You Can Soften Your Edge Without Losing Your Way

No doubt, the crash of my marriage was more of a beginning than an end. I gained more than I lost. I can look back and shudder to think that could have been me, my life, my forever.

But there are things I gave up, too. There are things I miss and want. These things fall into the category of 'the life I was on track for':

I should not live in a rented apartment with neighbors who play too-loud mariachi music, neighbors who throw cigarettes all over the deck, neighbors who have loud parties on Wednesday nights. I should live in a house with my husband and it should be the second one we own together.

I should be like my friend who calls her husband on the way home from work to say she forgot her house key, she needs him to let her in. I should not be the woman who frantically checks her purse three times every time she closes the door because if she forgets the key, there's nobody to let her in.

I should be like my friend who spent the first 70-degree Wednesday of the season walking, with her husband, to the park in their new neighborhood to watch people and then share corn on the cob from a paper bag and say everything in this neighborhood is like a holiday, a carnival, a festival.

I should be closer to being like my friend who is collects friends by guaging the ages of their offspring; plotting playdates

I should belong to a book club that sometimes meets at my more domestic and less single home. My fridge should contain makings for said book club instead of single-serve containers.

And I should be ready to consider moving toward that kind of sharing. When I let myself be convinced to explore the possibilities of dating, I see men like this:

A guy with broad shoulders and a strong jaw and a manly job and a golden retriever who "doesn't play games" and wants a partner to run with, spend Saturday mornings with, cook with.

A guy from australia with a job in finance and a great wardrobe.

A guy who plays vollryball on saturdays and builds shelves in his closet on the weekends.

A guy who with a wine collection and a 401k.

But I don't know how to do this. I don't know how to let go of this lock that says it's really not a safe idea, this throwing caution to the wind and giving out my phone number, my secrets, my heart.