The Final Week of My Selfish Summer

I did not mention this because I am far too old to bore others with my tales of romantic failures, but it's relevant to the theme of this post. 

There were four women this past spring. 

The first said she loved me and has for almost two decades, and certainly had no problem expressing her affection with me... BUT... she rarely had any time for me. 

The second said she really liked me and is "so glad" she met me, and certainly had no problem expressing her affection with me... BUT... she rarely had any time for me. 

The third said she loved me, and she talked about buying a house in Scotland with me, and I have probably never been more attracted to a woman in my life, and she often had time for me... BUT... she lives with another man she says she is going to marry. 

The fourth is really cute, and interesting, and single... BUT... she said she had no interest in being anything more than my friend. 

There was a time when this would have been a giant mindfuck but, as pretty much all of you reading this know, the one great thing about getting older is perspective. The unavailability of these women is not a devastating reflection of my worth, as I once would have viewed it, but rather a comical series of mismatched puzzles with key pieces missing. I liked - and still like - each of them but recognize the futility of continuing down the road with any of them. 

Bitterness over real events - betrayal, loss - is concrete and able to be processed. But bitterness over perceived possibilities that never existed is not something that can ever be overcome and thus, a waste of time. And when you reach the point where you have fewer years remaining than you have already lived, it becomes much easier to remove yourself from situations that you recognize are a waste of time. 

I said to myself in June: "Dedicate this summer to yourself. Do what YOU want, when you want to. With the exception of your parents and your favorite cousin, do not concern yourself with the needs of anyone else."

So that is what I have done. And it has been great. I drove through West Texas in July and drank at the diviest bar in America where the only other customer was a cat. I watched dozens of sunsets while listening to Van Morrison. I exercised more than I have in any three-month period since I was 24. I went to the farmers market almost every Saturday morning.  

And now, one final trip before the summer ends, an exclamation point at the end of a well-written sentence. 

I had been considering options, as I always do, including Colorado, as I always do, and also one giant trip around the Great Plains to visit the geographic center of the United States, which appeals to me in a way I cannot explain. 

But in the end, I decided to head back to the SGV, for many reasons. 

It is autumn at 7200 feet. I think it will be fun as hell to drive back into summer.

The aforementioned favorite cousin found out last month that her fiance cheated on her and their wedding is off; I want to take her somewhere nice for her birthday next week. 

I want to watch college football in Old Town for the first time in seven years. I want to eat at my favorite Asian restaurants and drive through my hometown and see the brick in the park with my name on it and the telephone pole where I crashed my friend's car when I was 15 and the movie theater where my dead brother and I saw hundreds of films and all of the other spots that meant so much then and even more now. 

See you soon, God willing.