My dinner companion and I spoke quietly to one another about a recent trip he had taken to a land far, far away from our little corner of urban Canadiana.
When we met just over a couple of years ago, we made fast friends. Not friends who go out together on the weekend, but kindred-spirit-friends. In each other we found camaraderie in our joint distain over anything unremarkable, and our unapologetic preference for the finer things in life; men, food and wine.
He understood when I told him about deeply scarring loss because he too had severed the ties of his youth and began a new life on his own. He has a pretty good idea where my mind travels off to when the music slows, and I’m emotionally and physically exhausted because I’ve worked too many hours.
So it was to him I confessed my middle-age anxiety about the true meaning of life, and plan to figure it out in the most fun, frisky and fickle ways.
“Go for it,” he said as his cuff-linked arm reached across to fill my wine glass…again.
Remaining single throughout life has not been an easy road, but he understands why I have chosen to remain so. He knows the impact of professional trauma, he’s lived in the same rural claustrophobia that I was suckled on, he knows what it’s like to be hurt and heal, cover up the scars with designer suits and smile like he’s known nothing but joy his entire life.
When you meet someone like this, they are like a mooring ball in a sheltered harbor, safe from the storm. They are the diving bell you cling to when you stretch to make other human connections.
And so it was tonight, as we talked, I considered what exactly it means to re-connect with someone from my past who was pivotal in choosing the road I travelled in life and in love.
Is it another turning point? Is this where I swing wide the doors of my perception and take a path I’ve had a hunger for, for a very long time?
I’ve been very lucky to have had some wonderful lovers. I’ve been very free to do as I choose, and have adventures that none of my coupled friends would ever dream of having. I do believe that taking and having lovers is highly under-rated.
We’ve defined this before my darlings. A lover is someone who adores you. They send you letters and flowers and thoughtful gifts. He serenades you at the baby-grand piano at his beach house while you sip champers on the picnic blanket he’s spread out for you on the floor, complete with fresh seafood, drawn butter, and pillows ready to cushion your head when he makes love to you on the floor..
Oh, and I do mean make love! The lightest brush against a lovers lips should set your entire body on the edge of bursting.
A lover leaves a trail of rose petals to the bathtub where he has thoughtfully lit candles, purchased your favourite lemon-scented triple-milled soap and has the music of a classic jazz crooner playing.
Perhaps he has thoughtfully left a cold glass of freshly squeezed juice and two painkillers beside the bed to help the red-wine headache he knew you would have the morning after the night before and is currently down the hall in the kitchen preparing your very favourite hangover-breakfast, including salted tomatoes which he had to go to the store to buy while you continued to slumber undisturbed.
I suppose the point of all this is that at a certain age, a single woman realizes she is not going to have the love that lasts a lifetime. She realizes that all there is, is now, in this moment, and she’d better grab on with both hands and love the hell out of .
We all know that true love finds us where we least expect to be found; in the raw state of being human which so few people recognize.
So here’s to taking lovers, and living every precious moment with fearlessness and passion.