The Jewish new year has formally arrived. Reflecting back on this year, I realize that I definitely broke my own self-inflicted rules this year. I dated a guy who smoked. I dated a guy whose divorce wasn't yet final. I dated a guy who lived in a different country. I dated a guy with a different religion than mine. I dated a guy without children. I dated a guy with children who had never been married. I even dated a guy who claimed to have seen aliens.
If you haven't figured it out by now, I went beyond my comfort zone. Until now, my comfort zone led me to fun relationships but also to broken hearts and lots of used kleenex, not to mention extra visits to psychologists and doctors, and yes, a loss of a girlfriend who just had no patience for my adventure. I forget sometimes that is better to write than to talk, even though writing lets me change the truth and censor some of the juicy stuff.
Did you actually think that everything I wrote here was true? It's actually the stranger things here that are true. But what does it really matter? I carefully protect the identity of those real characters in these posts. I probably should be more careful of my own identity, but one day I'll reveal the truth. In this small country, it's not so hard to figure out.
After THE breakup, it was obvious to me that I wouldn't meet the love of my life immediately. I needed to play the field, meet lots of different people, and get to know myself again, or get to know myself for the first time. I've met amazing men and women - some have remained good friends while others disappointed me, or I disappointed them. There is no black and white in friendship between women or men.
But after going out on a variety of dates, I can honestly say that I'm tired of the "almost" men - the great love who smokes, the drop-dead gorgeous guy who doesn't believe in foreplay, the devoted father who doesn't really have time to see me, the fun friend who can't say he loves me cause he's waiting for that "wow" click....they're all great guys, but I want my rules back. I want a divorced guy with children, who doesn't want anymore children, is my age or younger, passionate, employed, romantic and is not afraid to say that he loves me....and lives in Israel or course....and it would definitely be an added bonus if he could carry a tune or play an instrument, as I have a weakness for musicians.
So why not fantasize? I had almost a year to get over the breakup. It's my turn now for the real thing, right? Fate had it that I couldn't meet up with my friend with benefits (that sounds SO much nicer than fuck buddy, doesn't it?) and ended up going out to a concert with a girlfriend. The women at the concert were about ten years younger than me, thinner, and many childless.....you would think that would put me at a disadvantage....at first I seemed invisible. Lots of members of the audience were couples, smiley and cuddly... no outward signs of stress from staying up all night with a teething baby or wondering what time of night their teenager will bring home their other car....or wondering how to pay the mortgage on their garden apartment in the suburbs....
and then I saw the youngest and cutest girl in the audience. She was eleven. And she had a dad. Who was alone. And acknowledged my existence. And even played the piano. There, my prince had arrived. The end to my searching...here, among all the young bachelors. "Don't talk too much Gilit. Don't talk too much. Don't ask him too many questions. Smile, but don't be pushy. Listen. Watch".
And so I did. The break was over and he got up to play. The piano. My first instrument. I waited in anticipation to see if he played as nicely as he treated his daughter. From the audience, I didn't have to worry about staring at him, as he wouldn't notice with the stage lights on and the audience lights dimmed. I could comfortably glance at him for the distance, starting with his smile, and then down to the keyboard where I could closely watch his finger-work. My mind drifted to a different form of "let your fingers do the walking" as I imagined him taking my phone number after I complimented him on his piano-playing, of our trips together with his daughter and my son, and of not having to go on a blind date again.
My eyes drifted down to his right hand and musical savvy, and then watched his left hand to see how he managed with his accompaniment.
I didn't feel so bad when the piano player did NOT ask me for my telephone number. Thanks to the stage spotlight, there it was - the finger accessory this writer hadn't noticed when the musician first sat next to his daughter - his wedding ring.
If you haven't figured it out by now, I went beyond my comfort zone. Until now, my comfort zone led me to fun relationships but also to broken hearts and lots of used kleenex, not to mention extra visits to psychologists and doctors, and yes, a loss of a girlfriend who just had no patience for my adventure. I forget sometimes that is better to write than to talk, even though writing lets me change the truth and censor some of the juicy stuff.
Did you actually think that everything I wrote here was true? It's actually the stranger things here that are true. But what does it really matter? I carefully protect the identity of those real characters in these posts. I probably should be more careful of my own identity, but one day I'll reveal the truth. In this small country, it's not so hard to figure out.
After THE breakup, it was obvious to me that I wouldn't meet the love of my life immediately. I needed to play the field, meet lots of different people, and get to know myself again, or get to know myself for the first time. I've met amazing men and women - some have remained good friends while others disappointed me, or I disappointed them. There is no black and white in friendship between women or men.
But after going out on a variety of dates, I can honestly say that I'm tired of the "almost" men - the great love who smokes, the drop-dead gorgeous guy who doesn't believe in foreplay, the devoted father who doesn't really have time to see me, the fun friend who can't say he loves me cause he's waiting for that "wow" click....they're all great guys, but I want my rules back. I want a divorced guy with children, who doesn't want anymore children, is my age or younger, passionate, employed, romantic and is not afraid to say that he loves me....and lives in Israel or course....and it would definitely be an added bonus if he could carry a tune or play an instrument, as I have a weakness for musicians.
So why not fantasize? I had almost a year to get over the breakup. It's my turn now for the real thing, right? Fate had it that I couldn't meet up with my friend with benefits (that sounds SO much nicer than fuck buddy, doesn't it?) and ended up going out to a concert with a girlfriend. The women at the concert were about ten years younger than me, thinner, and many childless.....you would think that would put me at a disadvantage....at first I seemed invisible. Lots of members of the audience were couples, smiley and cuddly... no outward signs of stress from staying up all night with a teething baby or wondering what time of night their teenager will bring home their other car....or wondering how to pay the mortgage on their garden apartment in the suburbs....
and then I saw the youngest and cutest girl in the audience. She was eleven. And she had a dad. Who was alone. And acknowledged my existence. And even played the piano. There, my prince had arrived. The end to my searching...here, among all the young bachelors. "Don't talk too much Gilit. Don't talk too much. Don't ask him too many questions. Smile, but don't be pushy. Listen. Watch".
And so I did. The break was over and he got up to play. The piano. My first instrument. I waited in anticipation to see if he played as nicely as he treated his daughter. From the audience, I didn't have to worry about staring at him, as he wouldn't notice with the stage lights on and the audience lights dimmed. I could comfortably glance at him for the distance, starting with his smile, and then down to the keyboard where I could closely watch his finger-work. My mind drifted to a different form of "let your fingers do the walking" as I imagined him taking my phone number after I complimented him on his piano-playing, of our trips together with his daughter and my son, and of not having to go on a blind date again.
My eyes drifted down to his right hand and musical savvy, and then watched his left hand to see how he managed with his accompaniment.
I didn't feel so bad when the piano player did NOT ask me for my telephone number. Thanks to the stage spotlight, there it was - the finger accessory this writer hadn't noticed when the musician first sat next to his daughter - his wedding ring.
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