XVII: In Which False Spring Arrives, Perhaps

First, an apology for the long layoff. During my first months of bachelorhood, every experience seemed new and strange and noteworthy, evoking what I hoped were entertaining and instructive insights, which I duly recorded here.

Lately, though, life has taken on a sadly familiar sameness, and there has been little to inspire me to write. What has most occupied my mind in recent weeks has felt too personal and, frankly, too whiny to share. As previously noted, I'll save that shizzit for my shrink. I'd prefer to entertain you.

And so I have neglected this page. I hope to return to it more frequently but will not do so simply to chronicle my frustrations with the world and my place in it. To paraphrase Mr. Ed, I'll never speak unless I have something amusing to say. Or someone has rubbed peanut butter under my lips.

Now to the matter at hand. A few weeks ago a woman, a friend of a friend who is otherwise a complete stranger to me, pinged ('friended' to those who love facebook and hate the English language) me at facebook, the addictive social networking website. My curiosity piqued, I naturally went right to her profile page to find out about her. Turned out she has quite an impressive resume and, more impressive still, has looks that indisputably qualify her for 'reet, petite, and gone' status. So I click around some more and, damn it to hell, I discover she lives thousands of miles away. Oh, and she's in a relationship. With a guy who looks like a young Paul Newman.

All this seems pretty unremarkable until I pan back to macroview, at which point I realize that I (1) had been introduced to a stranger, (2) tried, hopes rising, to figure out whether we'd be compatible, and (3) suffered the crushing blow of learning she is unavailable, all in about two minutes. Speed dating has nothing on the Internet.

One of the nice things about light-speed heartbreak is that, like a very sharp knife, it leaves a clean wound that doesn't hurt much and, provided the incision isn’t too deep, heals quickly. The half life of this e-crush and its attendant disappointment was all of about ten minutes. Ten unbearably heart-wrenching minutes, I assure you, but between the time I despondently popped a frozen pizza in the oven and the time it came out, I was over it. Even so, I had developed a crush of sorts (albeit of the inchoate variety), the first rumblings of such feelings since my marriage flatlined. In the final tally, that's what feels significant about this; I'm pretty sure I just experienced a brief false Spring of the heart, a peak into a future that promises all the emotional highs and lows I happily thought I'd left behind when I got married.

Even this brief trivial experience reminded me of how extreme those highs and lows can be. Now, some people seek such extremes while others endure them only when necessary, and then only grudgingly. I am squarely in the latter camp. I cannot understand the allure of roller coasters of either variety: real, or emotional. Sure, the highs are great, but anyone who wasn't born yesterday and is paying even a little attention knows those highs are almost always offset eventually, and usually with interest.

That's how I'm feeling these days anyway, which probably means I'm nowhere near ready to date yet. When I reflect on the breakup of my own marriage or when I talk with friends who are dealing with their own troubled romances, my instincts lean toward defensiveness and self-preservation. The prime directive these days is 'Don't get hurt again,' and that's no way to go into a new relationship. When I can look heartache in the eye and convince myself it's worth the risk, I'll know it's time to get back into the game.

I hope that day comes soon. Not because I'm lonely (I am, but that's not the reason), but because entering a new phase of my life should shake things up enough to give me plenty to write about here.

So there you go.