I mean, I had my anti-Asshat checklist, and The Weatherman ticked nearly all the boxes. Bingo, right?
It seems lists (even those typed, single-spaced, and two pages long) will only get a girl so far. Relationships are by definition reciprocal agreements. I needed to tick his boxes, too (why does that sound naughty?). It became apparent fairly quickly that there were some crucial ways I couldn’t.
The interesting thing was that he was able to communicate this to me. I mean, he actually made it clear that there were things he needed that he felt I was unable to provide. To borrow a phrase I use with my small nieces and nephews, he used his words.
And I listened.
I realized that while our differences may have been few, they were significant.
I recognized that I’ve worked too hard to get where I am to compromise on some important points - and that the same is true of The Weatherman.
I acknowledged that maybe a girl who is still hanging out and drinking beer and walking dogs with The Ex on a regular basis isn’t quite ready to give her all to a new relationship. Or that maybe I just need someone who understands that I am not one to carve people I’ve loved out of my life. I favor evolution over scorched earth.
The strangest part of this breakup?
I could be feeling hopeless, disappointed, a bit like Sisyphus in heels chasing a great big ball of relationship fails up and down an endless hill.
But I don’t.
Instead, I feel a sense of surrender to what is and a hopefulness about what is to come. There are real, good men out there. I can enjoy getting back on my feet again; I don’t need to immediately be swept off them. Life is not a Disney film. I am not Sleeping Beauty: kissed, redeemed, happily-ever-aftered into submission.
I am wide awake.
Safe, sound, and forecasting ever-smoother sailing ahead.