how very lucky to be a girl

Anyone who knows me knows how I love New York for everything she is.

I was here on that fateful day of September 11, 2001.  I recall the horror and grief and dismay.  I recall the sights and sounds and terrible silences.  The ash.  The tears.  The smell of war, of loss.

And I recall the resolve.  The strength and unity of New Yorkers and Americans and citizens of the world.  The love and support and rebuilding alongside the unimaginable pain and loss.

And on this, the 10th anniversary of this still unfathomable tragedy, I have nothing new to say, no new words or thoughts to offer, that I didn’t already say in my piece from last year.  If you haven’t read it before, you can find it here.

Love and light, thoughts, prayers and my continued condolences to everyone who lost anyone as a result of 9-11.

Staci

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I haven’t felt like internet dating.  Not at all.  And I haven’t felt like writing about not internet dating.  And so I’ve been noticeably absent, restrained and silent.  And I’m not sure when or if that will change.

All is well in a lucky girl’s life.  Apart from the occasional malaise that may accompany what sometimes feels like the failure of a year life-long experiment.  I remind myself: they all fail until one doesn’t.

But sometimes I just get so tired of looking.

And so I stopped.

Enter a 25-year-old man who wants to make an honest woman of me and a dishonest 35-year-old who doesn’t.  And the only end game there, really, is that as long as either or both continue, there will be no cobwebs to speak of in my nether regions.

It’s not where I thought I’d be at the less than tender age of 40.

Nor is it altogether bad.

It’s fulfilling in some ways, disenchanting in others. Just like everything, it’s about perspective.  On some days, my perspective is one of failure and I find myself unable to grasp just how this came to be my life.  On other days, sunny.  I chose this.  And it leaves me free to enjoy my life, my friends, my city, my travels, my world.

I would trade that for the person with whom I want to share my life, my friends, my city, travels and our worlds.  But I wouldn’t trade it for just anyone.  I didn’t.  I won’t.

I sometimes look at my year of internet dating and wonder why?  I sometimes look at my year of internet dating and feel angry and bitter that the men who said they would show up again didn’t.  I sometimes look at my year of internet dating and feel sorry for myself.

And then I remember the other half.  The half that liked me.  The half I could have settled for.  And didn’t.

I don’t enjoy either feeling.  And it’s why, in part, that I stopped internet dating.

I can’t say what is to come.  And I can’t say whether I will take this opportunity to redirect this blog and write about something else.  That’s usually what I think will happen.

Until I came across this…

Sinéad O’Connor has taken to the internet in a vibrantly honest way to find herself a lover.  According to her, it seemed preferable to the vegetable stand, which had become a little too tempting.

The outpouring of response has been overwhelming.  And even Sinéad had to compromise her list of requirements (softening her ban on lesbians, Brians, and Nigels, apparently).

I’d say this, if I thought for one second that Sinéad and I swam, dipped our feet in, or even sunbathed next to the same dating pool: Send me your rejects.

But I’m not saying that.  I’m just saying hello to you, my dear readers.  I don’t know when I’ll be back.  But I will be back.

Love,
Staci

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