Right Back Where I Started From—Intro

"It's like the riddle of the Sphinx...why are there so many great unmarried women and no great unmarried men?" — Carrie Bradshaw, Sex and the City

Somewhere between the stick turning pink and his three-week stint in Germany, I realized my marriage had tumbled from “we’re expecting” to “not quite what I expected.” I can’t blame one thing or one person for the adhesive wearing out of whatever was keeping our relationship together. The pretty pink faded in just shy of three months, and when he returned from work in Germany, we were living as strangers.

So three counselors and over three grand later, I was right back where I started when I moved to Chicago seven years earlier. But this time, I was no longer a wide-eyed twentysomething: I was in my 30s. Actually “in” my 30s. And I didn’t realize exactly how different an experience dating in my 30s would be from dating in my 20s. For one thing, it became “dating with a purpose.”

I can only imagine how it must feel from a man’s perspective to date a woman who is “dating with a purpose.” Sure I went on a few dates that I knew were likely to be “onesies,” but for the most part, we reach a point where it’s just easier and actually more enjoyable to clean out your DVR than spend several hours with someone you know you won’t recognize in a month.

The romantic scenario where you meet at a wedding reception wasn’t going to happen: My friends were already married and I haven’t crashed any kind of party since college. I’ve never once met anyone at the grocery store, zucchini section or otherwise. The only men that ever approached me at the health club were promoting their personal training services. Did I need to change my entire lifestyle? How would that be authentic—I’d be misrepresenting myself and then we’d all be disappointed in the end.

Of course, does any other feeling come with “The End?” It’s never as satisfying as the warm-fuzzy closure you receive from a childhood fairytale. “The End” of my marriage was excruciating. The End of my divorce was expensive and depressing. The End of every relationship involves one or both people feeling rejected, hurt, or even angry. The End is never accompanied by a feeling you want to put between two leather spines and pull out before bedtime…unless you like wallowing.

Optimistic that the odds were in my favor—I had never tried to meet men in an overcrowded metropolis—I was sure this whole “single situation” would rightly turn itself around in no time. The rental car guy asked for my number. My hairstylist set me up with a cute friend. I was game. I was “open.” I even read “The Secret.”

So this is a blog about my dating experiences between two marriages. Why would I want to rehash dating experiences or expect anyone to care? Two reasons. First, because everyone has “that friend” that’s still single and no one can figure out why. And second, so as to reassure my family and friends that I am, indeed, not hiding some dimorphic condition—psychological, physiological or otherwise.