Huh.

In the last few weeks, where I’ve finally started to feel that I’m moving on from my breakup and even, unbelievably, starting to have feelings and hopes for someone new, there’s been a part of me that has been looking over my shoulder, expecting the villain to re-enter the stage. You know that feeling. It’s what Carrie meant in the finale of Sex and the City:

You do this every time! Every time! What? Do you have some sort of radar? Carrie might be happy, it’s time to sweep in and shit all over it?

It wouldn’t be the first time. In fact, it NOT happening would be a first. So even though Hunky has given no indication he’ll follow in the footsteps of every single other man I’ve dated, even though he’s made it clear that we are not in contact, and even though he’s supposed to be tucked away safe in Kiwi-a-gogo Land, I can’t help but have this niggling worry that any minute now, he will turn up and wreak havoc in my life again. That’s why I was so angry with myself for sending the New Year text. I felt like it opened the door, and it was a big relief not to get a reaction. And for the most part since then, I’ve been telling myself that I’m just being silly. And that even if he did show up, I can handle it.

Then, today, this turned up in my Facebook inbox from one of his friends. One of the friends I de-friended because Hunky kept getting tagged in his photos.

looking good
hey u hows it going!!!

He’s a friendly guy, and we always got on really well. I was really sorry to defriend him, but it felt necessary at the time. And I think he probably just wondered how I was doing and wanted to be friendly. Which is nice.

Still. It feels a little like the first horseman of the apocalypse…

Sea glass

I’ve been thinking a lot about my pre-Hunky exes recently. Which is odd in a way, because I’m so focused on moving forward at the moment, but I suppose part of that is taking the past with you. And I’ve been thinking about some of the things we shared. Moments that, at the time, were everything to me. Moments that became too painful for me to think about and remember properly, but now seem like scenes from a movie of someone else’s life.

It’s funny how that happens. It’s like the relationship, when you’re in it, is some kind of beautiful, fragile, thing. Something that catches the light and makes rainbows on the ceiling. And when it shatters, it’s too hard to go back and pick up those pieces and look at them. They’re all splinters and jagged edges, full of danger and the certainty of pain. And that’s how it feels for a long, long time.

But slowly, as the years go by, the rough edges smooth out, as if they’ve been washed up by an ocean. Worn down, over and over again. Until one day you pick them up and they’re smooth and slightly opaque. Broken, but beautiful.

Those relationships are long gone, but the most luminous moments remain. A dance on my 21st birthday. Doves flying off a Milanese roof as he leans in for our first kiss. Holding hands on a park bench. Different men, unforgettable moments.

Last February, Hunky and I sat on a deserted beach in New Zealand, watching a full moon. Holding each other close. Watching how the light played over the sea. Feeling the cold sand between our toes. No one else in the whole world. As we got up to go I whispered I loved him, and this time he said he loved me back – his hair tousled, his eyes bright in the moonlight, a smile creasing the corners.

And one day, when all of this is over, I’ll pick that piece of sea glass up and it won’t make my heart break to look at it. One day, that’s how I’ll remember him.

Rebound

A couple of days ago I was talking to a friend who went through a really bad breakup a couple of years ago. Although she’d been through breakups before, this was the first time she’d been dumped, and the first that really shook her confidence and the way she saw herself in the world. And even though she got over the guy in about six months, it’s only now that she’s really pulled it together. Most of that was down to some bad rebound behaviour.

The thing is, she’d been one of those people who’s always in a relationship. I tried to advise her to use the time to finally be single, to get to know herself, but within a couple of months she was on dating websites. She started seeing a couple of guys and each time it would be high intensity for a few weeks and then, poof, he’d disappear. And she’d feel crappy, so she’d start looking for someone new, and the same thing would happen again. And the more she dated, the worse the guys got until a few months ago she admitted to me that she was involved with a guy who had a girlfriend. He’d been single when they first dated briefly, so he hadn’t been with the girlfriend long when they hooked up again. So he just carried on seeing both of them. Is it just me, or are you hearing alarm bells all over the place? A guy who’s going to act like that is not a guy you want to keep seeing, even if he had left his girlfriend for her (which he never did). Of course I advised her to run like hell, but she stuck around for another few months until finally she broke the connection and got him out of her life for good.

The funny thing is that, apart from the dating, the other things she did after the breakup were really healthy. She got really into running, and then into triathlons, and now into cycling. Not only does she look unbelievable (the girl has a six pack!) but she’s discovered a whole new passion and lifestyle. And I think she’s finally at a place where she’s not looking for a guy to validate that for her. Finally. Everyone’s journey is different, but I can’t help but think how different the past couple of years could have been for her if she’d just held off on the dating.

I’ve never been one of those people who gets out of one relationship and jumps into another. After my first serious relationship ended, I didn’t even snog anyone for about a year and it was a long 18 months before I had sex. I didn’t get into a new relationship for years. After my entanglement with this guy, I was on my own for seven months before I started dating Hunky. And in each case, I needed that time to grieve and to process and to get myself back. But here I am, just four months after Hunky dumped me, possibly embarking on something new.

What I absolutely don’t want is  to start doing what my friend did – filling a boyfriend-shaped hole in my life instead of doing the hard work. Looking for someone to validate me because my confidence is shaken. Going out with someone just because I don’t want to be on my own. So I’m a little wary. But so far, I don’t think that’s what I’m doing. I know I like this guy for the right reasons and it seems a shame to miss the chance to get to know someone great just because they arrived a little early. I’ve been pretty honest with myself (and him) about the fact that I’m not 100% over Hunky, but I do know that I don’t want my ex back, so it’s really a case of working through those residual feelings.

But what I am determined to do is not lose the opportunity for growth that this breakup presented me with. I still need to figure out where I am in the world, and what I want my future to look like, who I want to be. And I’ll be watching myself carefully. If I start to feel like this something new is getting in the way of that, it’s time to pull back. But so far, so good.

What do you think? When is it sensible to start dating again?

The dream house

When I was about 12, my mom went through a stage of having inspirational tapes in her car. One of them made a big impression on me. I think it was supposed to be about forgiveness, but I remembered it for a completely different reason.

The tape told the story of a woman (let’s just call her Anne) who found herself in a very happy marriage to a guy called John. For whatever reason, they’d decided against having children, but they’d always been happy in their own little world and with successful careers. And they’d always had a dream of building a house together. They spent years talking about what the house would look like and imagining where they might build it. And one day, an opportunity to buy the perfect piece of land came up. Their dream was finally coming true. So they bought the land and started to build the house, but they found as they went that it was going to cost a bit more than they’d originally planned. In order to finance the rest of the build, John took a job in another country. He would be away for weeks at a time, but the pay was so much higher than what he’d been earning that it would easily finance their dream. Although he and Anne knew they’d miss one another, it was a sacrifice both of them were willing to make in order to achieve what they had always wanted.

For a few months, everything went well. And then, one day, John came home and told Anne he had something to tell her. Great guy that he was, it turned out that he’d been having an affair with a woman where he was working. And she was pregnant. And he was really, really sorry, but he was leaving Anne to look after the child with this woman.

I’m half-Italian. That’s the point at which I would have started throwing  things. But because Anne is a chick from an inspirational tape, she forgave John. She said she understood his decision, and off he went to his new life and family, leaving her all alone in her big, new house. The house that they dreamed up together. The house that cost her her marriage.

Then, a twist. A couple of years later, John turns up again and announces that he’s dying (yes, I know, I know, but bear with me). And he wants his new family to be looked after, to move back to his home country. He wants Anne to let them live with her in the dream house, and to take care of them when he’s gone. And like a sap, she says yes.

The way the story ends is that Anne and the new wife ultimately become close, and Anne plays the role of a second mother. The house is filled with the child’s laughter. And Anne is happy.

As I said, the story was supposed to demonstrate how forgiveness sets you free or whadda whadda whadda. Something like that. And I guess it does, although I still don’t really believe that someone as forgiving as the saintly Anne exists. But the reason it made an impression (apart from the fact that I wanted to strangle John) was that for the first time it made me consider that sometimes, although your life doesn’t look the way you thought it would, it could turn out to be the best life for you.

We spend so much energy trying to build lives that look like we think they should. We try and find a partner who’s “perfect for us”. Follow the right path, career-wise. Live in the right neighbourhood. Build a dream house. Whatever. And sometimes – especially when the hopes and dreams that form around a relationship are shattered because that relationship ends – we feel like we’ve been robbed. Like our life has gone off-script, and we’ll never be able to regain the perfect life we had planned.

But sometimes, when it all goes horribly wrong, that’s when we start to re-evaluate what we’re really looking for. To let something unexpected into our lives. To let go of all the “shoulds” and give the “maybes” a chance. And sometimes it turns out that the thing we wanted so badly, and lost, wasn’t what we needed or what would have made us happy after all.

The love of my life

A couple of days ago, I read a superb post over at It Never Rains in Seattle about settling – being with someone who ticks a lot of the boxes but who you’re not connecting with 100% because you think it’s the best you can do – and I’ve been thinking about it a lot. With a bit of distance, I have to say that I think I was settling with Hunky in some ways, but that’s hard to admit for some very complicated reasons.

When we were together, this thought crossed my mind, but I would always think to myself how he genuinely did make me very happy and how the connection between us was very strong, and how we were best friends and how the relationship functioned incredibly well in terms of how we resolved conflict and how we communicated. Surely that was all you could ask for? The one thing that was always missing was him being as sure as I felt (and ironically that made me less sure). I don’t doubt that he loved me, but in my heart of hearts, I had to wonder if he loved me enough. (And it turns out I was right.) It took him SO LONG to tell me he loved me, and even then he used to quibble about “what’s love anyway?” and tell me that he’d never love anyone as much as he loved his family, apart from his children. I know, weird right? It’s not that I was ignoring those things, it’s just that I thought it was a progression. When he used to tell me he was having doubts, I told him I believed in us – “you’ll see”, I’d say, “you’ll get it”. And I really did believe in us. I thought what we had was an adult kind of love, that it was what you needed to have a marriage and a life together. And in many ways it was. But I think now that I was potentially setting myself up to settle with someone who didn’t love me as much as he needed to – as much as I deserve. And that’s the crux of it, because I don’t think I did believe I deserved it, until now.

But I think there was another kind of settling going on. When I was 18 I met a boy at university (let’s just call him A.) and fell madly, totally in love with him. The best guy. One of those who makes you feel like you’re the only person on earth when they talk to you. Bright, hilarious, FUN, irreverent, loyal, kind, complicated, ambitious. He was going to change the world, this one, and everyone who ever met him adored him. But we were only young, so we weren’t together, at least not in the proper relationship sense. We had something going on and off and we were friends in between, but both of us acknowledged a connection – one that’s hard to explain. Chemistry, yes. But it was also an intellectual connection. I felt like he saw me, like he GOT me. We were cut from the same cloth. It was terrifying and exhilarating and unexpected and completely irresistable. So as complicated as it was, and even though it cost me, I loved him for everything he was, and told him that too.

When I left varsity, we stayed in touch. I think we always would have, but about nine months later he died in a horrific car crash. I can’t even begin to describe how that felt, because writing about it would never do it justice. And when someone like him dies young, it’s hard for them not to become some kind of ideal. I think he did for me. For a long time, I thought I was holding back my feelings for other guys I fell for, but I don’t think that was it. When Hunky was breaking up with me and I said he was the love of my life, I meant it. The depth of what I felt with him can’t really compare with what I felt for someone I was never really in a relationship with. But there was one thing A. had that Hunky never did, and that was the connection. I’ve still never felt like anyone has seen me or got me in the way A. did. I didn’t think it was possible. I didn’t think there were any more where he came from. I felt like that died when he did.

And now I have to wonder, is it possible for that to happen again? And if so, have I been settling all along? Is this a standard I should be holding the next guy to, or is it completely romanticised and unrealistic? Neverrains talks about jumping and trusting that the net is there, but the fact is that this for me would be the biggest leap of faith of all.

Medicine man

Years ago I worked with a woman who told me about the first guy she’d gone out with after a particularly traumatic breakup. They weren’t right for one another, she said, and they both knew it wasn’t going to last. But they had fun together and he treated her really well. They’d remained friends after they broke up and she met the next guy, who became her husband. She said she’d always be grateful to this bloke, because he restored her faith in relationships at a time when she was a little fragile. She called him her Medicine Man.

I’m thinking the toyboy could be my Medicine Man. I really like him. I had a great time on our date last night and I’m surprised by how comfortable I feel around him. He just seems to be one of those genuine, down-to-earth sort of people, and from all reports from our mutual friends, is a thoroughly decent guy. And funnily enough, he’s in a similar situation. Up until May this year he was engaged, to a girl he’d been with for about five years, and there’s something sort of reassuring about knowing he’s in a similar place emotionally, that he isn’t going to rush into anything. That being with someone new is still weird for him too.

The other thing about him is that it looks like he’s going to be moving to Canada in a few months. So realistically, there’s not a future for us. And yet, that may be the best thing. Spending some time with a great guy who makes me feel good about myself, but without feeling any pressure, sounds pretty much ideal right about now. I think it’s kind of what he needs too.

We’ll see. But I’m stoked we went out and I definitely want to see him again. Which is just as well, because he’s already texted to book me for Saturday night.

Excuse me while I have a small meltdown

So here I am ready to go on a date with the Toyboy tonight. We’ve been texting. He’s a sweetheart. I’m ready, I’m even a little excited. We arrange for him to come to my part of London, I ask him what he feels like eating, we agree on a restaurant down the road that I’ve been to a bunch of times.

And then, suddenly, I remember that this was where Hunky and I went for our one year anniversary. I turned up and he was waiting for me with a single long-stemmed red rose (oh, it’s cheesy, but cheesy in a good way!). We shared a seafood platter. The waiter brought us champagne and asked if we were celebrating anything special. Hunky smiled and said yes, very special. And I thought, “this is it, this is the guy!”.

And suddenly, I’m having a big fat almost-panic attack. All those memories… and now I’m supposed to just sit there and smile and flirt with someone new and try to ignore the ghost of Hunky? Just pretend it never happened? It’s too weird. But every place around here would be the same. A dinner, an anniversary, some kind of memory. He’s everywhere. And I miss him. Where the hell did he go?

I know that I’ll take a few deep breaths and it will be okay. I know that when I meet up with the Toyboy I’ll be distracted by all the new stuff. We’ll talk, we’ll smile and flirt. I’ll ignore the ghost of Hunky.

I just wonder when I’ll be able to shake that ghost completely.

So that was the holidays…

…and I survived. The thing that I was dreading came to pass, and it was fine.

In fact, I’m sort of grateful for the last 10 days. I haven’t done anything productive with them, and I’ve spent most of them on my own. I watched a LOT of Grey’s Anatomy (so don’t be surprised if I start talking Doctor at you). I learned a little CSS, got my new blog together. I sat around in my pyjamas, ate a lot of cheese and drank some fine wine. But mostly I just got used to hanging out on my own again. I’m an only child, so this is a natural thing for me, and in some ways it was like getting to know an old friend again. I let myself do exactly what I wanted, when I wanted and it was great. I think I feel a lot more comfortable being single as a result.

It wasn’t all good. The falling out I had with my friend has continued to cause drama and stress between us and within that group as a whole, and it’s been a little Mean Girls at times. I can’t deal with girly politics, so I’m glad that we’ve come to some kind of understanding and can hopefully put it behind us, although I don’t know if we’ll ever really be close again. But at the same time, so many other friends showed how much they cared on my birthday that I felt really spoilt and loved.

To be honest, Hunky hasn’t featured as much as I thought he would. A couple of sad moments, and one big lapse in judgement when I texted him on NYE, but he hasn’t overshadowed everything the way I thought he would. I guess it’s like the broken bone analogy. That sucker has finally started to heal.

Moving forward

When I started this blog, I had no idea what I was doing, to be honest. I’d never blogged before, wasn’t a regular reader of many blogs and had absolutely no technical knowledge. Apart from what I write in a work capacity and what I write to friends, I hadn’t done any for myself for about 15 years. All I knew was that I was going through something major, and I wanted to get it out of my head and on screen to put it into perspective. I wanted to share what I was experiencing. To document where I was coming from so I could look back and see progress. Maybe even make contact with some people in a similar situation. And, if I’m being absolutely honest, I thought that it would stop me from wallowing and keep me moving forward. The Rules of Breakup were a blueprint based on the other breakups I’d been through and survived, but they were also an attempt to steer myself through the rough waters I knew lay ahead of me. Maybe even a shot at keeping ahead and outrunning some of the pain.

Well, you can’t outrun the pain. You may know how to do this breakup thing, but you still have to actually do it. You still have to get up every day and deal with the fact that someone you love is no longer in your life. You still have to accept all the change and all the bad feelings and all the let downs and break downs and drama and the highs and lows. You still have to cry all the tears. I still had to cry all the tears.

But writing this blog has been something that felt positive and right from the very beginning. It did help me put things in perspective. It did help me connect – the support I’ve had from my little blog ‘family’ has been unbelievable, and is so valued by me. It put me back in touch with something I love to do, taught me new skills, opened up new horizons. This blog has been one of the best things to come out of my breakup. I love this blog!

But for a while now, as I started to heal and come out of myself, I’ve stopped feeling like the only thing I want to write about is my ex. Not just because I’m dating again, but because the world has started to go technicolour again, instead of just being black and white. I am by no means over the breakup, but I don’t want to JUST be about the breakup anymore, and by its very title, that’s what this blog is. It’s the Rules of Breakup, and now I need to figure out some rules of living too.

So I’ve been working on a new place in the blogosphere to call my own. For the meantime, I’ll be posting there and I’ll be posting here as well. I can’t pretend that a new year means I won’t have any more bad days or insights or milestones or gut wrenching learning experiences. There will be a day when I wake up and realise: I’m over him. But that day is not today.

So until that day you’ll still be able to find me here. A little less frequently perhaps, but still here. And you’ll also be able to find me at my new blog, Champagne Before Breakfast. I hope some of the wonderful people I’ve “met” here will join me there too, as I figure out what the next chapter looks like. But I’m excited. It’s one more step in the right direction.

Ah, crap.

I did a bad thing. A bad, bad thing. I don’t even really want to be confessing it, but confession is good for the soul. And I did a bad thing.

So there I was, in a bar, just past midnight on new year’s. It’s hideous. It’s full of girls tossing their hair and guys acting like morons, all of them desperately trying to hook up with someone and pretending they’re having the most fun in the world ever. Your typical New Year’s Eve basically. And I’m a little drunk, but I’m feeling hopeful and positive. Because it’s no longer 2009, and it’s a fresh start, and 2010 is going to be my year. So it’s all good. And then, somehow, my brain decides to take a little holiday. And my fingers decide to send a text. To my ex.

I drunk dialled.

Or drunk texted. Or whatever.

The only reason his number was still in my phone is that in four months I haven’t even considered the drunk dial. And I’ve been drunk, but the drunk dial is just not how I usually roll. So I kept his number in my phone because one, if he ever called I wanted a heads up that it was him and two, iPhones are a little tricksy, and I couldn’t totally figure it out (I’m challenged that way). I never thought I’d actually use it. The only time I’ve considered contacting him was at Christmas, and after a long sober debate I decided against that. So why I suddenly decided to do it then is beyond me.

It’s not even that the message was bad. All it said was: Happy New Year. I hope you’re well. And since he’s in Kiwi-a-gogo Land, if his British number even still works he won’t be checking it regularly. I doubt he’ll respond, but I’m just so cross with myself. I feel like it’s bad juju. I opened the door, and I brought bad juju into 2010. Stupid girl. (Needless to say, his number has now been surgically removed from my iPhone, so it won’t be happening again.)

Ah well. I have two dates next week anyway. One with the Toyboy (aka the 26-year-old rugby player I kissed on Wednesday) and one with an estate agent I met last night. (An  estate agent! See, bad juju. Next I’ll be dating one of those guys who hands out parking tickets.) So now that I’ve made my confession, here’s hoping I can put it down as a last little hangover from 2009, and move onwards and upwards. After all, when I did it, it wasn’t technically 2010 everywhere. So does it count?