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Everything Happens for a Reason

I didn’t always believe that everything happens for a reason.  At least not a good reason.

I’m rethinking that philosophy.  I wake up every morning thanking my lucky stars and various deities that I found a man who loves me, accepts me and wants to be with me.

It could be you.  But it’s not.  And I’m glad.  Because I couldn’t have found someone more perfect for me if I had conjured him up with a magic wand.

He asked me what would happen if you decided to leave TW and wanted me back.  I told him that I choose him.  Every day.  And I plan to spend every day proving it to him — for the rest of my life, if I’m fortunate enough to have him that long.

It doesn’t mean that what I felt for you wasn’t real.  It was real for me.  I’m not so sure about you.  But it doesn’t really matter now.

I think about the way the stars had to align for he and I to meet.  I had to move to this state despite my crumbling marriage.  Have an affair with you.  Divorce my husband.  Keep seeing you despite the pitfalls of being the mistress.  Your wife had to find out — twice, apparently.  I had to realize you didn’t really want me for anything other than a piece on the side.  I had to make a conscious decision to let you go.  To truly move on.

And then I met him.  I noticed him from across the room.  We chatted.  I knew instantly that I wanted him — and that he wanted me.  That doesn’t happen very much.  He had to go away for a couple of weeks, then he drove straight to my birthday party from three states away.

We’re going there this weekend.  There’s a big party and we’re going to go.  It’s our first real trip together (not counting my business trip he accompanied me on).

I’m going to savor this for as long as I can.  Learn from my mistakes.  Love him the way he needs to be loved.  Cherish every moment.  Treat him as well as I possibly can.

Not everyone gets two chances at true love.  Love that is deep and true and amazing.

I’ve fallen.  Hard.  It’s like he tripped me and I fell flat on my face (instead of head over heels).

You told me you wanted me to be happy.  That you didn’t want me to be lonely.  That you hoped I found someone.

Your last text to me didn’t seem like you were overjoyed for me.  That’s OK.

I’ve blocked you.  Calls or texts won’t get through.  I don’t have to jump at your ringtone or text chime ever again.

I’m not generally a bridge-burner.  But I am this time.  Maybe someday, when a lot of time has passed, we can be friends.  But not now.

The man who loves me and wants to wake up with me every day deserves my undivided attention.  And he’s going to get it.  Always.

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The art of moving on

Moving on from you has been more difficult than it appears.  I’m sure you don’t believe that from my last text to you.  It took a lot of effort, a bottle of wine and two friends cheering me on to type the words, “Please don’t contact me again.”  Big Sis didn’t want me to use the word “please.”    She wanted me to write something like, “Someone else has what you could have f’ing had.”  Or something like that. And she never uses the F word.

I get private messages from readers.  One that came in shortly after the post Last. Text. Ever. was published is particularly worthy of mention:

I know you think this is the last text, and it may be YOURS, but I doubt it will be HIS. I suspect he will text you again. Maybe not tomorrow, maybe not even next week. But he’s shown that he has a sort of addiction to you, and I think he will contact you after he’s had a chance to realize that you meant what you said. Plus, he’s a man. He’s territorial. What’s his is his, and the thought of another man pleasing you will rankle him.

It sounds like you’ve made the emotional break from him, though, so congratulations to you. I know it was difficult.

Thanks again for sharing your story with us. I hope you continue to do so with your new man. More than anything, though, it sounds like you’re happy, and that’s the best news of all.

I suspect she is correct that you will contact me again.  Big Sis thinks so, too.  You kept contacting me after you broke it off to “work on your marriage” (translation:  you were scared because you were caught) and after you were terrible to me because you thought I emailed your wife damaging info about your cheating.

But you don’t really love me. You might think you do, but if you did we wouldn’t be where we are today.  It has been so long since I was treated honorably by a man who truly wants me — and not just in the sexual sense — it was difficult for me to accept.  But I do, and I’m done with you.  It’s sad.  You really were the love of my life.  Too bad I wasn’t yours.
I get to move on now, with a man who genuinely adores me.  He wants to make me happy, and in the short time I’ve known him he’s made significant life decisions based upon the fact he wants to have a relationship with me.  That’s epic.  I’m overwhelmed.
Sitting across a table from me, he looked me in the eye and asked me why I was so sketchy about him — why I wouldn’t believe that he really wants me.  “Don’t you think we will work?” he asked.
I was bowled over.  Yes, I think we can work.  From that moment, I was “all in.”  At that instant I decided to put all of myself into this relationship.  Just as I had done with you.  The difference is, you hadn’t asked me for that.  And you hadn’t cared that I had put all of myself into my love for you.
This one does.  He’s the real deal.  Genuine.  Open.  Not afraid of intimacy.  Sweet. Sensitive.  All the while being the bad ass former military dude.  It’s sexy and seductive.  I needed to let myself feel and let him truly care about me.
That meant letting you go.
Yes, there are bittersweet thoughts.  He and I are going to do all of those things I’ve wanted to do with you over the years.  The things I always knew in my heart we would never do, you and me.  Wake up together.  Go out with my friends.  Leisurely dinners.  Weekend trips.  And yes, my trip to Europe.  Holidays.  Meeting the families.  Sitting by the river reading.  Sitting on the porch drinking wine.  Going to the beach.  Working out at the gym.  Long walks.  Hikes.  Festivals.
It’s early yet, could we grow old together?  Probably, if we cherish what we have and work on it.  He asked me to retire with him to a sunny southern state.  I asked if we could live on a sailboat.
You have supposedly been in love with me for years and never asked me that question.
How could I have been so wrong?  So stupid?
I chalk it up to lessons learned.  Big lessons.  Yes, they were worth it.  You were worth suffering for.  But it’s time to put the suffering behind and start living again.
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Last. Text. Ever.

Last night was one of the best of my life.  I had dinner and amazing conversation with the man with whom I am smitten.  It’s hard to say that, since I have been so in love with you for so very long.

You had been warned.  I talked to you a couple of weeks ago and told you about my new romance.  It pissed you off.

I saw you last week.  I wasn’t proud of it, and I will write about it later.  But I did. And I felt awful.

Especially after my conversation last night with Mr. Lookalike.  He truly wants me in every sense of the word.  He’s an amazing man.

So I devised in my mind what I would say when I next heard from you. Which, honestly, I thought would be before today. I last saw you on a day with very bad weather.  I never heard from you.  You didn’t ask if I made it home OK, didn’t express any concern about me at all.  I reached out once, in a fit of emotional angst over my new relationship, distressed because this new man thinks I’m wonderful and wants to spend every moment possible with me.  I was struggling with accepting the fact that you don’t.

I had assumed you would eventually send me a text saying you love me and/or miss me.  My planned response was to be Love the One You’re With.

Today I deleted you from my phone’s favorites.  Then I deleted our text history.  Over  a year’s worth of texts.  Had to be nearly 3,000.  My phone went haywire afterward.

And then the text came in.  I need to paraphrase since I have deleted it.  It said something like, “Hi, how are you doing?’  That made it difficult to use the line I planned.  Big Bro, however, told me to put on my Big Girl Panties and do the right thing.

I replied something like, “I am doing very well, actually never been better!  I don’t know why you are asking, since you are supposed to be in [wife's native country] with your family.  Love the One You’re With.”

That obviously went over your head.  You texted back with why you didn’t leave the country and info about a work catastrophe.  At the end, as an afterthought, you said you were glad I was doing well.

I remember my last text to you very well.

“I’m in a committed relationship with a man who makes me very happy.  Please do not contact me again.  Thank you.”

Your reply confirmed in my mind that I have done the right thing.  Made the right choice.  And while it seemed harsh, it didn’t hurt me as much as I would have thought it would.

“OK — Works for me!  Good Luck!”

You didn’t say you were glad I was happy.  You always told me you just wanted me to be happy.  You never said you wanted to MAKE me happy.  Well, Mr. Lookalike does.  He says, “I want to make you happy.”  He doesn’t want to lose me.  And although his life is uncertain right now — where he will live, what kind of work he will do — he assures me that he wants me to be part of his life.

Good luck?  I already have it.  

A piece of my heart always will be with you.  And you will continue to disrespect it for the rest of your life, just as you’ve disrespected my love for you over the past four years.

You are the one who needs luck.

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Hope and Fear

I’m here in my bed at noon on a Sunday morning struggling to put my thoughts into words.  I don’t often have that problem.

Mr. Celebrity Lookalike left a couple of hours ago.  And yes, he does bear a striking resemblance to a famous broadcaster.  It’s almost uncanny.

It was my official birthday party last night, a joint party with several friends who have birthdays in the same month.  Of course you could never attend such a gathering.  My FWB didn’t even respond to my invitation.

I got a happy birthday call from Mr. Lookalike, who was in a city three states to the south looking after his investment property.  He asked about the party and then asked if I had male companionship for the event.  I acknowledged I did not.  He then, very boldly, very presumptuously, asked if he could be my date.  I enthusiastically accepted.

He drove 8 hours to get here — was running late due to a catastrophe at his rental — and drove straight to the bar.  He later accompanied Ms. Party Girl and me to another watering hole, then made sure she got home safely before driving me home.  He stayed here until late morning before heading home to unload his truckload of belongings that he had brought with him.

I can’t find anything wrong with him. It scares me.

He’s polite.  Gentlemanly.  Affectionate.  Attentive.  Fun.  Friendly.  He greeted all of my friends, introduced himself and shook their hands.  The men were wary.  The women were wowed.  He was a big hit.

For a few moments I thought I had found a flaw — he was deep in conversation with my friend at the bar, and I wasn’t really participating (I don’t even recall the subject at this point).  Just when I thought perhaps he could be being too attentive to her, he leaned over and kissed me.

OK, I’m smitten.

He seems stable, despite living in another state for a year while tending to his investment and now living with his very elderly parents.  By the way, his rental is located in one of my favorite cities.  He seems to be relatively recently divorced, but no apparent baggage.  He said he doesn’t even know where his ex lives.  He doesn’t belong to the opposite political party, but acknowledges he did for many years.

And despite his military aviation career…he’s a scientist.  His degree is in a science.  I don’t know why I was so surprised by the revelation.  It’s the type for which I am a magnet.

I know he has those traits that, while I’m drawn to them, can indicate issues.  Aviators, military officers, scientists…they all can be self-absorbed control freaks.  So the jury is out…but I’m cautiously optimistic.

I’m trying to just go with it and see where it leads.  I’m trying to keep my expectations low to avoid disappointment.  But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t excited about this turn of events.

My mind, however, tends to go negative.  What if he’s a player?  Has a serious girlfriend in the other city?  Takes a job far away? Doesn’t want a real relationship?

So far there is no evidence that points in those directions — although he is looking for a job.  Not terribly seriously, but eventually he will need occupation and might want some cash.  He complains about the climate here after living in warmer areas for his entire career.

He likes cats.  My cat likes him.  It must be meant to be.

A New Start?

I went out for New Year’s Eve with my wild gal pal.  A bar with a band then a friend’s house party.  We both were in foul moods regarding men.  You had called me earlier in the afternoon.

Expecting an uneventful evening of being mostly bored, we headed out dressed to the nines.

As we sat at the bar in our local watering hole I noticed an attractive man on the other side of the large bar.  He caught my eye not just because he’s good looking, but because he bears a striking resemblance to a celebrity.  I asked the bartender if she knew him, and commented on his resemblance to the celebrity.  She, being a young woman who never watches the news, had no idea to whom I was referring.

One thing led to another and through the bartender our interest in one another was expressed and we struck up a conversation.  I thought nothing of it, other than it was mild flirtation.  However, as we were putting on our coats to leave, he rushed over to hand me his card.  I wrote my name and number on a napkin.  In a fit of what could be considered bad judgment, I also wrote the address of the party we were attending.

I told our host that a guy resembling a celebrity (who was on their big screen TV at that moment) might show up.  Next thing I know, the host is announcing that the celebrity has arrived.   It was funny as hell.

A lovely time was had by all.

At 9:30 a.m. today I got a text from him.  Yes, I think he likes me.  A lot.  I’m kind of liking him, too.  I’m just a little bit excited about it.  Although cautiously.

During the time I spent talking with him, some traits were obvious.  They reminded me of you, and some reminded me of Mr. IT, my FWB.  Obviously, I’m attracted to men who are tightly wound.  He’s retired military, too, so there’s that similarity to you.

Later today I finally took a sober look at his business card, which is from his last post before he retired.  He had scribbled his phone number on the back.  I take a look at his rank.  I groaned.

Explains a lot.  A whole lot.  I’m not terribly familiar with his branch’s rank system, but I’m pretty sure he outranks you.

I’m still cautiously optimistic.

Right now, my biggest fear is that he is married.  No ring, and he was with his son-in-law in the bar so it seems reasonable that he’s not a cheater, but you never know.

I like him.  And I always wanted to date a celebrity.

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Getting social!

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It’s time to take this blog to the next level…via Facebookand Twitter.

The social media sites for this blog won’t just be about my relationship with my Lost Lover.  Let’s encourage people everywhere who have lost a love to post about it.  Spread the word…please go to the Facebook page and like it, then share it with your friends.  If you tweet, or even if you don’t, go to Twitter and follow the feed.  Retweet the tweets to spread the word!

 

Happy Birthday?

HappyBirthday-Flickr-WillClayton

I spent your birthday in bed with another man.  And I didn’t cry for once.

A lot has happened in the last couple of days — I can’t wrap my mind around it all.  I have to let it marinate before I can write about it.  It’s so painful right now I don’t even want to think about it.

The Wife is after me again, this time with a vengeance.  And you were a complete and total asshole.  I can’t believe how dishonorable you have been.  It makes me want to eat icing.

I think I will.

My heart is with you.  Always.  And that makes me want to stab myself.  But cookie dough will have to do because I can’t take any more pain.

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Calm and perspective

I’ve reached a state of calm.

Recent changes in your life must be part of the “saving your marriage” grand plan.  Even though you told me this week, “nothing has changed between us,” you know it’s not true.  Things haven’t been the same since The Wife found out about our affair.  We haven’t been as close, haven’t talked as much and definitely haven’t seen each other as often.

I think you’re trying to kick the habit — “wean” yourself from me, so to speak.  You’re really trying.

It’s time for me to go.

I sent you a happy birthday e-card text yesterday and left you a voicemail on your office phone.  No reply or acknowledgment to either.

I’m sorry, but we’re history.  That’s unacceptable.

Today is “A Day in Infamy.”  It’s the 72nd anniversary of the attack on Pearl Harbor.

It’s also been one year since I met my friend Mr. IT.  You know about him, he knows about you.  He and I are friends — with occasional benefits — and the only person I “date,” so to speak.  We stopped for a while when I was being faithful to you.  I cried on him when he tried to seduce me after The Breakup.  We have adventures and good conversation.  We don’t mix our social lives or our families, by agreement.   We agreed to keep seeing each other until you come to your senses or either of us find love (and he — a mother for his young children).

I’ve been officially single for 13 months.  I met him a month to the day after my husband left — the day I picked up my divorce agreement from my lawyer.  It’s been quite a year.

It’s time for me to find real love.  I’m going to see Mr. IT tonight and I’m going to tell him that, too.  Sure, I will keep seeing him until I’m in an exclusive relationship, but that’s what I’m going for.

It’s really difficult.  No one compares to you.  I’m seriously in love with you and I love you unconditionally.  That means even though you’re married.  And an asshole.

But that’s not what you want from me.  Sure you like it.  Bask in it.  You don’t get that at home and never have.  You never will at the rate you’re going.

All the signs have been there for me.  I got a call out of the blue from a guy I met 10 months ago.  I went out with him once and then never returned his texts because he waited about 2 weeks to text me after our date.  And he didn’t ask a question.  I answered the phone this time.  I was in a bar with friends.  It was weird and awkward.  He’s too young and lives in the city where I work.  But it was a sign.

Then an acquaintance at the bar purposely introduced me and other single female friends to another recently-single man.  Ironically I met him a few times many years ago.  He owned a business my The Ex and I frequented.  He lost it and the wife.  Bad luck.  Nice guy.  Kind of weird and introverted like you.

Neither of them is a serious prospect.  Neither of them measures up to you in any way.

But it’s a sign.

Time to move on.

My heart really is with you.  I really do love you.  I always will.  But that doesn’t matter enough to you for you to acknowledge my birthday greeting.  It doesn’t mean I won’t pine for you and post mushy romantic crap about you on here.  I probably will even see you if you want, because you’re amazing in bed and I like to have the last word.  But that’s it.

I’m done.

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Get in line

Since you’ve made it clear that your mind is made up about staying in your marriage, yet you want to continue to see me, it’s time that I stop favoring you.  I’ve joked that you are “grandfathered in,” since I refuse to date married guys.

Henceforth, let it be known that you will be subjected to the same rules and criteria as any other guy trying to get in my pants.  Here they are:

1.  Texts that don’t contain a question will not be answered.  And the question must be about my general well-being or something else, not “Are you horny?”

2. No last-minute hookups.  If I’m not important enough to plan ahead for, you’re not important enough.

3.  No 2-hour meetings.  I know a whole night isn’t generally possible, but no brief booty calls.

4.  If we’re going to be Friends With Benefits, we have to be friends.  That means conversations about life, family, friends, activities.  On the phone.

5.  If I only hear from you when you want to get laid, you’re not going to get laid (by me, anyway).

6.  You have to call me if you want to see me.  None of this texting stuff without talking.

7.  There will be a delay between the time I hear from you and the time I respond.

I’m prepared to not answer your text or phone call if they don’t meet my criteria.  Eventually I will answer because I think it’s rude not to respond.  But I will tell you why I didn’t.

I remember you telling me about a woman you dated between marriages who stopped answering your calls or texts.  You drove to her house — over an hour away — to see what was wrong.  She dumped you.

That could happen again.

My heart is with you.  Always.

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Throwback Thursday: Do We Fit One Another’s Criteria?*

*This note was written before The Breakup.

Sometimes it’s important to remember why we are here.  I was married and started having an affair with You nearly 3 1/2 years ago.  I finally summoned up the courage to leave my husband.

Determined not to commit myself to a married man, I tried online dating.  Then I stopped.  I met weirdos and no one measured up to you.  I committed to You – then there was The Meltdown.  It — along with facing the potential of having cancer (I didn’t) — made me change my mind.  Mostly, though, it was The Meltdown.

During my convalescence, I joined two online dating sites that are supposed to be more high-class than the free or cheap ones.  They mostly involve answering literally thousands of questions about yourself.  One of the exercises involved me making a list of what I want in a partner.

I want a partner who (this is in no particular order):

• Loves me.
• Values me.
• Wants me.
• Enjoys my company—both alone and in the company of others.
• Enjoys socializing, at least to some degree.
• Likes to travel.
• Appreciates the parts of me/qualities that are not related to him.
• Is proud that I am hardworking, ambitious, career-oriented, etc.
• Has his own life apart from me – friends, family, hobbies, etc. and appreciates that I have interests, friends, etc. that aren’t connected to him.
• Is supportive and understanding when I’m busy, have to work, need emotional support, etc.
• Accepts love, support and affection freely and also is affectionate (a good lover is also a must).
• Is strong, loving, ambitious, confident and well-adjusted.
• Is not afraid of being loved.

Do You fit this criteria?  If I were meeting you online, would we want to get to know one another?

I don’t know.  Do You enjoy my company in the company of others?  We’ve never been around other people.  We’ve never socialized — although I know you do (a lot less than I do).  You say you like to travel, but most of your travel is for work or to visit family.  You take your one vacation a year.  I think you’re proud that I’m ambitious, and you certainly have your own life apart from me.  You ENTIRE life has nothing to do with me at all.

You lose points on supportive and understanding.  And I used to think you were well-adjusted, but The Meltdown has made me re-evaluate that.  You’re most of the other things.

And you weren’t afraid of being loved.  Many men are afraid of love.

Why is that?  It looks like a married guy would be more afraid of emotional entanglements than a single one.

Oh the irony.

My heart is with you.  Always.