.

Back to my birthday. I was supposed to be in New Orleans this week with the most recent ex-Boyfriend (does that make me sound like Zsa Zsa Gabor — “the most recent ex-Boyfriend”?) JetBlue credited my miles back to my account and I have another idea that I’m cooking up right now, a mini jaunt to Rome by myself. Yesterday, leading up to my birthday, I was in NYC with friends for many meals, a few choice cocktails, a silent meditation, and a jolly good time. Every year at midnight on my birthday, I play this, one of my favorite Dylan songs. It’s from “Planet Waves,’ which is the only studio album he did with The Band. It’s the first song on the album and I think it sets a good birthday mood for a frolicking new year.

Some housekeeping!

• The woman I met, who I wrote about a few posts ago (the media darling), and I are having lunch this week. It’s not a date. She’s going to be a friend, I think.

• I wrote something about this on social media, but if you’re feeling craptastic like I’ve been, this might help. Toss/upcycle all of your old, terrible socks. Personally, I just threw them away but if you want to make sock puppets or whatever, have at it. Likewise, I got myself some really pretty new bras. My lingerie drawer was making me sad, because it was full of stuff I liked to wear with one or two former partners who I miss in this moment, this moment of “holy shit the world is ending, let’s fuck.” So, I decided to get some new lacy loveliness just because. Big fan of Gossard.

  • Related, and back to sit-back-and-just-see-what-happens dating, I’m still not ruling out some flirting or some fun, slightly casual sex. Currently stroking my proverbial beard on this but I have a few ideas.

    • Also related, have some interested thoughts around the ever-present YUCK of “ghosting” that so many of you are writing me to ask about. I think that’s what we’re gonna talk about next week.

• Also! For sometime in March — Tantric Sex! I have a few friends who practice it/are studying it and they are going to chime in, so stay tuned.