On codependency and discovering the obvious

I’ve come a long way in the past 15 months. I’ve survived the fledgling first year of sobriety, lost two dear people, been named employee of the month, and started a company that is finally catching it’s first big break. And yet, when it comes to my first honest-to-god mature relationship, my bright demeanor fades.

Before last year, I was a serial monogamist, jumping from one long-term relationship to another before the sheets could get cold. I knew that was a bad pattern, and when I got sober it was suggested to me that I not start any new relationships for a year. I’m a fast healer, and so, headstrong, decided I was well enough for a new relationship after six short weeks. You can imagine how well that turned out. After that I took that suggestion more seriously and faced my fear of being alone. And I embraced it.

I realized in those months of singlehood that without a significant other, I could be myself in a way I had never been able to be. Which was really important when you consider that I’d never really known myself in those formative post-adolescent years of drinking. When GIWS and I decided to be friends, it was a bit of a relief. I knew that I wasn’t ready to be in a LTR. I’m still not convinced that a year was long enough to become a fully formed, healthy person.

That said, when I met Date #4 I knew I’d found something I couldn’t pass up. After all, I’d have to get back out there sometimes. And besides, I felt phenomenal. I’d never been so sure of who I was in my whole life. Everything was organized just so, and I was steaming along. I penciled in dinners, coffees, and movie dates between appointments with clients and races. That kind of pace can be difficult to maintain, and somewhere between falling head over heels and two sinus attacks, I lost the balance.

I lost Holly.

OK, maybe I hadn’t lost myself completely. Maybe I’ve just been arrested by the fear that I will lose myself. I feel like a still-wet painting on the blank canvas that life-changing experience gave me. I’m afraid I’ll be smudged, or worse – that I’ll paint over it to match what I think that man wants.

Why is it that I can be so strong in every other aspect of my life, but turn into a jellyfish when it comes to men? What is it about being in a relationship that makes me fear the end of it? Because really, the core issue here is a fear that the person will leave me, finding whomever it is that I really am unacceptable.

And it hits me. Smacks me between the eyes. Every relationship that I have conducted in this manner has been codependent. And there’s the answer to the question I’ve been struggling with all week. I have a major fear of codependency. I watched my very sweet, but very alcoholic, father and my mother remain in a codependent relationship for 20 years. I listened to my mom cry after my father’s binges and say that she couldn’t leave him because she loved him and needed him. Needed him.

All of this hemming and hawing and distancing myself this week, wondering what it was that made me so willing to become whomever someone else wanted me to be if it meant that they would stay with me – I was struggling with my own codependency issues.

The irony is that anyone could’ve told you that I would have a problem with codependency. Lots of alcoholics do, so I feel a little foolish for feeling so “aha!” about it. Growing up publicly can be embarrassing, though effective.

So, what’s my solution? I simply need to remember that whether or not Date #4 and I stay together or not, that I’ll be OK. I don’t need him, and I have nothing to worry about – I loved being single. If the man weren’t such a damn fine catch, I would still be single (I had a lot of fun and it was a bit brief, in my opinion). The great thing is that I don’t need him – but for now, I want him. And he wants me. Should one or the other of us not want the other in the future, then that’s fine. I know that this relationship will make me a better person, whether it’s a brief experience or a lifetime. He has a lot to offer in the way of teaching me what a healthy relationship is; along with a few more things I’m sure.

You see? I’m already learning.

Introducing a new person into your life

When I met Date #4, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I was simply mixing a little business with pleasure when my online dating research yielded a surprising result – a dateable, attractive man with whom I was compatible. My life was run at a hectic, but efficient and highly effective pace. There simply wasn’t a whole lot of room. I liked it that way.

Things started slowly. I told him I wasn’t looking for anything serious, that I was, ahem, very busy and important. No time for a relationship, not looking for that sort of thing. He said he understood, respected my priorities, etc.

Then I fell in love with him.

The “serious” thing needed revising, obviously. As two people are apt to do when they find they enjoy one another’s company, we spent a lot of time together. 

A lot.

I stopped running. I stopped blogging as regularly. I stopped doing laundry and grocery shopping. I was deep in Cloud Cuckoo Land, as I like to call it. That place where newly formed couples spend way too long looking into each other’s eyes, sleeping really late on weekends, and having lots and lots of hot monkey sex. 

As much as I knew this was going to happen, I couldn’t stop it. Perhaps I didn’t want to stop it. What the hell? Falling in love is fantastic. Why skip all the fun stuff and move straight into routine? 

Incorporating Date #4 into my life isn’t the same as making a new friend or having a relative move into town. This is someone that I hope to have a meaningful relationship with. Anyone who has been in a relationship for a period of time knows that it takes time to get to know someone. I liked Date #4 and I wanted to learn about him – that takes time. Granted, you can take your time getting to know someone, but I tend to be an extremist with a “good” button instead of an “easy” button. If it makes me feel good or happy, I’ll slam that damn button till it’s broke. Luckily, I didn’t do that here.

Armed with a little bit of knowledge of myself and my habits, I tried to resist Cloud Cuckoo Land, but it was simply too alluring. GIWS and I had managed to see each other only once a week, twice tops, throughout the few months we dated. I tried to do this again, but to no avail.

When I got sick (again), my frustration reared its head. I had gained 5 lbs. I was completely out of racing shape. I’d been eating entire meals out of the vending machines at work. Thanks to my fourth sinus infection this year, I was waylaid and unable to stay awake long enough to do anything other than go to work. I reached my breaking point when my libido disappeared. WTF?!

A week later, I got better and I got some perspective. Date #4 and I have been together for only two months. I realized that I could maintain my old schedule and kick him out of my life or I could find a new routine. That period of everything going to hell was just a slash-and-burn method of prepping the soil for a new life. One that involves the man that I love and all the activities I love.

What I ended up having to do was first explain to him what was going on in my head. He understood and didn’t take it personally at all, which was essential for me to feel comfortable moving forward. I explained to him that there are a lot of things I enjoy doing that I haven’t been doing lately, and that I need a routine or schedule in order to make it all fit into my life.

I looked at my schedule, needs and priorities. I looked at his schedule, needs and priorities. He has two dogs, so he can’t stay over too often. I live out of the way of my work and his house, so I have to bring all my stuff for work if I’m staying over. It made more sense to do all that if I were staying two nights in a row. For both of our sanity and respect of personal space, I decided two nights apart would be good for us. Thus, a schedule emerged. I would stay with him Wednesdays and Thursdays, and he would stay with me on Tuesdays and Fridays. Sundays and Mondays we had off, and Saturdays I left to whim (even I don’t try to plan everything).

I make sure to bring my running shoes to his place and try to take the dogs out with me. I also run on the evenings we’re not seeing each other. The beginning of the week can be overwhelming for me, so that’s why I picked those two days to spend apart. It gives me the time to work on my blog, get my clothes ready for the week, and to generally spend time with myself, which I think is important in any relationship.

Once I identified the problem and communicated that to him, I was able to then ask, what now? How can I have both – him and my old life? Planning the nights was a great first step. It allows me to plan what will need to happen and when. The other stuff is simply up to me. Once I finished the relay marathon I had spent months training for in May, I had a hard time staying motivated, so I signed up for a race on July 4 and started looking for more to keep me running.

Maybe this is easy for some people to figure out, but I was really happy being single. My life was happy and whole when I met Date #4, so much in fact that if it weren’t for my sister’s sage advice to not let opportunities pass me by, I probably wouldn’t have made the leap.

I’m glad that I did, but that period of transition can be tough. I think it’s important to be honest with yourself, to communicate your frustration without laying any blame, and to get into the solution. Dwelling in the problem while I was sick yielded nothing but a depressing blog post (sorry!). Once I decided to try a solution, I was already feeling like my old self and it didn’t take long to get back on track.

Oh, and my libido came back. Thank god.

[Photo credit: Evan Romine]

I Do - For Seven Years

Last week, Adam Gilbert wrote a post on marriage that drew a veritable firestorm of comments. With a whopping 50 percent of marriages ending in divorce these days, one does begin to wonder what purpose the marriage contract serves realistically in today’s society. I thought it would be an interesting subject to discuss with the BF, considering his background in anthropology and his profession in law. He brought up an interesting concept – a seven-year marriage contract.

The man is brilliant, but not that brilliant. This is a concept that has been around for a while. That famous image of Marilyn Monroe standing over the subway grate holding her dress down – that’s from the “Seven Year Itch,” a movie about the phenomenon of married couples growing bored at the seven-year mark. Last September, a German politician suggested that the government actually allow a seven-year civil union contract, which drew international feather-ruffling.

I was immediately intrigued. Think of all the problems this could solve, I thought. For one thing, with 50 percent of all marriages ending in prolonged divorces, it sure would make things a lot less painful for both parties. For those of us entering into the marriage state believing that this will last, however, that probably isn’t the reason you would choose the seven-year contract.

I liked that it would be a reaffirmation of your commitment to one another. Every seven years you would ask yourself, “Is this still the right person for me?” Imagine how incredibly powerful that affirmation would be for the continued growth and life of your marriage.

I would love to see what the statistics would look like on the treatment you receive from your significant other around the six-year mark as well. I would guess that you might see your spouse become more attentive to you, knowing that the contract is up for renegotiation soon. Indeed, it’s one of my fears about marriage that after X number of years, you fall into such a comfort zone that you don’t really try anymore. I’ve watched couples grow inattentive, selfish, even downright mean as the years stretch on in a marriage. Somehow there’s a mindset (not always, but in these cases) that now that you’re married, it doesn’t really matter how polite you are to your significant other. After all, they’re committed. Having a contract would eliminate this, or give the offended party an out if it didn’t.

I like the idea that neither party is obligated to remain in the relationship. I know the outcry from the happily married community will be, “It’s not an obligation when you love the person!” But my fear would be that either party would feel obligated to remain in the marriage. After all, you’ve made a vow in front of your family, friends, deity of your choice to remain married forever. That’s a lot of pressure. Some people can (and do) crack under the idea of ‘forever.’ It’s kind of like how I stay sober – one day at a time. You ask me to stay sober for the rest of my life – I’d be cracking a bottle of wine by noon. I could see myself saying yes to seven years. Then after seven years, re-upping for another go around, and so on and so on.

I see the flipside of that token – neither party is obligated. Some people have argued that if neither party is committed to remaining for better or for worse, then you never feel the security of marriage. You or both of you never really feel secure in the relationship. You live with constant competition from the outside, a feeling that nothing is set in stone, that the seven years you are investing could be all there is. Your spouse could hold it over you – “If you don’t stop/start doing X, Y or Z then I’m not going to renew our contract.”

Perhaps worse than the feeling of obligation would be the possibility of one or the other riding the contract out for the remaining years. Imagine figuring out three or four years into your marriage that it’s not what you wanted. You might think, I’ll just hang on for another three or four years and let it expire. Your spouse might be thinking that without you knowing. If both parties are in this mindset, they might treat each other even worse, knowing that they’re unhappily bound for X more years (not that you couldn’t divorce early, but you might choose not to due to the cost or stigma).

Finally, on the con side, some might enter into the marriage state more lightly with a seven-year stipulation. I could imagine a 22-year-old thinking, Hey, if it doesn’t work out, I’ll only be 29 and I’ll still be able to find someone. Or, it could be a way for gold diggers to catch a free ride for seven years before ditching the poor schmuck. Conversely, it could also be a way for those old horny geezers to protect their assets from said diggers, hedging their bets on whether or not they’ll survive the term.

It’s highly unlikely our government would ever allow such a contract since each state’s government is set up to protect and encourage the marriage state. However, I think you’ll have an interesting conversation with your significant other on the topic. As for me and my significant other, we agreed it would be nice to have some sort of informal agreement at the outset to reevaluate a marriage seven years into it, and either to amicably dissolve or to reaffirm the relationship. For me personally, the merits outweigh the cons. But hey, I’m not there yet.

The Subtle Allure of A Life More Ordinary (or the Brainwashing of American Women)

There’s something about magazines like Real Simple and TV shows like House Hunters that depresses me. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but every time I attempt a sit on the couch post-work I am irritated by things like Everybody Loves Raymond. There’s a part of me that is suspicious that these forms of entertainment have been created to make us believe that not only are you content with your life, but you are enthusiastic about it, a subtle (or not-so-subtle, in my opinion) brainwashing of home-improving, toddler-yogaing, exasperated-but-happy-at-the-end-of-the-day, we’re-the-same-kind-of-unique status quo. Welcome to the new yuppiedom.

Maybe I’m just feeling particularly fed up with the new American dream this evening, as I sit in my underwear, toenails unpainted and unmanicured, eating Oreos with orange juice, wondering why I’m throwing 5 months of perfectly good conditioning down the drain. Maybe it’s that I’ve recently fallen in love and have caught myself twice already daydreaming into that magical land I call Not A Chance in Hell.

That place involves a relationship that can survive my apparent two-year statute of limitations with a guy who looks like a J. Crew model, a baby as cute and happy as the one that couple at the café has that will magically disappear when it needs to be fed/changed/burped or cries inexplicably, a house that requires little-to-no maintenance which of course we obtained at a steal, a thriving business that I built and doesn’t require me to be around all the time, and a Holly who does not feel overwhelming pinned-down and caged by it all.

Puh-shaw.

That’s when I turn off the TV. And call Real Simple to remind them, once again, that I unsubscribed two months ago. I fight off the sneaking suspicion that somehow, somewhere my father has bribed a Starbucks barista to spike my lattes with hormones. I have been told repeatedly that one day I will want all of these things. When I get a case of the I-just-want-to-be-upper-middle-class blues, I daydream another life.

In this life I usually am married, or in a long-term committed relationship. Yes, I am happy and content being single, but like many, I would like to have a companion through life. I think a character in Shall We Dance? sums it up best when she says people get married so that in a world of billions, one person says they will be the witness to your life. I agree with this. 

At any rate, 90 percent of me says no to kids. This is mostly a financial decision in my mind. Yes, I know you can be financially well off and have kids also, but the majority of folks are not. Here are a few examples of childless couples who are financially better off than their peers (especially where it comes to retirement). And here’s an entire online community dedicated to couples who have chosen not to have kids for a variety of reasons. I take comfort knowing that I'm not the only one out there like me.

Mostly, though, this daydream life is about being able to do the things I am passionate about without any compromises or guilt feelings, such as diving tirelessly into my own businesses, having a partner who I still find sexually appealing, coming nowhere close to any variety of poop/snot/vomit, and traveling at will and on whim.

I have nightmare versions of both of my daydreams, too. There’s one that revolves around divorce, debt, failed parenthood and suburbia, and there’s one that mostly involves being alone for the rest of my life realizing at 47 that all I really ever wanted was a family. These things occur to me. It also occurs to me that none of these scenarios are realistic, and that in life we end up somewhere in the middle. The glory part is that I actually know that I will be happy whichever dream I pursue or end up with inadvertently (life has a way of surprising us). My happiness resides within me, whatever the exterior.

In the meantime, no more HGTV for me. Or Oreos for that matter.

Off the Market?

This past week I’ve been grappling with what Love is exactly. Not the kind between friends and family, but the kind between two people in a relationship. Is it codependency? Is it having a partner in crime? A best friend you have hot sex with? Someone who can teach you something that you can in turn teach also? Is it an ethereal feeling that no one can pinpoint because it’s different for everyone? Is it forever or is it fleeting and something else carries you through the rest of the years?

I have no idea, to be honest. But I think I’m falling in love. And it’s got me nervous.

It would just be insane to say that I am actually in love at this point. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month. But to say I am in the process is true enough.

I’ve been hesitant to give a follow-up to my online dating post for several reasons, but it had a bit of a cliffhanger ending I suppose because my friends, family and readers have been asking for an update on the status of Date #4.

::Sap alert::

Even I groaned when I first heard myself say it. As a dyed-in-the-wool Sag, I am not prone to expressions of love or sentiment, nor do I always know how to handle them. Plus, let’s face it; I’m a bit of a commitment phobe. I really wasn’t looking for a relationship when this whole thing started with the online dating experiment. Just fun, just dates. Then Date #4 came along.

I knew I was in trouble after that second date. We ate great food and had some phenomenal conversation. Attraction was clearly mutual. It was definitely unexpected. I was nearly knocked off my feet when after mentioning my thesis he said, “Oh, Heidegger? I studied him a bit. What aspect of his philosophy was your thesis on?” Swoon. When he defended Nietzsche’s later thought, I was struck silent. Damn, I thought, he’s gonna keep me on my toes. Nerd love, I can’t help it.

Still, we kept it light, fun, casual. I was upfront and honest with him about not wanting anything serious, and he was cool with it. That lasted until this weekend. I could feel it happening. There was nothing wrong with him. I keep waiting for it to pop up, so we keep spending time together, though still only once or twice a week since we both maintain full, productive lives. But still nothing. Even the big red flag kind of stuff – like the fact that he has a kid – it doesn’t bother me. He’s open and honest and sincere, which apparently is like my Kryptonite. I trust him.

So, what does it mean when I’m done being all serious and heavy about it? I figure I handle most things in my life one day at a time, so I’ll do this the same way. I’m not going to freak out that I’m going off the market, will end up married with 3 brats in suburbia, then divorced and out-of-shape and broke at 47 (personal nightmare). I just have to handle today, and today it feels really nice to be falling in love.

It’s a tough to put this out there. I feel a little embarrassed considering I’ve been such a die-hard single as of late. I’ve reveled in it; I’ve loved it actually. Part of me still doesn’t want to give it up, but I can spot a good adventure when I see one. And I never pass up an adventure.

Me & the Great Online Dating Experiment

There’s this one site I am absolutely glued to, HoneyandLance.com. (Love ya, guys.) Mostly, I’ve been fascinated by the pick-up artist end of things. This experiment was inspired by a post in which Lance mentions that he opens up a girl by asking about crazy online dating stories, which most girls have. Not me, I thought. Not yet.

*Let me preface this by saying that I think we all know we each just want to get a little action at some point. I don’t think it’s fair that because I’m a female with a busy and full schedule without time for a serious relationship, I should be excluded from the nooky end of things. To further complicate matters, I don’t drink, so I can’t do what most of my girlfriends do – go out, drink a little, hook-up with a guy at the end of the night and blame it all on the alcohol.

So, how does a single, dare I say, attractive young woman with little time on her hands go about dating pretty much for the first time in her life because she’s been a serial monogamist since high school? You sign up for an online dating site and tell all your friends that you’re doing it as research for your blog.

Ha.

In all honesty, I’ve really enjoyed it. Some of my girlfriends have tried it, and those who haven’t are thrilled to watch me be the guinea pig and listen to my stories. I tend to approach most things these days with a sense of adventure, and admittedly, doing it as “research” for the site allowed me to stay unemotional about it. I just went for it.

Making the Profile
Here’s what I did. I made my profile. I first searched and found profiles I thought were appealing. I liked the profiles of guys who had travel and action photos, as well as clear mug shots. So I added those kinds of photos to my profile. Then I read a few I liked and shaped my profile after theirs. Specifics really are great, by the way. I got more comments about describing what I like to do after a good run more than any of the general "me" stuff.

Displaying Interest
Then I set my search criteria. I winked at all of the guys who I thought were good-looking and had interesting profiles, a conservative move in the world of online dating. (If you haven't online dated, "winking" is the simplest, most basic level of interest. Using it is often considered a wuss move.) Three of the original four wrote back. The good ones were brief (a couple lines), included something specific about my profile that they liked and asked a question, thus eliciting a response from me. I responded with matching length (imitation is a form of flirting) and similar comments. They usually e-mailed back a much lengthier response and thus deeper e-mail conversation began. After a few e-mails, meeting was suggested, and a few hours before meeting, numbers were exchanged.

The Dates
In total, I have dated four guys from the online dating site. I will not use their names here, but here’s the run-down.

Date #1: Lawyer, over 30, divorced, no kids.

Date #2: Financial advisor, closer to my age, never married, no kids.

Date #3: Pilot, over 30, divorced, no kids.

Date #4: Lawyer, over 30, never married, one kid.

Date #1
The first meet-up with Date #1 went well. We had good conversation, he was decent-looking and intelligent. It's just that I simply didn’t feel it. And although this might add credence to what some guys call impossibly high standards, I just couldn’t handle that he tucked his T-shirts into his jeans and wore a belt too. I don’t think that’s having high standards; I think it’s just a personality thing.

Things tapered off with him, especially after he seemed to be in constant contact – e-mailing, text messaging or calling. I realize that because of my busy schedule it can be difficult to display interest, but he came on too strong for me, especially given my slight case of relationship phobia (I’m a classic Sagittarius – can’t be tied down).

Date #2
Date #2 was a lunch date. Neither one of us had an evening free. Good sign, I thought. He takes his career seriously, too. I was also really excited to meet another young professional in my city (south Texas isn’t exactly Young Professional Central). We got along great and had decent conversation. Still there’s not much you can get from a one-hour lunch date, so I proposed a baseball game (I have phenomenal tickets behind home plate for our local AA ball club). By the end of the night, I pretty much figured this one for a really cool friend. We had lunch again, and it sealed the deal. I think we could both pretty much tell there wasn’t a spark there. I did invite him to a young pros networking event this weekend, and I think he’ll make a great contact and friend since we’re both driven in our careers.

Date #3
Date #3 was a bust. He looked a lot older than I thought he would. The convo was decent. I introduced him to two coworkers/friends who happened to be at the café we met at. The next day the male coworker asked if I had known Date #3 long. Nooo, I said slowly. Why? Ask Female Coworker, he said. Ohhhh. Forget it. He called, but I’m not returning it. Too complicated and I wasn't that interested anyway.

Date #4
By the time Date #4 rolled around, I had already decided to call it quits. This is the last one, I thought. No more freakin’ online dates. We met for Thai food. We ended up going for coffee and talking until 11 pm. He walked me to my car and stopped my door just short of closing, leaned in and said, “I had a really good time. Really.” Hmmm. I drove off smiling a little.

The next morning I decided to kick it up a notch. I sent a highly flirtatious text message: “Morning tiger. Great date last night. Hope you’re having a good Tuesday.” I figure this would indicate that I’m interested beyond a friendship level and hopefully surprise and delight a little. I figured it also showed self-confidence.

A client cancelled on me two days later, leaving me an unexpected hole in my schedule, and Date #4 just happened to ask on the off chance whether I was free for the evening. As a matter of fact…

He picked me up for dinner. I had some fear after Date #1 that all lawyers dress poorly, and our first date together he had arrived in full suit, fresh out of the office. Luckily, not so. He was perfectly dressed down and sporting glasses (H-O-T). More great dinner conversation. He could keep up with me intellectually, which is not common, and he could talk about personal stuff, which was refreshing after GIWS (Guy I Was Seeing).

I suggested a walk on the beach post-dinner (my new pad is a 120-second walk to the beach). More great convo. No smooch. He walked me to my door and I invited him in to check out the new digs I’d been raving about. Finally, make-out action. Good make-out action. Damn near perfect. Not too aggressive (I still have my tonsils, check), not too light (we have tongues, check). I let it slip that I am surprised, pleasantly so. He checks out for the evening and I go to bed thinking I might be in trouble.

Date #4 was unexpected, especially considering he’s the one with an actual deal-breaker (kid). I’m struggling a little to keep things in perspective and not to do the I-can't-have-a-relationship freak-out thing, considering we've had two dates. But that's a whole other can of worms. I’ve definitely made it clear to him that my businesses are my number one priority and that I don’t have a lot of free time. I have also made it relatively clear that I’m not looking for anything serious. Hopefully that's enough for now.

How I Maturely Ended a Relationship… For the First Time

Guy I’ve Been Seeing and I hadn’t seen each other in probably two weeks. With the website taking off at the same time as my IT consultancy, I had become insanely busy. GIBS was almost equally busy with his career. When we were seeing each other, it was pretty much for, er, one thing.

During this particularly long stretch between sightings, I’d got to thinking about our relationship. Hold on a second. I just said relationship. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. GIBS is thus named for a reason. I had such a mortal fear of saying BF, GIBS was the shortest description I could come up with to describe our association to friends and family members. But here it was four or five months into it, and how long could you possibly just be “dating” someone?

With my career taking off in so many different directions, I knew time was going to be limited. I got to thinking about GIBS though. All of this really great stuff pretty much started because of him and that question he asked on our second date. He was always there for me – supporting me, holding me accountable, pushing me through the tough parts when I wanted to give up. He could pump me up when I needed it, and he could celebrate my successes. And he genuinely felt them. I could pretty much tell him anything. I respected his opinion and sought his advice on most things.

Holy crap, I thought. He’s one of my best friends.

I certainly didn’t want to ruin things with my best friend. At the same time, I knew that it wasn’t going to work as a couple. Neither one of us were cut off for coupledom, at least for the time being. We’d talked repeatedly about our relationship fears, our happiness in being single, etc. Every time I ended something with someone though, we never really stayed friends. We might talk, but it eventually tapered off or imploded when I realized they were holding onto the friend card thinking I would change my mind.

I talked it over with one of my mentors (people, if you haven’t already, find an older person you respect, admire and talk openly with on all matters). I decided honesty was the best policy. I sort of had this feeling that he might be feeling the same way I was anyhow.

So our schedules finally synced up and we went for sushi. We talked about the great and busy things in our lives – my new apartment, his new house, my IT consultancy taking off, his big trips coming up.

“Well, it sounds like we’ve both got really full lives right now,” I commented, looking down at the table. I raised my eyes and gave him a knowing look. He met my eyes and I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

“Look, with all this stuff going on, it just seems like maybe we don’t have time for a relationship,” I pushed through.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that lately, too,” GIBS agreed, looking relieved.

“Here’s the thing though,” I continued. “You’ve actually become really important to me.” I told him everything I’d realized about he and I as friends. I told him that he’d become one of my best friends and that friendship is a rung higher than a relationship in my book.

“So you don’t want me to just go away?” he asked.

“No!” I reassured. “Look, I need you as a friend.”

We continued talking and walked to our cars. I wondered, and hoped, that we would really stay friends. And we have. I think we’re actually closer than we were when we were dating. We talk on the phone regularly, text our triumphs and ‘how you doing’s to each other often. We hang out, and true friend that he is, he helped me move this past weekend. We’ve had dinner and great, interesting conversations. I feel like I’m more myself around him than ever, because just like any other friend, I figure he’ll figure my faults and flaws. I don’t fear judgment. I can roll over to his place sans make-up and not give a crap since we’re just friends anyways.

And while the FB card is definitely on the table, I’ve filed it away for a rainy day. Today I’m totally cool being good friends.

Note: Hereto forward, GIBS will be known as GIWS (Guy I Was Seeing).

Good Work Life = Good Sex Life

Recently my career life has taken off in unexpected ways. I got a raise at work. My IT consultancy has a steady, dedicated customer, and plans for increasing the client base are going well. My blog site, WorkLoveLife.com, has skyrocketed within the past two weeks, with traffic increasing exponentially.

I was riding a huge wave, and suddenly I exuded confidence in a way I never have. My newfound success gave me a sense of poise that spilled over into other areas of my life. Why not upgrade to a nicer apartment on the beach when my lease is up in a month? I’ve earned it. Why not gun forward on that project at work? I know it will work.

Here’s a not-so-secretive secret about confidence. Not only does it dramatically increase your odds of getting what you want, but it does wonders for your sex life. Self-confidence is sexy. Someone who knows what she or he wants and goes after it is, well, hot. There are no two ways about it.

I read a blog recently about why you actually want to date a player (hat tip: HoneyAndLance). A lot of it has to do with self-confidence. I have to admit by the end of the post I realized that the guy I’ve been seeing is sort of a player. And I like it. I love that he’s confident, self-assured and comfortable in social situations.

I didn’t make the correlation between career and sexual confidence until recently. Given the number of deaths and illnesses in my life recently, let’s just say I haven’t exactly been feeling it. Something snapped on Saturday though. After looking at a fabulous 1-bedroom condo on the beach and deciding to take it, I was riding high. I went shopping and after realizing that all the running had paid off in the loss of both a jean size and a shirt size, I asked myself why I shouldn’t go all out on the weekly Saturday night dance-a-thon. Some cherry-red lipgloss and a new pair of jeans later, I knew I was looking good. More than that, I was feeling good. I was rocking it.

One problem. The guy I was seeing said earlier that day he wasn’t game for going out. Exuding a confidence he was unaccustomed to seeing in me, I messaged him: “You should reconsider. I’m looking pretty damn good tonight.” Some more flirty text messaging ensued (totally out-of-character for me), and before long I had him: “We’re on our way.”

Don’t feel too bad for him. He knew what I was up to from text message #1. That didn’t matter – what got him was the surprising new attitude I wore. It was clear that I knew what I wanted that night and that I went after it. It was a turn on, not just for him, but for me too. I wasn’t nervous, anxious, distracted, or busy trying to decipher whether or not he was thinking the same thing I was. I had my eyes on the prize.

The interesting thing is that I always thought that this wasn’t part of my make-up. That in order to be one of those sexy, confident women, I would have to act, play a part. The truth is nothing has come more naturally.

A warning here. It goes without saying that over-confidence is decidedly unsexy. Take it too far and you’ll come off arrogant, stuck-up, better-than or all of the above. Not hot.