Take Two: Giving Lancelot A Real Chance
I’ve been thinking a lot about love.
I’ve been thinking a lot about what it takes to select a partner.
I’ve been thinking about how I approach love and falling in love about three years after being destroyed by the man I was set to marry.
For me, the prospect of love is exciting, it’s comforting…it’s a new goal to reach. But it is also terribly terrifying for me.
I thought I was in the deepest love possible before, and it ripped me apart. It took me a very long time to heal.
There was a feeling. There was an attraction. There was this unwavering feeling that I wanted to be there for this person, I wanted to help them grow and become better.
That person, I thought made me feel beautiful until he felt I should lose weight. This person made me feel at first secure, until he made me feel unsecure. I enjoyed the sex, until I felt pressure to be a thinner porn star toward the end of the relationship. I enjoyed it until he thought it was an insult to him if I didn’t come every time. I had dreams he was cheating. I’d wake up in a rage. And when he wouldn’t call for days, or rush me off the phone, I already knew we were circling the drain.
I felt like something was wrong with me. So I couldn’t even enjoy it.
There was a reason it didn’t work out. As much as I loved this person, I can say now, he was not my husband. He wasn’t the one I was meant to be with.
Ironically, what I thought I knew to be love, or the feeling, or the things I wanted of a partner, those things started to unravel. Because of what I thought I knew then, and actually didn’t know, it gives me a very clear picture of what I should be looking for now.
And this is why I’ve decided to reach out to someone who I didn’t give a real chance.
After thinking about how much I just want to have sex with “Kyle Barker,” I never liked how he made me feel. He didn’t really challenge me to be better. He enlightened me, and he was the one who put me onto the book the “Four Agreements,” but he wasn’t truly invested in me or my development. He may have given me a few tips about business, but once again, it was all superficial. He said he missed me and could be himself around me and that he liked that I was just as silly and intellectual as he. But he’s never done anything to prove it.
Come to think of it, I don’t think he’s ever just done anything kind, or to go out of his way for me. Ever.
In praying for the right man to come into my life, I feel like I’ve been thinking more clearly.
But in the thinking more clearly, and being more discriminating in who I even spend my time with, it’s awfully frightening. Because my thoughts are leading to this person. I’m going to call him Lancelot.
I’ve mentioned him before in this blog. He was the “good-guy” I was in no emotional state to deal with when we did start talking.
Lancelot literally met me at Don Pablo’s downing margarita’s after work like nobody’s business. It may have been only four months after my breakup with my ex. I was particularly peeved by work and I even called one of my friends to share how rock bottom I was at that point that I was stuffing my face and getting twisted off margarita’s by 7 p.m. on a weeknight.
He was at the bar. He was engaged in a conversation with another man and woman. The man and woman worked together. I originally thought all three knew one another because of how easily they interacted. The other man was totally older than me, but I thought he was fairly attractive. Lancelot, was a chipper man of stocky build.
I tried my best to ignore the happy bunch, but sometimes they said something funny, which prompted me to laugh.
Lancelot caught me and announced, “See, we even made her laugh and she’s been looking upset all night. Come sit with us, we’ll have shots. Please, come sit.”
I tried to protest, but the rowdy bunch insisted.
As the night wore on, I smiled more. I laughed. I even told Lancelot that I really didn’t want to smile and that I was upset that he and his party made me do so.
I wanted to be mad. I wanted to be angry. After all, I was heartbroken. The “worst thing” that could happen to a woman in love did. I was so close to being married. And it was gone. Done. Had a pretty ring just sitting in a box now and not on my finger. I had problems!
With an easygoing nature, he said to me what he continued to say to me long after that night. “You can’t let anyone mold your ball of clay.”
Taking a sip from his beer, he smiled, exposing his dimples and a gap-tooth, shook his head. “It means don’t let other people dictate how you feel and get you all wound up and crazy.”
He was a former military man who traveled extensively. He went to school when he was done and built himself up as an IT genius, securing crazy contracts all over the world. He built up a lovely life for himself. The only thing missing was someone special.
When we shut down the bar talking, mostly me bemoaning my circumstances, he wanted to exchange numbers. He wanted to take me out to dinner.
We did, but when we went to dinner the first time, I didn’t really put forth a lot of effort.
He kissed me at the end, but I felt like it was too forward. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t like how that felt.
I continued to see him, he invited me to his home. A beautiful, beautiful one at that. I was very impressed. Yet, he was humble.
He casually mentioned that he bought his mother a home in the south, but it really wasn’t bragging. He was a loving son, who really understood the difficulty of his situation, not knowing his father, and his mother being a young teen. He wanted to make her proud and nurture her. He was raised by his loving grandparents, who he cited as his example and blueprint of a real relationship. He said they loved each other so much, when one died, the other died just months later from a broken heart. He called it forevership. And he wanted forevership.
He cooked for me. Sent me home with loads of food. He always kept my wine glass full and I’d call him out on it.
“You just want to get me drunk so I can’t drive home.”
Then he’d smile that smile.
“I just want you to be happy, to enjoy yourself. This is your home.”
Those words scared the crap out of me.
He would speak as if he knew I’d be his.
I’ve thought of him often, but I’ve been stubborn, because I didn’t want him to be right.
He seemed so sure about me, even when I felt like he didn’t even know me yet.
He’s brought me food when I was sick. And he’d bring me dessert from a fine restaurant after a business dinner he had with clients.
He was thinking of me, when I wasn’t thinking of him.
The first time I came to his house, he made jokes about my clothes in his massive closets, and taking long baths after a long day of work in the ridiculous ginormous tub in the master bedroom bathroom.
This was too much.
Any man this quick to want to include me in his life, in his home to that degree… it was not to be trusted.
He had to be a nut job.
I told him so.
It was too much.
His response was that he tends to be a little too pushy when he wants something and a little too honest. But he trusted his gut and his feelings. He said he believed that he was for me, “the guy.”
The crazy thing is whenever I told him to back off, he said he’d try. And he would. But then he’d do something pushy again a week later and I’d pull further away.
He understood when I told him that I needed space and didn’t want to talk to him for a while. He took it in stride and would send me a text every few months to check on me.
I reached out yesterday and he seemed very happy to hear from me. After exchanging a few niceties, he asked if I had time to have dinner with him.
I told him that my week was hectic, but maybe the end of the month would work. He would be traveling next week himself, but he’d arrange something as soon as he got back.
So why am I giving this a go?
I’ve never felt disrespected by him. (I stayed over and stubbornly slept on his couch, despite his offer of the upstairs guest room. I woke up in the middle of the night, and found him sleeping next to the couch, on the floor so I wouldn’t be alone.)
When he’s not pushy, I enjoyed his company.
He has a positive, upbeat attitude. He does not place blame on people or have a chip on his shoulder, but he is not a pushover.
He is romantic and affectionate.
He is generous.
He can cook.
Has a career.
Has a beautiful home.
He’s building his own business.
He seems loyal.
He seems trustworthy.
Loves to travel. “I don’t fly anything lower than business class internationally, and if you’re with me, you won’t either. You should be comfortable if you are in the air for that long.” Well damn. (He said if I went to visit my friend in South Korea, he wanted to take me because he lived there. And sure enough he had a massive award on his shelf in English and Korean from the people of Korea).
If you’ve managed to keep reading, most of you are saying I’m a nutbag for letting him go and entertaining the older gentleman, boo thang and Kyle Barker over probably the last two years.
I think I am a nutbag. Therefore, I’ve decided to give it a serious try. I don’t have the same baggage holding me back. I want to be loved and treated well from someone sincere.
One of the things that has scared me most is, I could not understand for the life of me what he kept seeing in me. Why was he being so intense and persistent? Why would he keep reaching out? What on earth did he see that first night, down the bar, in a sad, drunken girl, barely touching her tacos, who was so broken, who admitted she had no desire to laugh or smile?
What did he know?
How could he be so comfortable envisioning me sharing his home one day? Or traveling the world with me?
A week ago, I was annoyed with a man who didn’t know what he wanted or where he was going especially with me.
This week, I realized I was in the company of a man who knew where he’d been, where he is, where he’s going and who he wants there with him and I was that person. As trifling, as confused and crazy as I was. I didn’t know what I wanted then. At all.
I told him that. And I told him I could not give him back what he was offering me, because I was so all over the place.
And he said he understood.
I’ve decided to go with my feeling on this one. When I’ve mentioned the prospect of seeing him again to a few friends, they warned me not to play with his affections. So I’d been laying low.
But in my prayers, I’ve asked to be able to see people with new eyes. To see them accurately and clearly. And I’ve given people who didn’t have nearly the same amount of class, respect and status my time and energy.
I’m not so awesome to say I shorted him.
But I certainly shorted myself. And my heart can’t afford to not give someone like that a real chance.
More references to Lancelot: https://29tolife.wordpress.com/2013/02/19/heart-head-gut-do-all-three-have-an-equal-vote/