Confessions

So I told my husband about Berlin. Not the details. Just that there had been a man I had had a relationship with, and it ended. He asked me what happened and I told him.

"He was in love with someone else."
"So why was he seeing you then?" He asked.
I shrugged. Good question.

He knew all along that there was someone else.
"You didn't come home for days at a time. What was I supposed to think?"
"I know."
" I didn't ask you because I didn't think it mattered. If I had had the opportunity, I would have done the same thing."

He really seemed to take it all in stride.

Ultimately the reason I told him was because I didn't want to make the same mistake twice. I don't want to be with anyone who thinks I'm less than spectacular. I want to go to bed every night with a man who can't imagine life without me. With a man who singles me out in a crowded room. I want to be the person he can't get off his mind. The one he wants to have babies with and protect and comfort. And as much as my husband loves me, and I do think he loves me, I'm not sure he loves me like THAT. So I had to tell him. I had to explain that if he couldn't love me in the way I needed - wholly, completely, recklessly - then I needed to move on. I couldn't settle for less.

He didn't seem to understand.
"Do you really need someone to be falling all over you all the time?" he asked me.
I sighed.
"Of course not. I just don't want someone who thinks I'm sweet and nice, but loves me in the same way they love their dog. I want to be more than a pleasant companion. I want a soul mate. I want to be the love of somebody's life."
Why doesn't he understand this???

"I think we're doing the right thing ."
"You do?" I asked
"I'm not a happy person. On a good day - like Sunday - I can be with you and relax. Enjoy your company. But that's not what I'm like every day."
I nodded.
"I don't think I can give you what you're looking for. At least not now. I have to think of myself."

I was suddenly balling uncontrollably again. It was true. He didn't love me either. Was I so impossible to love? How did I manage to get myself married to a man who didn't think I was worth fighting for? How could he just let me go so easily? And Berlin? He just walked away too. Never looked back. Never missed me. Was this the best I could do? Was this all I was worth to the people I'd given everything to? How had I managed to sink so low? How could my love mean so little?

My obvious and abrupt anguish sparked an argument. We were suddenly rehashing all the problems that led us to this point. The money, his smoking, the lack of communication. He said making decisions with me was always a burden. I balked.

"It was such a great feeling to buy this TV," He pointed to the new LCD TV he bought after I left and took the TV (that I bought) with me. "Because I didn't have to consult anyone. I didn't have to ask permission or discuss the best brand, I just got what I wanted."
"The house, the car, my clothes - everything I did I had to take you into consideration."

I could understand the pleasure of not having to answer to anyone but yourself, but his words were like a knife in my chest. Why wasn't I helpful in these decisions? Why didn't he see me as an asset? I pointed out that couples had to make decisions on big purchases together. Why did he think he should be allowed to make those decisions by himself? But what's more, why didn't he want me by his side to help, to be a team?

I came there thinking that by telling him about Berlin, I would feel better. I thought that I would be stronger and more able to move on if I knew that all this talk of rebuilding was coming from a reflex to take care of me - not from a place of real, and deep love. Not because he couldn't live without me. But instead I felt worse than ever. I was just a pleasant way to pass the time. I was dispensable. Not just for the man I had had an affair with, but for the man I had married and given the last 14 years to.

Airports, Bread-Eating Carp, and Soon-To-Be X's

On Thursday I went over to what used to be my house in tears. I decided I had to come clean about this relationship with Berlin. For months I had kept everything to myself, figuring that he didn't actually have to know I was seeing other people. There was no need to hurt him, after all. But now it seemed that I needed him to know. I needed to know how he really felt about me, and if it made any sense at all for me to think we might have a shot at reconciliation.

The weekend before we spent all day Sunday together. We took the dogs to the beach, and then went to Brunch at my favorite place - a cute little hippy-style cafe called Lucky's that uses produce they grow in their own Garden and has picnic tables outside where you can eat with your dogs. Plus they have the yummiest food ever.

I'd been feeling conflicted about the divorce. About being alone. About wether or not I'll ever find anyone to be happy with again. I want to have babies. I want a man to watch me sleeping and touch my hair. I want to be the woman who lights up the room for one man when I walk in. Is this too much too ask?

That Sunday I was feeling confused. How Could I be enjoying myself so much with this man I am divorcing? WHY are we breaking up our family? Can't we find a way to keep these good times? I started to cry (and I cry regularly, probably every day for at least an hour) and I looked at my husband and said,

"I don't know what we're doing. What are we doing?"
"I'm not ready to give up on you yet," he told me, wrapping his arms around me and giving me a deep hug.

Later on, I began wondering just what that meant. Did he want to stay together? Was he hoping that after some time apart we could rebuild? Did I want that? Did he? Or were really really both just lonely, and scared?

The conflict I felt can easily be traced back a series of hurtful emails that I ecahnged with Berlin. They began when I text messaged him last Tuesday after Barack Obama won the presidential election.

I hadn't heard from him since he left for Germany, and was beginning to think I never would. But Berlin was an Obama fanatic, and after listening to his acceptance speech I was so moved, that I couldn't help but send him a text message to ask if he had had the chance to watch it.

I took this opportunity to also ask him, rather bitterly, why he hadn't responded to the letter I gave him to read on the plane. The letter in which I poured out my heart and my spelled out my love. The letter where I told him I had discovered that I was pregnant with his child - and had decided to keep it - only to find out it was an ectopic pregnancy that had to be terminated. It was the sort of letter that is not meant to be forgotten, but requires a thoughtful response. I had heard nothing and I was stinging from the scorn.

And it was adding insult to injury at that. He had had nothing to say to me at the airport when we said goodbye. I got up at four in the morning to pick up his stuff, drive him to the airport, wait an hour while drop of his dog at the cargo center, and then take him to his flight. And this after a night with almost no sleep the day before because of work. In response to my generosity he sort of casually slapped me on the knee and said "thanks so much for all your help."

I wanted to cry, but I just couldn't. I was in too much shock. Thanks? Was I like his buddy now? I'm just a good friend doing him a big favor driving him to the airport? Was he serious?

In quiet disbeleif I dropped him off at the terminal and he went to check in while parked the car. A few minutes later we sat in this little starbucks in front of the ticket counter and said our goodbyes. Mostly we just made some goofy chitchat. I couldn't help noticing how releived he looked to be about to get on that plane. How happy he looked to be leaving. It was breaking my heart. Still I thought he must be just putting up a brave face on my account. And so I made a feeble attempt to share my emotion.

"I'm really going to miss you" I said, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.
"Good." he replied, smiling slightly. He didn't squeeze back.
"Good?"
He must have caught the look of disbeleif on my face, because he instantly began backpedaling.
"Well... uh.. I mean, not too much I hope."

To say I was crushed was an understatement. I had a knot in the pit of my stomache and a lump in my throat, but my eyes were unexpectedly dry. I reached inside my purse for the tissue wrapped package I had brought with me. Inside were two gifts that had cost me more than I could afford, but represented something that I thought would remind him of me. The first was an ipod nano, that I had preloaded with a soundtrack I had made for him, along with a card I had made myself. The front of the card had a picture of a carp with a big round open mouth. It was an inside joke of sorts. On what would turn out to be our first and last excursion, he took me to this park in Pennsylvania with a lake that is teeming with funny looking carp. People go there to feed them bread, literally tossing hamburger buns (purchased for a dollar per package from the concession stand) onto a carpet of carp. There are so many fish that they literally flop over one another to get to the bread, and ducks have been known to walk on the backs of the fish to steal a snack themselves. It was, as he put it, quite "a spectacle." I thought it was the coolest date I have ever been on.

On the inside I pasted a photograph that touched me deeply - it was a man standing on the sidewalk looking down at the words carved into it: Nothing is written in stone.

The second package was the long letter I had been composing for weeks, and a beautiful leatherbound journal. I handed him the pacjages and gave him instructions. The first I said he could open after I left -- the letter and the journal I asked him to open after he was on the plane to Berlin. I gave him a hug. His grip was limp. It wasn't the hug of a man who was saying goodbye to a woman he loved. Not even to someone he cared about deeply. He didn't look me in the eye or attempt to kiss me.

"Have a good trip," I said. "I hope you will be happy."
And with that I turned and walked away, glancing back only once to see him watching me leave. The look on his face made me think he was taking in the fact that this was likely the last time he would see me, and that maybe he could have said a little more. But he didn't come after me, or say anything else. I was bitterly disappointed, and by the time I reached the car I was balling uncontrollably. I knew this had meant nothing to him. I was nothing to him. And now he would read that letter and feel nothing. I was awash in my own grief and humiliation.

A few days later my grief had moved into the anger phase and I fired off this email.

Berlin-

Why I am bothering with you at this point I don’t know. I suppose it’s because after everything, I deserved at least some response from you, and I am not going to let you disappear without knowing it. I mean seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? Are you dead inside, or were you really just using me for all you could get? Was I just a more comfortable bed, a good fuck, a back rub and a ride to the goddamn airport? I mean, you couldn’t even muster a single tender word to say goodbye. Just, a “hey thanks, for helping me out, you’re a real trooper,” and a slap on the knee? Your best response to “I’m really going to miss you,” was “Good?” The ipod I got you was “generous?” No. It was not out of generosity that I did any of those things. Are you seriously this dense, or are you so spineless that you just can’t fucking say the words you thought I didn’t want to hear. After 41 years, are you actually this emotionally stunted?

I wrote you the most personal letter possible. I deserve something back. I deserve the truth. Not what you think I want to hear, and not whatever bullshit you tell yourself, but I deserve some insight into the inner depths of who you are. I can not believe you are really this shallow. If you are then I really DID waste my time, and my heart. Because frankly, sharing yourself with someone who doesn’t even appreciate you a little bit is not worth it. It is just fucking embarrassing. If you are truly this shallow then you deserve someone who breaks her belly chains with someone else. You deserve someone who lies to you and builds a wall between you. You deserve to be unhappy.

I don’t think you know how to be happy anyway. I don’t think you know what you want, and you refuse to do the hard emotional work to figure it out. You refuse to be honest with others and yourself. You sabotage all the relationships you have with people that are good to you and chase the ones that tear you down. You burn your clothes and your things not because you’re starting over fresh – not as a healthy process of self-renewal - but because they are a symbol of the hopes and dreams of a person you no longer are, because you want to tear yourself down, and be destructive, and feel nothing, no attachment to anyone. I see someone who doesn’t know who he is. Someone who is still reeling from guilt and deep emotional despair. Someone who doesn’t know how to stand up and live and share his life with others. Someone who wants to pretend to be 38 and single, and live in some sort of fantasy, instead of facing up to reality. For God’s sake, figure it out already.

And you know what? I can accept that I am not the one you love – this isn’t the sort of thing we chose. I can accept that I‘m not the one who lights up the room for you when I walk in. But I do not accept being ignored. I do not accept you walking away without some word of explanation about how you felt about me and what this was. And I want something deeper than “I am sweet to you”. I am much more than sweet to you – and if that’s the best you can do than you really are extraordinary – an extraordinary idiot. Extraordinarily immature. An extraordinarily spineless excuse for a human being living in an emotional vacuum.

I don’t know why I’m surprised. You went away for two weeks to Boston and never called me once. You probably never thought of me once either. Out of sight, out of mind. Now it’s just that much easier. You got what you wanted, and I couldn’t have made it any simpler. My God, you really made a fool of me, didn’t you? I suppose that’s something you can be proud of now. Congratulations.

And don’t tell me it’s only been 4 days. That you’ve been too busy to compose any sort of response. That you don’t have internet. You never went 24 hours without talking to HER. You can’t go 24 hours without checking the New York Times poll. I am AT LEAST that important. You have had time, and if you can’t figure out a way to fit me into your busy schedule of nothing to do but learn German and chipping concrete off the goddamn floor, then fuck you. FUCK YOU.

Fuck you anyway. I deserve better than this. And you deserve what you get.

Writefromtheheart

Eyes a la Al Pacino

"We're both from Pianopoli. I have the documents at home, I'll show you!! "

If a cleverer trick has ever existed to get a woman to come home with you, I've never heard it. Not that he needed a trick by then. A few beers, a rainy electric night, and what amounted to nothing short of fate had me smitten. Documents that proved our common ancestral origins were gravy.

Perched atop a couple of bar stools we laughed and flirted with our eyes and hands. we brushed against each other playfully. He reached over and put is hand on my leg and I instinctively reached out and met his grasp - leaning in closer, my fingers sliding along the inside of his wrist. Our eyes locked until I shyly looked away. The chemistry was thick and the attraction was obvious. And then our eyes met again. His eyes had that deep, serious, slightly sunken look a la Al Pacino. There were little wrinkles around them, that didn't make him look old - just slightly wise and distinguished. He wore those eyes the way some men wear salt and pepper hair. It just makes them look good.

I thought I noticed the little blue vein below his left eye twitching ever so slightly. I could almost see the anticipation on his face of what was coming next, and if my enthusiasm hadn't mirrored his own, I might have laughed at the transparency of our courtship dance. And then, without warning, he leaned in and kissed me, and I reciprocated fully.

The kiss is always the big test. I'm a big fan of kissing. Long, slow, sensual, knee-weakening kisses. Drive you mad kisses. Forget where you are kisses. A man needs to know how to kiss you the way you need to be kissed. If the kissing is in sync, then the chances are good everything else will be in line too.

And let's face it. There are a lot of bad kissers out there. You know how it goes ladies- you go right, he goes left. you bump teeth. Too much tongue. There's the aggressive kisser who just cant read your reaction and is putting way too much passion into it before you've even gotten warmed up, or the one who slobbers all over your face. No gentleman. A proper kiss is lips first. slightly open mouth. hand behind the head and run your fingers through her hair, lips exploring lips, slowly, carefully, and then a *little* tongue . Gently. A tongue that explores her tongue with some trepidation. It does not move wildly or frantically inside her mouth. She does not want you to ram it down her throat. It caresses her lips. It invites. A good kiss starts slow and ends slow, with a build up somewhere in the middle.

Berlin knew how to kiss me just right. And so when it was time to go, I followed him to his place.

His place was a crooked little house set back from the street about 5 minutes from the bar . The house was quirky in a way that seemed perfectly suited to him - a little worn, but in decent shape. Loved, but well lived in. Broken-in, but not too broken down. It had a mix of nice touches that were obviously do-it-yourself jobs, but not so much so that it looked bad. This was an eclectic place, and I liked it. It was set amongst some older wooden Victorians. The house next door was imposing in its size, but vacant and a little run down. The neighborhood was what you would call up-and-coming. It was inexpensive and had charm, if you didn't mind the occasional Jerry Springer worthy domestic skirmish, or the prostitutes down the block.

One of the most amazing things his house contained was an enormous salt-water coral reef tank. I had never seen anything like it in my life. Including the base it was probably 5 feet tall and three feet square. And inside it was filled with the most beautiful living coral and tropical fish. The circulating water caused the coral to rock back and forth like a stand of wheat in a summer breeze.

Under the glow of this tank he drew me close, then took my hand and led me upstairs to the bedroom.

Needless to say, the kissing was not the only skill he had mastered.

The Other Woman

Now go back and read my craigslist post again. Was I, or was I not clear, that I wanted an emotionally available man? Did I not say, no happily married men? Clearly my charming Berliner who would so easily win my heart was not paying attention to that minor detail. Men.

You may wonder why I would even be so open minded as to say I would accept someone in a relationship that was ending - why not hold out for someone single? Well- that's because I was not exactly single myself. In fact I was (and still am ... sort of) a married woman.

Shock. Gasp. Get over it. It's not really like that. I had been in a disintegrating marriage for some time - it had been falling apart for several years in fact. I was miserable. He was miserable. We lived in the same house but we may as well have been roommates. We hadn't had sex in at least a year. Maybe 5 times in 3 years - if that. We didn't even kiss anymore.

About 9 months before, I asked my husband for a divorce - and then the following week his company fell apart and he lost his job, and his health insurance. I couldn't very well just walk away now that I was the sole breadwinner and insurance provider. Besides, the truth was I didn't have the money to move out yet anyway. I wasn't sure how I was going to support myself. I'm a writer, and I have a student loan debt that is more than most people owe on their homes. I was sort of stuck. So for the months leading up to this affair, I was really sort of separated. Mentally at least. And while my husband and I were talking about the actual physical separation and potential divorce, my heart began skipping ahead, wondering if I would ever find love again. And I began looking in the only place I could - online. I mean I couldn't really just go out and start dating like a normal person. I hadn't told anyone at work. We hadn't told our families. But I needed to know what was out there - and that's how I came to put the craigslist ad up.

Now in that posting I didn't actually say I was married - but lest you think I too forgot to disclose that pertinent piece of information - here was my very first response to Mr. Berlin ( That's not his real name of course, but that's what I'll call him here)

Dear Berlin;

Now there's a first. A total honest identity - with email signature and cell phone!! You are a very trusting man!! Now, just yet I'm not going to be quite so up-front. Let me tell you a few things about myself first and see if you still want to continue this conversation.

But before I do - I just have to tell you that I used to be a biologist (I changed careers, I'm a writer now) and that Berlin happens to be one of my favorite cities. Bist du, vielleicht Deutsch?

I digress ... No here's my big negative -- and perhaps it will change your assessment of "wise". I'm married. No kids. We're virtually separated (we live like roommates in the same house), and it's ending, but its complicated and we've had to stay together for a variety of reasons I'll tell you all about if we ever get that far. This might be a deal breaker for you, which would be something I would completely understand. But then again you're moving to Berlin .... so perhaps you'll take it all in stride.

I've been through the whole craigslist thing before, at some point when I was thinking that maybe I'd just meet a married man in my same fucked-up situation and we'd find some sort of solace in each other. But I'm the sort of person who loves a bit too easily I guess, and once I decide I'm really into someone (and the feeling appears mutual) I just sort of give into it. So inevitably I begin to care and then he decides to ultimately reveal he really loves his wife and he doesn't want to ever leave or jeopardize the relationship. I'm not doing that anymore. I am imperfect, but not stupid. But I'm also not exactly single .. so I'm sort of stuck.

So. Like I said - I understand married and ending (but you must be honest, it really has to be pretty much over). But no happily marrieds. If you're single I guess you just need to have been around the block enough times to have a real understanding that people make mistakes they never thought they would make, change and grow apart in ways they couldn't have imagined when they met, and end up in unhappy relationships. I like to think I have the sense to move on before its too late. I don't expect everyone to get it, but I think the right person will. and if I don't find him, eventually I'll get divorced anyway and it won't matter anymore. C'est la Vie. Macht nichts.

Anyway. What do YOU think?

Writefromtheheart

And there you have it. WAS THAT NOT CLEAR? Was that not 100% HONEST? I think so. As if that's not enough he responds:

Dear Writefromtheheart;
Ich bin nicht Deutsch, Ich bin Amerikanische. Ein Ami, as they say. Well, you are married. That's OK. I am going to Berlin rather soon after all and therefore I will take it all in stride. But are you looking for a long term relationship on the 'casual encounters' page of Craig'slist? I don't think that you can be, so I am not overly invested. I am just amazed (still) at how you summed up your motives, and how similar they are to my own. Plus, I love the way you write.

So, I very much understand the complexities of human bondage. I have been in many complicated or no, not complicated, that is an overused word, more like contradictory, positions. We are not simple creatures, at least not those of us who are at all interesting. So yes, I am still very intrigued by you. Maybe I am looking for a little shake-up, sharking around here in Craig'slist. So let me say again that I am still very intrigued by you so let's move forward.

Berlin

Now was I looking for a long term relationship? Maybe. I guess I didn't feel like I was quite ready to promise myself to anybody else forever. And so I figured - something casual - that at least had potential to become serious and long-term if the situation warrented was a good compromise. Ugg. silly, silly me.

Dear Berlin;

Also - auch wenn du nicht Deutsch bist, du kannst aber die Sprache schon sehr gut. Ich schaetze du bist da schon mal gewesen.

And yes - I suppose you are right - I'm not exactly looking for a long term relationship. But I also don't want meaningless sex with a string of random strangers. I am one of those people who thinks you really can sort of live in the moment and just see what happens, and it can be wonderful, as long as your heart is open to it. What I really don't want is someone who is emotionally shut off. You click or you don't. You have a great time or you don't You fall in love or you don't. And who cares. Perfection is rare and not required. make sense?

So why are you less than enthralled by biological science? I wax nostalgia for it sometimes. And then I remember how awesome my job is. i have a seriously awesome job. When are you leaving?

Writefromtheheart


So how do I end up as the other woman? Back to our first meeting.

The night was progressing magically. He was charming, smart, funny. I was instantly attracted to him mentally and physically. He was just the right height - about 6 feet tall to my 5 foot 4. He had an easy smile, and a hearty laugh. He had a sexy sparkle in a pair of deep brown eyes that said 'I like you back'. We talked about our families, and our work. The basic getting to know you questions. He asked me where my last name came from, and I told him it was Italian. He was surprised, as most people are, since I have one of those Italian names that doesn't sound Italian at all. And he asked me where in Italy my family came from. I told him the name of the town - a little town in Calabria (that's the south) that basically no one has ever heard of called Pianopoli.

" No way," he said. "You're kidding."
"I'm completely serious. Why have you ever heard of it before?"
"You're really from Pianopoli?"
"uh-huh."
"That's where my family is from."
"Seriously?"
"Seriously. I have the papers at home. I've been preparing the documents to get my Italian citizinship, and so I've been collecting the birth certificates of my Italian ancestors - it says right on them - Pianopoli."

We were both sort of dumbstruck by the coincidence I think. And I have to admit, it sort of seemed like fate had brought us together. If I had had any doubts that I was into this guy before, this little coincidence erased it. This guy was my soulmate. Was that stupid? A soulmate? Were we meant to meet on this dark and misty August night? Had our paths wound around and crossed several times before we were finally face-to-face? Wait. That's crazy talk. I barely knew this guy. I met him an hour ago - maybe two. We had shared a couple of beers, some sweet and spicy calimari, and a few limited details about our lives. But we came from the same town in Italy! How many planets had to align for that to happen? We weren't even both from this city where we now sat in this random bar, but had travelled very different different paths to get here. He was originally from New York, and I grew up in Oregon. But we had both lived in Boston and San Francisco - our times there even overlapping slightly - but of course never meeting. And now here we were. He reached over and touched my leg. I extended my hand to his. It had to be fate.

And then it happened.

"So why are you going to Berlin anyway?" I asked. "Did you get a job teaching there or something?"
He was quiet for a moment, while he pondered how to answer.
"Actually, in the interest of full disclosure, I'm chasing a woman."
My heart sank. What????
"But I'm not really sure that she wants me there."

Phew. He's just chasing some girl who isn't reciprocating. For a minute there I thought she was his girlfriend.