What I Want. Rambling.

Since I’m on the topic of myself apparently… I’ll keep going. But this will be the last post like that for a while, I think.

Today I went for coffee with my ex husband Mark. We like to drive and talk. Today we talked about my troubles with finding love.

Mark was very popular with ladies. Even now if he wanted to he could get twenty women to accept a proposal in six months. I’d wager money on it. And win.

But Mark is a man of action. We never had much “romance” so much as attraction between us (I loved him and he felt the same to a lesser degree and I longed for romance but…). But he’s excellent at making people fall in love with him.

Honestly…if any man has ever loved me at all other than Mark they’ve never told me so. Ever. Well…maybe a few times they’ve hinted at it or something like it. But only hinting at something leaves room for lies and hurt and misunderstanding. No, Mark’s the only one who’s ever actually clearly told me that.

I used to think my problem was that I wasn’t attractive enough. I was too…something. I could never objectively figure out what it was but I tried.

I had a friend tell me my face looked smashed together when I asked her one night in vulnerability what she thought was “…wrong with my appearance that made men reject me.” My mother intervened on that occasion (bless her) and the friend apologized. Of course, it was coming from the fact that we’d been out that night and I’d been hit on twice wearing casual clothes, sitting with a book trying to study while she was dressed-up and trying to get attention. Now, mind you that sounds idiotic but perception is complicated. If just the right combination of lies are told to you cleverly enough in childhood you can question things people will think you’re a total idiot to genuinely wonder about. This friend cried and confessed that she’d lied to hurt me thanks to my mother.

But…today Mark and I realized that part of my problem is that I have this peculiar combination in my personality. If I wasn’t a straight female might if be easier to be me? Perhaps. I’m sure someone who thinks people make themselves a certain way or that no one is truly straight will feel superior if they’re reading this right now? I’m secretly attracted to women? Oh whatever. No. I like men. And I’m entirely female.

What is this tragic combination? Well…I’m like my ex husband in terms of action. I love to plan things. Do things. Make things happen. (Despite what some might think.) But…internally behind that action I’m very intuitive. I’m emotional as much as logical. “Oh! I totally get that!! I’m like that too!” said one of the worst counselors I’ve ever had. But no it’s not, in reality, as much of a common personality as people might tell me, I suspect.

We decided that men who are more intuitive naturally can connect with me better than anyone else but that they always tend to end up rejecting me in small ways or grand ones because there’s something about the other side of things that they don’t feel as comfortable with or anticipate. Everyone is different but there’s always been this constancy of them doing the female equivalent of emasculation. I tend to be placed in the position emotionally of “leader” in the burgeoning romance traditionally taken by men and then they seemingly reject me for it. And it always feels like a violation of my soul afterward. I have no idea what they’re looking for from a woman…

I’m not a man. At all.

I wonder if intuitive women would do the same to me in a relationship? Probably.

What I likely need is someone who’s both a combination of intuition and action. Thought and deed. I’ve never found that man. I don’t think. Alive anyway. I suspect from reading history that they existed. Or do exist?

But no, my ex husband is…a man of action. He’s complicated but…he always dives in. Sometimes hurting himself or other people. His father, a financier, is like him in that they analyze numbers and then do. Fearlessly. “I wish I was more empathetic.” I’ve heard his father say. He’s a nice man but I think I see what he means. It takes intuition to be especially empathetic I think. Expertly empathetic. But….anyway Mark has a good heart so even though I’ve been hurt by him we’re still close friends. We work through things. We do.

Still…it’d be nice to have a man who could get in my head. Ideally though…they would not take advantage of their super powers, so to speak, and assume that just because I’m indefatigably steady at the wheel by nature that I’ll never be…”like the other girls” who seem more in need of reassurance or whatever it is women are often given. Or assume that I appreciate them cowering around me like I’m some big bad dude.

And no…all men are different with various issues and troubles but I swear there’s a common issue that manifests regardless among those who are thinkers. Feelers. Who intuit. With me.

There was the guy in college who I asked out who I really liked. He was into art. He was sensitive. But I was inexperienced then. We literally sat at opposite ends of the room watching a movie alone in the dark for hours and nothing happened. I didn’t even know what he wanted from me. It was bizarre and painfully awkward as he drove me home later. I also felt ugly as hell. When he married a woman years later some might call much less attractive than myself I was baffled…

Then there was the time I went to a bar with friends and someone approached me, leading his crowd of friends while I was dancing with my friends. He seemed oblivious to everyone else in the room. And he tried to make out with me right there (he was attractive and no he wasn’t just drunk). I almost went home with him. But didn’t because it felt like too much. My friends of course told me he was likely trashy. I don’t think he was… He was actually quite respectful to me too.

I married the second young man type. Or someone more like him. Maybe someone more like him than him. It didn’t work out but…we do have great kids and I’d trust him with my life.

Maybe someday I’ll find someone who would understand my need to be led but also…hold hands. Or who knows. Or maybe I’ll just die at 87 in my sleep and find out I was living the real life version of “The Ghost And Mrs. Muir.”