Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "dating"
The Real Men
The things I admire about men are not what they would ever imagine.
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws become something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded that when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbors snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsman ship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. It isn’t really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws become something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded that when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbors snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsman ship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. It isn’t really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
Rescue Me...
Sometimes I can be the ultimate dork. It makes no sense at all really as I have no issue speaking with people, except in one situation—when a man is speaking to me showing obvious attraction. Then all of the eloquent words, the witty remarks, the deep insights I can easily spew—slip right down the tubes and I sound like a ten year old socially challenged little twit. How can this be me? How can I possibly not immediately know how to respond in this situation when no other situation unnerves me?
I am in love with words. Reading them, writing them and speaking them. I got an A in speech class from a teacher who never gave A’s. I won fifth in the state of Illinois on the speech team for a piece I did. I was in every play in high school. I was an MC for a festival. I speak to everyone about everything. I actually can’t shut up most of the time even when I should. Yet, throw a handsome man my way who happens to take me off guard and I am suddenly Jerry Lewis stuttering and blurting out idiocy.
It's not like I haven’t dated much. It is not like I have no experience to fall back on. I have dated a variety of men from every walk of life, but usually I realize what is happening before it happens and I can avoid my dorkiness showing up because I am somewhat prepared. It’s the surprises that send me for a tailspin. Then I am in "dork mania" with my mind racing a mile a minute to say something to make me look less goofy and I instead spill out everything that has raced through my mind—and I make absolutely no sense. To top it all off—I laugh. I don’t mean a coy flirty laugh; I am talking about the awful laugh. I am talking about the laugh that builds up inside me that I can never stop and I sound like Ernie from Sesame Street which of course brings on the blushing which is another prize I am unable to control.
Last night, two men came to fix the air conditioning in my apartment. I heard a few shouts, a ladder hit the building. I ran out to the top of the stairs hoping upon hope that it would be the saviors who would deliver me from the fiery pit my apartment had become.
“Please tell me you are here to fix my air!” I shouted down. “I’m dying in here.”
One of the men is shielding his eyes from the sun as he walks nearer to the staircase. “How are you handling this heat?” he asks as he pulls his hand away and I can see his handsome face and I am speechless as his gaze then drifts up my body and he smiles.
My inner dork creeped out right then, “By being a bitch. The children are afraid. Save us.” I blurted. Oh my God! Shut up, shut up, shut up.
He laughs and comes up the stairs. Staring intently at me he asks, “Where is your husband? Where is your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one. That’s why I live here...” and then the awful laugh seeps out while I let him in my apartment. Shut up!
He starts to fire off questions to me about myself and not the air conditioning problems. I answer them without thinking. He asks if I work and where and I explain how I work with seriously mentally ill adults in a group home. He asks how old I am and then says he is ten years older than me. I am laughing the horrid laugh again and tell him he looks so young. (Which he does, and handsome too, and has a sexy lyrical accent)He asks why the cold air duct door is hanging down in the hallway. I tell him it’s because I lost the screws when I was changing the filter. He tells me he will be right back.
While he goes outside, I am telling myself to calm the hell down because I am being a total idiot and shaming myself in front of all of the teenagers coming in and out. I feel the heat spreading over my face and it is not because my living room feels like the towering inferno. I am embarrassed by the way he has looked at me, embarrassed by my reaction, embarrassed by my embarrassment.
He comes back with the screws and climbs up on a chair to fix the cold air return door. “You didn’t need screws. You need nuts.” I of course think of that differently than I think he meant that. His “not screws” are at eye level and I am overcome with giggles.
And there comes the mouse voice squeaking out and me trying at the same time to apologize for not knowing the difference between the two, while I try to hold in the obnoxious Ernie laugh. He is laughing too.
They fix the air temporarily and tell me they will be back the next week because it is a big job. They leave. The man, the handsome man winks at me as he walks out the door.
A few minutes later I go outside to the car to take my daughter to a friend’s. Ugh. He is still here packing their truck and watches me walk down the stairs.
“What are you doing later?”
And my most wonderful response, the queen of all dorkiness responses is, “Enjoying the cool air.” Along with the obnoxious Ernie laugh. Lord, help me…please. I jump in the car and high tail it out of there.
My youngest daughter says, “Oh man was he flirting with you. What is wrong with you?”
I wish I knew.
There is next week though—maybe I will get it together and figure it out by then.
Monika M. Basile
I am in love with words. Reading them, writing them and speaking them. I got an A in speech class from a teacher who never gave A’s. I won fifth in the state of Illinois on the speech team for a piece I did. I was in every play in high school. I was an MC for a festival. I speak to everyone about everything. I actually can’t shut up most of the time even when I should. Yet, throw a handsome man my way who happens to take me off guard and I am suddenly Jerry Lewis stuttering and blurting out idiocy.
It's not like I haven’t dated much. It is not like I have no experience to fall back on. I have dated a variety of men from every walk of life, but usually I realize what is happening before it happens and I can avoid my dorkiness showing up because I am somewhat prepared. It’s the surprises that send me for a tailspin. Then I am in "dork mania" with my mind racing a mile a minute to say something to make me look less goofy and I instead spill out everything that has raced through my mind—and I make absolutely no sense. To top it all off—I laugh. I don’t mean a coy flirty laugh; I am talking about the awful laugh. I am talking about the laugh that builds up inside me that I can never stop and I sound like Ernie from Sesame Street which of course brings on the blushing which is another prize I am unable to control.
Last night, two men came to fix the air conditioning in my apartment. I heard a few shouts, a ladder hit the building. I ran out to the top of the stairs hoping upon hope that it would be the saviors who would deliver me from the fiery pit my apartment had become.
“Please tell me you are here to fix my air!” I shouted down. “I’m dying in here.”
One of the men is shielding his eyes from the sun as he walks nearer to the staircase. “How are you handling this heat?” he asks as he pulls his hand away and I can see his handsome face and I am speechless as his gaze then drifts up my body and he smiles.
My inner dork creeped out right then, “By being a bitch. The children are afraid. Save us.” I blurted. Oh my God! Shut up, shut up, shut up.
He laughs and comes up the stairs. Staring intently at me he asks, “Where is your husband? Where is your boyfriend?”
“I don’t have one. That’s why I live here...” and then the awful laugh seeps out while I let him in my apartment. Shut up!
He starts to fire off questions to me about myself and not the air conditioning problems. I answer them without thinking. He asks if I work and where and I explain how I work with seriously mentally ill adults in a group home. He asks how old I am and then says he is ten years older than me. I am laughing the horrid laugh again and tell him he looks so young. (Which he does, and handsome too, and has a sexy lyrical accent)He asks why the cold air duct door is hanging down in the hallway. I tell him it’s because I lost the screws when I was changing the filter. He tells me he will be right back.
While he goes outside, I am telling myself to calm the hell down because I am being a total idiot and shaming myself in front of all of the teenagers coming in and out. I feel the heat spreading over my face and it is not because my living room feels like the towering inferno. I am embarrassed by the way he has looked at me, embarrassed by my reaction, embarrassed by my embarrassment.
He comes back with the screws and climbs up on a chair to fix the cold air return door. “You didn’t need screws. You need nuts.” I of course think of that differently than I think he meant that. His “not screws” are at eye level and I am overcome with giggles.
And there comes the mouse voice squeaking out and me trying at the same time to apologize for not knowing the difference between the two, while I try to hold in the obnoxious Ernie laugh. He is laughing too.
They fix the air temporarily and tell me they will be back the next week because it is a big job. They leave. The man, the handsome man winks at me as he walks out the door.
A few minutes later I go outside to the car to take my daughter to a friend’s. Ugh. He is still here packing their truck and watches me walk down the stairs.
“What are you doing later?”
And my most wonderful response, the queen of all dorkiness responses is, “Enjoying the cool air.” Along with the obnoxious Ernie laugh. Lord, help me…please. I jump in the car and high tail it out of there.
My youngest daughter says, “Oh man was he flirting with you. What is wrong with you?”
I wish I knew.
There is next week though—maybe I will get it together and figure it out by then.
Monika M. Basile
My Date With Fifteen Men
Meeting someone for the first time can be something that can cause me to shake in my boots a bit. But I am brave, and I do so anyway. It is difficult enough to wonder what they will think, what I will think, what we will think without also wondering what a crowd of others may think. But as I said...I am brave.
We had agreed to meet for a drink. He would be having dinner with a buddy coming into town and I was teaching a self defense class. We would meet after each event and after I could change my clothes and run a comb through my hair. And then I receive a text, “He is running late, would you be interested in joining us? Unless you are too scared...”
I responded, “I am NOT scared.” and agreed to it because sometimes I just cannot turn down a taunt like that. Except I was scared. It is hard enough to be in a sense on display for one let alone for two to decide if I muster up to their expectations. I know it really isn’t any big deal . You meet and decide if you like each other a bit or decide you don’t and continue to carry on. However, it still unnerved me a bit.
I realize while I am driving there, that I probably won’t recognize him due to him only having one picture on his profile and that being a an actual profile. Looking at someone straight on looks different. At stop light I send a quick text saying I should be arriving in five minutes and to wave at me or something so I will know where he is. Instead, he is standing near the door speaking with another man and smiles at me. “Hi. Our tables over here.” He leads the way and continues, “My buddy isn’t here yet but will be here soon. I’ll be right back.”
I sit there waiting, wondering if I am sitting in the spot he chose for himself because his phone is laying on the table. Wondering if he is former military and needs the spot I am sitting in which is with my back to the wall as I have noticed most men in the military want their back against the wall in a public place. I am peeling back conversation in my head to figure it out as I wait. He comes back with two men and looks nervous, he introduces his buddy and his former boss. “Uhhm, I’m sorry, this is unexpected...my old boss and some of my old co-workers are here. They would like us to join them if you will.”
I feel like a deer caught in headlights. I am sure I look terrified. I whisper, “Would you like me to just go? I mean it’s okay, I don’t want to intrude...”
He grabs my arm, “No, no don’t go, it’s just...is it okay to join them? I didn’t plan this...”
I take a deep breath and figure why not? On the way to their area (I had not seen their section yet) he says, “I’m really sorry...” and then I turn to the section and see fifteen men or more scattered among the tables. “The conversation may get a bit geeky. We are all engineers...” He stands me at one end of the tables and finds me a chair while introducing me. I am completely out of my element and intimidated by this amount of testosterone in one small space. I am the only woman here on top of not knowing a soul--including my date.
And yes, the conversation he called “geeky” sounded like everyone was speaking French to my ears. I am a fairly intelligent person, yet, this was like sitting in the midst of an episode of The big Bang Theory. The men are a variety of ages and from all over the country. All are brilliant but stop a moment midstride to cheer the Blackhawks scoring and to then turn the conversation to my Elvis purse to somehow include me in their reunion.
My date, Mr. Bit Of A Genius, apologizes again, “It’s all so unusual...but I’m glad you stayed.” I am too because I think I learned more about him on this odd first date than I have ever learned about any man on a date. I learned that despite strangeness popping up, he could adjust and so can I. I learned he was well respected and liked by his former colleagues. I learned that though I had no idea what any of them were talking about, he attempted to make me feel comfortable and draw me into the conversation and he didn’t ignore me. I learned that he is funny and quick to laugh and treated the people around him well.
A few days later, he invited me out again. I had to ask, “Are you bringing fifteen men with you this time?”
He responded, “Do I need to?”
Monika M. Basile
We had agreed to meet for a drink. He would be having dinner with a buddy coming into town and I was teaching a self defense class. We would meet after each event and after I could change my clothes and run a comb through my hair. And then I receive a text, “He is running late, would you be interested in joining us? Unless you are too scared...”
I responded, “I am NOT scared.” and agreed to it because sometimes I just cannot turn down a taunt like that. Except I was scared. It is hard enough to be in a sense on display for one let alone for two to decide if I muster up to their expectations. I know it really isn’t any big deal . You meet and decide if you like each other a bit or decide you don’t and continue to carry on. However, it still unnerved me a bit.
I realize while I am driving there, that I probably won’t recognize him due to him only having one picture on his profile and that being a an actual profile. Looking at someone straight on looks different. At stop light I send a quick text saying I should be arriving in five minutes and to wave at me or something so I will know where he is. Instead, he is standing near the door speaking with another man and smiles at me. “Hi. Our tables over here.” He leads the way and continues, “My buddy isn’t here yet but will be here soon. I’ll be right back.”
I sit there waiting, wondering if I am sitting in the spot he chose for himself because his phone is laying on the table. Wondering if he is former military and needs the spot I am sitting in which is with my back to the wall as I have noticed most men in the military want their back against the wall in a public place. I am peeling back conversation in my head to figure it out as I wait. He comes back with two men and looks nervous, he introduces his buddy and his former boss. “Uhhm, I’m sorry, this is unexpected...my old boss and some of my old co-workers are here. They would like us to join them if you will.”
I feel like a deer caught in headlights. I am sure I look terrified. I whisper, “Would you like me to just go? I mean it’s okay, I don’t want to intrude...”
He grabs my arm, “No, no don’t go, it’s just...is it okay to join them? I didn’t plan this...”
I take a deep breath and figure why not? On the way to their area (I had not seen their section yet) he says, “I’m really sorry...” and then I turn to the section and see fifteen men or more scattered among the tables. “The conversation may get a bit geeky. We are all engineers...” He stands me at one end of the tables and finds me a chair while introducing me. I am completely out of my element and intimidated by this amount of testosterone in one small space. I am the only woman here on top of not knowing a soul--including my date.
And yes, the conversation he called “geeky” sounded like everyone was speaking French to my ears. I am a fairly intelligent person, yet, this was like sitting in the midst of an episode of The big Bang Theory. The men are a variety of ages and from all over the country. All are brilliant but stop a moment midstride to cheer the Blackhawks scoring and to then turn the conversation to my Elvis purse to somehow include me in their reunion.
My date, Mr. Bit Of A Genius, apologizes again, “It’s all so unusual...but I’m glad you stayed.” I am too because I think I learned more about him on this odd first date than I have ever learned about any man on a date. I learned that despite strangeness popping up, he could adjust and so can I. I learned he was well respected and liked by his former colleagues. I learned that though I had no idea what any of them were talking about, he attempted to make me feel comfortable and draw me into the conversation and he didn’t ignore me. I learned that he is funny and quick to laugh and treated the people around him well.
A few days later, he invited me out again. I had to ask, “Are you bringing fifteen men with you this time?”
He responded, “Do I need to?”
Monika M. Basile
One in a Million
I don’t want to date me.
I want to date someone who is different than me. Someone who might open new worlds up or at least make the conversation a bit more exciting than talking to myself. I want to date someone who has similar core values but is not all the same things I am. I don’t want to be in competition with my potential mate.
Of course, it is important that dating couples share some common hobbies and interest. It is important to have things to discuss and talk about and activities to share together. It’s a good idea to maybe like some of the same music or be able to enjoy a movie together—to like certain things our mate likes. However, we do not have to be clones to share a life together and enjoy our time together.
By the urging of my dear Aunt, whom I have written about before, I joined a dating site she suggested. “Monika, you need to try something new because what you are doing is just not working for you.” So I did as she suggested and figured I would give it a whirl. I filled out the profile and answered all kinds of questions, I submitted picture after picture that they kept rejecting for a variety of reasons I could not comprehend and wound up with one where I look tired and bewildered. (hmmm...maybe that in fact is the most accurate photo of me) and I took their test—their test that was supposed to match me up with my ultimate match.
I decided to be utterly honest and mark the little boxes with the truth—even if the truth wasn’t always so pretty and if my opinion was not always so acceptable to others. I kept thinking that if I want this to truly work I need to be real about it and not fudge things to make me look better or worse—I needed to just be me. I anxiously awaited the results, well not anxiously but with curiosity. The results were most surprising.
No Matches. No matches pending. Ta da!
I stared at the screen stunned. I actually was near tears. How can this be? There are over eight thousand men in my surrounding area on this site and I am not a good match for any of them. How is that possible? No matter how much I do not want to date my clone, how can there not be a lone soul somewhere similar to me in the least? There isn’t, at least according to computer gadgetry. This is not even a new
One day, while fooling around with my profile on another site, I hit the little box that said, “”View your profile as others see it.” And I did. Then I hit the little box saying, “See other profiles like this one.” Hmmm, I thought, I wonder who they compare me with? No one. That’s who they compared me with. That’s who is similar.
“Monikablahblahblah is one in a million. There are no other profiles like hers.” I almost wonder if that was a kind way to say I am bizarre.
I am sure some of you are thinking GIVE UP ALREADY, but I’m not and I won’t. I may not find one of the ones who will be my potential life sharer on a dating site. I may not find him in the grocery store or at the library or at work or in a multitude of places people meet. But I will find him. I might even be surprised and he will find me. I am sure there is some interesting man in the world looking for me—the woman who was labeled “One in a Million”.
Monika M. Basile
I want to date someone who is different than me. Someone who might open new worlds up or at least make the conversation a bit more exciting than talking to myself. I want to date someone who has similar core values but is not all the same things I am. I don’t want to be in competition with my potential mate.
Of course, it is important that dating couples share some common hobbies and interest. It is important to have things to discuss and talk about and activities to share together. It’s a good idea to maybe like some of the same music or be able to enjoy a movie together—to like certain things our mate likes. However, we do not have to be clones to share a life together and enjoy our time together.
By the urging of my dear Aunt, whom I have written about before, I joined a dating site she suggested. “Monika, you need to try something new because what you are doing is just not working for you.” So I did as she suggested and figured I would give it a whirl. I filled out the profile and answered all kinds of questions, I submitted picture after picture that they kept rejecting for a variety of reasons I could not comprehend and wound up with one where I look tired and bewildered. (hmmm...maybe that in fact is the most accurate photo of me) and I took their test—their test that was supposed to match me up with my ultimate match.
I decided to be utterly honest and mark the little boxes with the truth—even if the truth wasn’t always so pretty and if my opinion was not always so acceptable to others. I kept thinking that if I want this to truly work I need to be real about it and not fudge things to make me look better or worse—I needed to just be me. I anxiously awaited the results, well not anxiously but with curiosity. The results were most surprising.
No Matches. No matches pending. Ta da!
I stared at the screen stunned. I actually was near tears. How can this be? There are over eight thousand men in my surrounding area on this site and I am not a good match for any of them. How is that possible? No matter how much I do not want to date my clone, how can there not be a lone soul somewhere similar to me in the least? There isn’t, at least according to computer gadgetry. This is not even a new
One day, while fooling around with my profile on another site, I hit the little box that said, “”View your profile as others see it.” And I did. Then I hit the little box saying, “See other profiles like this one.” Hmmm, I thought, I wonder who they compare me with? No one. That’s who they compared me with. That’s who is similar.
“Monikablahblahblah is one in a million. There are no other profiles like hers.” I almost wonder if that was a kind way to say I am bizarre.
I am sure some of you are thinking GIVE UP ALREADY, but I’m not and I won’t. I may not find one of the ones who will be my potential life sharer on a dating site. I may not find him in the grocery store or at the library or at work or in a multitude of places people meet. But I will find him. I might even be surprised and he will find me. I am sure there is some interesting man in the world looking for me—the woman who was labeled “One in a Million”.
Monika M. Basile
The Opposite of Love is Indifference
The age of indifference has nothing to do with numbers. It has to do with mindset and what we grow accustomed to, what we allow, what we accept and what we have given up on. I have found this does not conform to an actual timeline or years lived in the world. This has more to do with not caring and not even caring that you’re flitting through life unconcerned.
People are people no matter what age they are.
I have been given advice to go for older men. “They are the ones who will take care of you. Who will get you. Who will want to settle down and actually have real relationships.”
I have been told by an older man, “We’re too old to get emotional about things. We don’t need all that seriousness.”
My response was, “I’m too young to resign myself to live my life without any emotions involved.” Yet, I do not have any belief that my thought or feeling has anything to do with age. Nor do I think his thoughts on the matter have to do with how old he is either. It has to do with life experience and what we get from it.
We all have cracks in us, wounds that haven’t completely healed or have left scars, tragedies that linger somewhere in the recesses of our minds. We all have been hurt and disappointed at one time or another. Everyone comes from a place of experience if they have bothered living at all. Our indifference is a choice. It is not about being so jaded by the world we don’t want to even feel it anymore. It is about allowing our tragedies to steal our joys. This is what creates the numbness, the indifference to continuing to experience or lives as deeply as we can.
There is still joy—no matter what the past or present or future has in store for us. We have choices still to love or to ignore it. We don’t have to settle for what we think is all we can have. I have told myself that lie before thinking that maybe this is all there is. And it is a lie to believe that. It is a joy stealing lie.
I am capable of great love. I have loved with the deepest passion. Why would I allow myself to be robbed of the opportunity of having someone give me back as much as I will freely and joyfully give by accepting that I am getting to old to have “emotions” about my love life?
I have dated younger men whom also hold the same belief, ‘Let’s not get emotions involved.” And to each man of any age who is this indifferent I bid adieu—with joy. Each has spared me an emotionless relationship and I appreciate that.
I am not completely ruled by emotions or my feelings. I have a thinking and reasoning brain. I can love and still end a relationship knowing that it doesn’t work simply because I love. I just don’t regret the loving part. It is who I am. It is who I always was and most likely who I will always be. I have every faith that there is someone else in this world who feels—allows themselves to feel—the same way. I just have to wait for everything to line up and meet him.
Monika M. Basile
People are people no matter what age they are.
I have been given advice to go for older men. “They are the ones who will take care of you. Who will get you. Who will want to settle down and actually have real relationships.”
I have been told by an older man, “We’re too old to get emotional about things. We don’t need all that seriousness.”
My response was, “I’m too young to resign myself to live my life without any emotions involved.” Yet, I do not have any belief that my thought or feeling has anything to do with age. Nor do I think his thoughts on the matter have to do with how old he is either. It has to do with life experience and what we get from it.
We all have cracks in us, wounds that haven’t completely healed or have left scars, tragedies that linger somewhere in the recesses of our minds. We all have been hurt and disappointed at one time or another. Everyone comes from a place of experience if they have bothered living at all. Our indifference is a choice. It is not about being so jaded by the world we don’t want to even feel it anymore. It is about allowing our tragedies to steal our joys. This is what creates the numbness, the indifference to continuing to experience or lives as deeply as we can.
There is still joy—no matter what the past or present or future has in store for us. We have choices still to love or to ignore it. We don’t have to settle for what we think is all we can have. I have told myself that lie before thinking that maybe this is all there is. And it is a lie to believe that. It is a joy stealing lie.
I am capable of great love. I have loved with the deepest passion. Why would I allow myself to be robbed of the opportunity of having someone give me back as much as I will freely and joyfully give by accepting that I am getting to old to have “emotions” about my love life?
I have dated younger men whom also hold the same belief, ‘Let’s not get emotions involved.” And to each man of any age who is this indifferent I bid adieu—with joy. Each has spared me an emotionless relationship and I appreciate that.
I am not completely ruled by emotions or my feelings. I have a thinking and reasoning brain. I can love and still end a relationship knowing that it doesn’t work simply because I love. I just don’t regret the loving part. It is who I am. It is who I always was and most likely who I will always be. I have every faith that there is someone else in this world who feels—allows themselves to feel—the same way. I just have to wait for everything to line up and meet him.
Monika M. Basile
