Vol. 2, Post #88 Spooky season

Not for the weak of heart. My weekly sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A dating odyssey for Young Olds (people with readers).

The text came through while I was chatting with a friend on the phone, sitting at my kitchen island on a quiet evening. It didn’t surprise me (not in the least, actually). It was short and after I read it, I hit “DELETE” and went back to my night.

I’m sorry. That was a dick move. I guess I’m scared.

If you think that what will follow here on this post this week is a recap of all the things that “scared” the sender of this text, well, that’s not gonna happen. It’s just a waste of time. Precisely why the only thing to do was to delete it (I had already deleted the sender from my contact list, so this text showed up as a 917 number, like a stranger, like spam) and there was nothing to pore over, nothing to screenshot and send to a friend, nothing to look at again and again as part of reviewing a short-lived relationship that seemed to have legs, but ones that got cut off at the knees by the texter.

And the reason I don’t have to do any of that, or recap anything for you, Dear Readers, is because most of you (all of you?) can use your imagination and just fill in the blanks on how and why this all came to pass. The difference, for me at least, this time? It’s boring.

I’m bored with middle aged men – Young Olds or even younger – who tell me they are scared, when, in fact, in other parts of their lives, they are doing death-defying things. They have gotten sober after almost ruining their lives. They have taken huge chances and opened businesses with every drop of blood, sweat, and tears that they have. They have witnessed the deaths of parents, of partners. They have gone through hair-curling bad divorces and dealt with ongoing challenges with exes and children who point fingers of blame at them for fucking up.

Forging a relationship with me is not scary in any way. So when you tell me you’re scared, at this point, I just kind of shrug my shoulders and think, “Yeah, that must suck.” To wit, now I’m a thespian…

I’m not kidding. If you get scared after spending time with me, talking, laughing, eating and drinking delicious meals, connecting in an uncanny manner about “the good old days” of the East Village or the weird synchronicity of our mutual favorite restaurants in Italy, to say nothing of when we start fucking, because I know I’m great in bed, well, I can’t help you get unscared. The only thing I can do is just leave you alone.

Last week, I wrote that I’ve been feeling particularly Zen about where I am in my own journey and that as a result, I know I’m in a pretty peaceful spot, and that it shows on my face and in my moving through the world…so much so that a few people have asked me if I’ve “had work.” To which I want to reply, “No, but I’ve DONE THE WORK.”

That sort of not-entirely-flippant comment really resonated with a lot of you readers. A few of you called it out, in praise of the post, but even more of you sent me DMs and told me “Amen, Sister!” or similar. That felt really nice. It also underscored what I’m writing today.

If you’re scared about the warm, safe feelings that you get when we spend time together, I would like you to go away and stay gone.

“But Abbe…someone who is getting over their own trauma, or doing the work to address their own trauma, sometimes gets triggered by precisely the OPPOSITE of what caused that trauma in the first place. A person who has not felt seen on a lot of levels might instinctively push away just the kind of attention or care that they’ve yearned for, once they have it. That’s just human nature. Don’t you have space for that?”

No. No I don’t.

“But Abbe…when someone apologizes for, as you wrote above, ‘a dick move,’ don’t you see that as progress? As an opportunity to do something different, or at least, address that behavior and do better next time?”

No. No I don’t.

I just don’t have time for this anymore. And here’s a reminder for all you single empathetic Young Olds out there. You don’t either. But not for the reasons that you think.

It’s NOT that the clock is ticking and that time is passing at a rapid speed. It is but there will be time between now and your death bed to connect with the right people, and I know those “right people” are out there. And it’s NOT that there are too many single women in our demographic all battling for the few good men. There are plenty of people to meet.

This week, I said “yes” to dates with two people who have been in my ether for a bit, men I think I’d have otherwise kept overlooking if I was still focused on the sender of that text. If you open your eyes and uncross your arms, Dear Readers, you will see those potentially overlooked options too and maybe you’ll make room for them.

But even if you don’t, believe me when I say that you just don’t have time for anymore triage with people who should’ve (proverbially) gone to their doctor for regular checkups, instead of ignoring all of the (again, proverbial) symptoms and ending up in the ER. You are not an Emergency Room for anyone but yourselves and the Beloveds who have earned a place in your heart with their ongoing love and affection for YOU when YOU were messy, needy, etc.

Did you read any/all the ongoing barrage of info on the Lily Allen/David Harbour divorce, or listen to her latest album? I have glanced a little of it and have not yet listened to the record, but I understand the comparisons to Beyonce’s Lemonade, etc. and I also understand that as we all know, via heartbreak, some of the most beautiful and soulful art is made. I love a sad song, and I love a fuck you song as much as the next person. But for some reason, I have zero interest in dipping my toe into this debacle, because I feel like it’s a tired, tired troupe. “I fell in love with you despite the warning signs, despite the work I had endeavored to do for myself. I looked to you for salvation, felt safe in your arms, ignored even MORE warning signs, and then you royally fucked me over and now I’m indignant.” And I know I am way oversimplifying this and that further, from what I read about Lily Allen, she herself had some mental health issues that needed addressing; so it wasn’t just the ultra shitty behavior of her now estranged ex-husband. All of this makes for good copy, good buzz, and good streaming downloads, I suppose.

But what if you’re not looking at some catastrophic shitshow like this ^^^? What if you have indeed DONE your work and then realize when you see that someone you like has not? Then what?

Well, as mentioned, I think the Old Abbe would’ve said, “Oh, hey, I can handle this and even more importantly, I WANT to help handle this. I see something wonderful here that might be meaningful. I’ll keep going.” And the new Abbe? She just hits “DELETE” on a message that needs no reply.

It’s not compelling, ego-boosting, soothing, or even surprising when you get one of those texts, is it, Dear Reader? I mean, it’s not for me, anymore. No need to have my “day in court” and say to all of my friends, “SEE?!?!??!” No need to even alert my own “media” around this. When this text came through from the man I thought I would keep seeing, with a bullet, I mentioned it to that friend on our call, but for the most part, just put it out of my head. It’s like he erased what we had been enjoying – because he did.

It’s scary to be single and aging. No one will argue that point, least of which me. I know a dozen people who stay in crappy relationships because of it. I know a dozen more who yearn for a relationship, any relationship, to come their way because of it. I walk down my basement stairs with very deliberate steps, never in slippery socks, never without an eye on the step below the one I stand on, because the dog cannot dial 911. I take my health as seriously as possible because at this point, no one else except my son and potentially, my ex-husband, would be able to step up in a truly dynamic way if I had a crisis.

And likewise, when I’ve been involved with a few choice men over this last decade – men who really touched my heart and soul, but who struggled with some inner demons that should’ve been addressed years ago but which went unchecked BECAUSE of all the other things I mentioned up top (the need for sobriety, deaths in the family, business stressors, divorce and the emotional and financial tolls it takes on you) – when these men have spun out, I’ve been there in every way. The reason I can say this? Because many, many of you have seen me in action in this capacity. I know what it feels like to need to be cared for when you are in crisis. I cared for myself over and over again as a child when I was in crisis.

And that’s why it’s easy to hit “DELETE” when a text like that comes in.

It’s not about putting on your own oxygen mask first before helping others – I don’t WANT to help others with this kind of oxygen mask again. It’s not about being bitter – you’ve all seen that incredible clip from The Drew Barrymore Show, where she’s chatting with Leslie Jones about online dating?

It IS a laugh-riot to see how low the bar has been set for some people, but you know what? Don’t take that bar when it’s passed to you in the marathon that is life.

Or, of course, do what you want. I used to be someone who only felt truly engaged when I was helping others get through their stuff. I’m not that person anymore.

I’m typing this to you as I lie in bed, drinking good coffee, luxuriating in a beautiful nightgown and a big cozy sweater as fall temperatures settle in on my shoulders. Soon I’ll go to band practice and play drums and later today, a few friends are coming over for the weekend. Is any of this a “substitute” for a relationship? It is not. I love having a man in my bed. I love romance and sex and the connect of looking across the room at “my person” at an overcrowded party and seeing that we both know what the other person is thinking. I expect to have that again.

But I won’t be having it with anyone who can look at me, and all I offer, and then decide that this scares him. No, thank you. I’ll just gather up any sort of childish behavior like this, set it on fire and let it drift out to sea.

Above, an image from a Ganges river burning funeral, which is a Hindu cremation ceremony that often happens on the banks of the Ganges river, particularly in the city of Varanasi, which is considered the most sacred site for such rites. The process involves burning the body on a funeral pyre, with the deceased’s family believing that cremation at this location leads to liberation from the cycle of rebirth.