Over the last few weeks I had an itsy bitsy, close shave with love. More specifically, the idea that a man I know might be interested in me. A sudden lack of a wedding ring, an off-hand remark that might have been taken to mean a lot more than it did, plus a long-standing crush on my part, all conspired to make me think that maybe, just maybe this was a real thing. That maybe, despite everything, a man – a good man – was actually interested in me.
In the end, it has turned out to be nothing, just my imagination running away with itself and I am OK with that.
As always, I have found lessons in the experience, four to be exact:
1. that I am ready to trust a man again – not just any man, but a man nonetheless;
2. that I am prepared to consider that a man might like me just as I am, with all my rolls of fat, hairy legs and gray unruly hair;
3. that there are good men out there – they are rare and hard to find, but they are out there;
4. that I have very, very high standards when it comes to menfolk and that just because this one wasn’t meant for me, an even better one might turn up sooner or later.
It was lovely playing with the idea of “what if”, but I also made myself consider what it would be like if I were to be alone forever. I realised that it would feel like I was a strong and independent woman who doesn’t rely on anyone else for her happiness. That my greatest strengths would be my self-love and the love I can give to my children. Being alone is not the worst thing that could happen to me and frankly, I no longer have a “worst case scenario” for my life. I feel like I’ve lived and survived them all, which, in theory, should make me fearless, but clearly the anxiety that dogs me daily hasn’t caught up with what my brain knows for sure.
During my week-long child-free holiday at home, I picked up my oil pastels again and I have to admit that I enjoy the process so much more than the finished product. In the interest of over-sharing, I present you with my efforts at the top of this post.