A new friend

I tend not to have many male friends.

Yes there are those partnered with my female friends and of course my (gay) friend Renato, but there aren’t too many straight guys I’ve befriended on my own terms.

I gravitate towards female friendship and usually subscribe to the ol’ chestnut: men and women can’t be friends without the sex part getting in the way. ‘When Harry met Sally’ being one of my favourite films.

I've been at my brother’s house when his friends have come around for their weekly Thursday night get together. The evening goes something like this:

William plays his guitar; drinks some wine; reads the label on the wine bottle. Dallas plays with his phone; drinks some wine; rolls a %$&. Scott drinks some wine; smokes a cigarette.

Milly (Hamish Mill) is the exception; he likes a good natter. So eventually Milly grows tired of talking to silence and ventures inside to find me and Rachel chatting about love, marriage, spirituality, children, parents, fitness, health & nutrition, travel.

People say you can’t teach an old dog new tricks and I would have thought me an ‘old dog’ in my strong-held beliefs that women serve me better in friendship.

But all this changed when I met Andrew (pictured).

I nicknamed Andrew ‘Boston’ (because that’s where he’s from) and we became friends when he began a two month internship at the organisation I work at in Melbourne.

Boston blended in well to corporate culture – he wore a dark suit and was quiet and courteous in the open-office environment.

One of my colleagues asked if I would give Andrew an overview of my role so I booked a meeting room and took him through what a PR professional does.

"I thought your job was like Peggy’s from Mad Men,” Andrew said.

Peggy, the character who is a copywriter and later promoted to account manager, in the HBO award-winning drama series based on a fictional ad agency in 1950s/60s New York.

I love Mad Men.

Andrew worked his social charms on other colleagues and before long we were all catching up for Friday night drinks.

He would constantly say: “I love Australians” and me: “Tell me about America.”

My (other) American friend Nicole also watches Mad Men and she invited me and Boston to a show at the Next Wave Festival where she is marketing manager. The theatre was irreverent and original and gave Boston and me happy fodder to discuss at post-show drinks.

My friend Renato (another Mad Men fan) happily agreed for Andrew to join us at his Mad Men and martinis season five end party.

We all liked Boston.

Andrew left Melbourne just before Nicole and Anson held their ‘Christmas in July’ party. I would have liked his company – the party was winter wonderland fabulousness (many guests wore woolly sweaters with Xmas motifs like reindeer and snowflakes; we decorated a homemade gingerbread house with smarties; drank fresh eggnog, got tipsy and danced in Nicole and Anson's lounge-room).

Boston and me have kept in touch. He introduced me to his flatmate Josiah who’s from Portland. Josiah has given me some fantastic tips and insights into Portland and Seattle. Both have helped me enormously in shaping my upcoming US plans (San Diego/Portland/Seattle).

Josiah intends to return to Portland after finishing his degree.  Hopefully this will prompt Andrew to visit us. Otherwise, I’ll go to Boston.

When an employee leaves an organisation, their farewell speech seldom focuses on the work alone: they usually mention the people as a highlight. My work contract ends in January and while the work’s been good – it’s where I met Boston. 

It may have taken someone from the other side of the world to change my beliefs about the dynamics of gender and friendship. The Quiet American. But perhaps it was just meant to be - Melbourne is afterall sister city to Boston.



In 1985, Melbourne’s international sister city relationship with Boston was established. As vibrant knowledge cities, Melbourne and Boston are connected by a common commitment to excellence in healthcare and medicine, information and biotechnology, education, the arts and culture.

See link: http://www.melbourne.vic.gov.au/enterprisemelbourne/BusinessSupport/international/Pages/SisterCityBoston.aspx



The pic: Andrew looking daper in his suit. He took influence from Mad Men’s Don Draper. He wanted to ‘look fantastic in a suit’ (see first link below for reference). Knowing my love for Mad Men and Game of Thrones, Andrew shared these clips - watch if you're a fan:

Don Draper’s guide to picking up women: http://www.videolog.tv/video.php?id=440339

Don Draper presents Facebook timeline: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wAcyJhsamcQ&list=FLkg7Jr2Omo_kNayGio4c1mA&index=50&feature=plpp_video

Game of Thrones: http://www.dailymotion.com/video/xq6dez_snl-game-of-thrones_shortfilms

Hello Mother

I’ve always loved the theatre and whenever I travel, I will see a play.

During my recent trip to San Francisco, friends had recommended the pastry shop, Tartine, so while I sipped my soy latte and munched on a fruit scone, I read over the Arts section of the San Francisco Chronicle to get a feel for the theatre around town.

I came across a preview for The Normal Heart.  

The Normal Heart focuses on the rise of the HIV-AIDS crisis in New York City between 1981 and 1984, as seen through the eyes of writer/activist Ned Weeks, the gay Jewish-American founder of a prominent HIV advocacy group.

As in all good theatre, this production touched me in ways I could relate my own life.  

One of the beloved characters had contracted HIV and in a following scene, his doctor tells him the grim news that the virus has progressed to full blown AIDS.

Facing the audience, the grown man cries: “I want my mother.”

The attending doctor casually enquires: “Can you call her?”

“She’s dead,” he replies.

My mother died when I was 21 – five days shy of my 22^nd birthday.  Her own father died when she too was 21.  I remember asking her: “Do you miss your father?”  “No,” she had said. “It’s so long ago now.”

It’s been a difficult road without my mother.  I have a father and brother and their male influence in my 20s was undeniable. Essentially I became more like them dropping any hint of feminine.  I was male in a female form.   I chased the boys and usually got them - but never for long.  I was too strong and overt.

There were many happy times in my 20s, the young and heady lifestyle is undeniably intoxicating, but I transgressed many weekends in a haze of booze and cigarettes.

My father met his now wife when I was 26.  The subsequent years were some of my hardest.  I moved to Darwin before I was 30, and back again, via Sydney for a year, by the time I was 32.  I’ve been in Melbourne six years since.

There have been several occasions where I have wanted to yell to a listening audience: “I want my mother.”

I’ve certainly felt it.

I miss her humour and her being.  The fact I’ve put off having a child because she cannot be here to support me in the role of motherhood because it is just so damn hard child rearing without that maternal presence.

Very often I’ll signal my mother through prayer.  And she’ll throw me the occasional hottie.  I know it’s her doing – she liked a good looking man as much as I do.

As previous blogs will attest, the Top Gun fighter pilot; the irresistible Tristan; and later our Saint, Bede.

Mum appeared in a dream around the time I was reconciling the end with Tristan.  She and I were sitting at a table talking.  I had spoken the circumstances of our union and how its end had made me sad. 

My mother, who had been listening attentively, said in a casual manner: “Of biscuits and bread.”

“What does that mean?” I quizzed.

“Of biscuits and bread,” she repeated as the dream trailed off.

It’s neither here nor there; it’s just the way it goes.

I later relayed my dream to the wise and wonderful Peter, and he put a new spin on its interpretation:

Biscuits are sweet.  Bread is nourishing.  Do you think she was simply pointing out that Tristan was sweet - but not nourishing enough to be long lasting?

Maybe.  This explanation made sense.

I asked my mother once what her favourite food was. 

“Bread,” she had said.

The Shaman Lover

My sister in law and I have been on a similar path for the past few years in that we've complemented one another in honing our quest for personal growth and understanding.

We've read similar books, chatted about our learning's, and shared inspirations by motivational thought leaders.  Rachel often buys me these books for birthdays and Christmas.

Her latest offering is a book called Broken Open by Elizabeth Lesser (on a google search you'll find Oprah's a fan).

In this Lesser relays her own experience dedicating a chapter to an extra-marital affair with a man she refers to as her 'Shaman Lover'.

"I was drawn to him by a force stronger than any kind of will to turn away - as if his gravitational pull matched that of a planet," Lesser writes.

She explains:  In some cultures, a person in the midst of a crisis or heartache will consult with the shaman - a medicine man or a healing witch who holds an exalted place in the society. The dictionary describes a shaman as "a member of a certain spirit world, and who practices magic or sorcery for the purpose of healing and divination."

Lesser goes on to describe the experience of meeting a Shaman Lover, which she claims has common markers.

"You will know you are on a journey with a Shaman Lover if you feel a sudden loss of control, a fearsome sense of abandon, and especially an air of foreign-ness. The Shaman Lover is not the one you thought could turn the large ship of your life around. If you thought you would be attracted to someone with money, he is broke; if you wanted respectability, she's a gypsy; if you longed for sweet romance, he's mean; if you wanted deep peace, she's trouble."

In reading this chapter I realised I had experienced my own Shaman Lover in Tristan.  In retelling my experience of Tristan to my trusted and wise friend Peter, he said sometimes an experience can be so unsettling for the heart that we know never to repeat it -  breaking us open so profoundly that it is too painful to re-enter.  Knowing my pattern of chasing unavailable men - Peter quizzed me if I thought I could fall prey again?

"No" I vowed. "Never." Peter, looked at me smiling: "Good," he said. "So you've learned."

But just one week after this conversation, the Gods threw me another Shaman Lover.  Just to make sure. Was this a test sent from my guardian angels?  Did I really mean what I had professed to Peter and told myself?  Was I strong enough to resist what Lesser deemed a force of planetary proportion?

And most importantly - was I ready to reject this Shaman Lover so that I would keep my focus on my true search for love?

Interestingly to really knock it to me good the new Shaman  Lover was a doppelganger for Tristan.

Bede (pictured) too was 29 years old, tall, lean and 'James Franco' handsome.  And just to dig the heels in deeper - Bede too hailed from New Zealand.

Bede who was christened with a Saint's name my friend Linda later told me (she has a son called Bede) sat on my couch and played guitar singing to me Jeff Buckley tunes late into Friday night.

Together we had reached this moment and place quite serendipitously - although I will say I had known of Bede's existence for a short time already.

Surrendering myself to this new 'Saint' would show all the hallmarks of reliving the sweet bliss of a Shaman Lover - but also lead to its ultimate doom.

Lesser quotes Japanese poet Fujiwara no Teika:

From the beginning
I knew meeting could only
End in parting, yet
I ignored the coming dawn
And I gave myself to you.

This time I was attuned.  And I was fierce.  No, not again.

Lesser tells of consulting a psychic during her affair.  The (turns out spot on) psychic said:

"You are finished with Tom, your lover, but you will remain indebted to him, throughout all of your lifetimes," the psychic said.  "He gave you back your body, your heart, your voice. Do you understand? When you found him, you found your own precious voice. This is the contract you had with him; he has had this contract with many others.  He freed the song of your soul.

"He comes with fire to awaken the dead. And yet he burns himself with his own heat. You cannot stay with him or you will burn yourself as well.  I know you love this man, so write this down:  Tom, throughout all eternity, I am grateful to you for the gift of my soul's voice."

And me?  I was captivated by Bede, this new Saint sent by angels, but I knew my heart could only handle one Shaman Lover in this lifetime.

Because although my time with Tristan was fleeting "he comes with fire to awaken the dead."

And the memory of that dance still burns very much alive.

Here's looking at you kid

I had a big blow on the romance front this week. After experiencing my own 'vision quest' in New York (see prior blog entry) I knew in my heart I needed to exhaust the potential of taking things further with Tristan in New Zealand.

So despite a halt in contact for some weeks brought on by me (I knew I needed more from him than he was giving) I did an about turn and delivered him with a proposition:  How about I come and visit you in January and let's see if we can take it further?

I see eyes rolling but stay with me - I had it all worked out.

First up, there was housekeeping to sort out. I would complete my work contract and he would go to Lima, Peru, as intended for two months to volunteer his design skills to a not for profit organisation. Part of making up his Masters. In Jan I would visit him in Dunedin and stay as long as need be. Ignoring the copious signs of the past that I was not nor would ever be Tristan's 'one' I somehow thought I might be able to change his heart.  In Dunedin love could grow.

So when I reached out to him last week and suggested my idea, I felt like I'd won the lottery when he said: "I would be open to that," and "sounds like a great plan."

Those joyful feelings stayed with me for a full day! Of course a crash was only a hint away…as naturally in this scenario, doubt kept its hold in the corner of my loved up/fuzzed up mind.

Monday night before Tristan left for Lima, we organised a face to face skype date. This is when after seven months of never quite saying it in full - he came clean.

I'm just not that into you.

What's more in the time we had dropped contact, it had freed him up to meet someone else. A 'lovely' Dunedin girl his own age who had text him her number and he was looking forward to a coffee date on his return.

Despite our wonderful time together - it did not feel enough.

As you can imagine - hearing this was a terrible blow - but fortunately in the days to follow I found my head.

Of course with a little help from the usual picking up the pieces of Caroline's broken heart suspects and my dear facebook friends (wink wink) I removed the rose coloured glasses and fronted up to my own actions/choices/thoughts/feelings.

I mentioned in the prior post that my sister in law gave me the book "Why you're not married…yet" for a belated birthday present. She said not to take offence by the gesture she just thought I could get something from it.

Turns out I did approach reading it with trepidation (who cares if I'm not married... yet? Yeah!) but curiosity got the better of me.

Last night after being propped up by kind and caring words from friends Linda (more to come) and Ques - I came across this nugget:

We attract men into our love lives who reflect back what we think of ourselves.

Applying this to me and Tristan - he said it didn't feel "enough" with me.

On introspection I realised that's how I think of myself (and dare say many more women fall in this trap).

I'm not good enough for real, enduring love.

Tristan is also eight years younger which begs the question, why do I chase younger men?

I haven't grown up.

Growing up is scary - it represents putting down roots, being accountable to others, living out and accepting your responsibilities, facing up to some shoddy finances - accepting you don't look 30 anymore.

What's more - at my life stage, I'm conscious of what I don't have that my peers do. I am not a home owner, I do not have an investment property, I am not married/in a relationship, and I don't have kids.

So how do I make myself feel better about all this lack? I pull in a guy who lives with his dad to save on rent, is not a home owner, has never been married and does not have kids. And that guy is going to be younger than my 38.

But even though Tristan and I did have our connection - he inevitably wants a woman who feels more like him.

"You're champagne and Tristan's beer on a summer's day," Linda my friend of 20 years said. “He's a hiking Kiwi boy and you're a cultured woman.”

The new chick, I asked - she's beer too?  "Cider" Linda wrote. "Like beer but a bit more girly."

I wasn't ready to give up. "I'm happy to swill beer," I professed. "Yes, but you are old enough to know you can drink both. He is young and his taste buds have not yet developed," she quipped.

A simple and silly, but poignant exchange.

I'm obviously saddened things didn't work out with Tristan, but I'm also glad I can take the positives from the lows.

A spring clean of putting the beer goggles away, getting the champagne glasses out, giving them a mighty good rinse and letting the Veuve pour in.

The Vision Quest

I recently returned from two weeks in the US – the trip’s primary purpose to ‘activate’ the green card I won in the US Diversity Lottery (needing to be done by December 2012) as well determine if LA, San Francisco and/or New York could be viable cities for me to find work and live.

I stayed in airbnb accommodation (www.airbnb.com) which is basically paying slightly less than four star hotel rates to stay at someone else's house while they clear out. People are cleaning up on this site and the business behind it has become huge and profitable.  I read an article in Vanity Fair about successful start-ups coming out of San Francisco – and one of the names mentioned was airbnb.

I like the idea of staying in a person’s apartment as I wanted to get a feel for how a local lives and with guidance from my American friend, Nicole, I stayed in neighbourhoods she recommended would be a good fit.

I loved LA for its weather, San Fran for the charm and New York for its sheer pulsating mass, but it wasn’t until I sat in an East Village coffee shop in New York...that I realised where my next destination is preference to be.

A lot had led to what Oprah would term my “Aha” moment that Sunday morning. Most recently watching the film “Friends with Kids” on the plane where a New York sassy woman of 38 has a baby with her best (male) friend because they both agree time’s not on her side and with no romantic prospects in sight for either, the bestie steps up. 

The other is I met several women while away who were just like me.  Single and older – all open to the idea of children, but no closer to finding a suitable mate. For two of these women, they won’t get the chance, already well underway in their 40s. Specifically, I had arranged meetings (work purposes – not because we all shared single and childless status!) with one such woman in LA, three in San Fran and two in New York.

Of course we all know this but there are older single women everywhere!  Not just in Melbourne and/or Sydney.  Everywhere.  And I could see my course if I set on any one of these American cities. My course would be just where they were. As the saying goes (sentiment thereof) “same shit, different city.”

One other thing on the flipside of the coin that I noticed while in San Francisco and New York is a lot of young people are married. Add to that, many have children. In the Marina district, San Francisco, sporting a huge diamond engagement ring (along with their lululemon ‘uniform’) was mainstay for the pretty, slim girls at yoga class, and in New York I noticed several young couples wearing wedding bands.

I was perplexed, all these youngsters married. And they looked content and happy!  It was heart warming really. I thought - good on them, having a go.

So here I was in America, alone, sussing out work opportunities and I could see it would be a tough road – especially in city that never sleeps New York.

I thought to myself - what is it you're after Caroline? New York is a hard city.  Sure I can play tough on the work front but it's a city that doesn't show a real lot of warmth if you're on your own. And I figured, perhaps this is why all these people marry young.  Because they are there to support each other and they're making a go of it in the big smoke.

There in the East Village coffee shop it hit me. I was watching a young couple with two small kids enjoying breakfast at a corner booth and they looked so comfortable and normal. 

Never mind I had been reading a trendy New York City guide book telling me where to find the best bars and restaurants - when I looked up to contemplate the young family - I thought: "I want that”.  More than anything else right now.

While of course the idea of family and children has travelled with me throughout my late 20s and certainly into my 30s – I knew and accepted the reasons I had never got there and actually had grown  pretty resigned to being motherless. 

I figured it just wasn’t going to happen for me. I had passed on previous partners open to the idea therefore obviously I didn’t want it that much. So turns out, I do want it - it just didn’t feel right then.

The message behind what I felt is so crystal clear that I have since gone against my initial thinking that New York was ultimately going to be the “moving to” US destination.  I am now entertaining what I would think are more family friendly options like Seattle, Portland and Chicago.  My mate Sara suggests I also check out New Orleans.  I know about Boston – but it’s cold!

I relayed my epiphany to a male friend this week and he chuckled saying that I had experienced my own “Vision Quest”.  Ordinarily he said one goes on a vision quest to a solitary place but as per usual,  I had done things my own way.  I’d experienced my own vision quest amidst one of the busiest cities in the world!

This was the first time I had heard of a “vision quest” and perhaps you too - so I’ll relay what it is through a cut and paste job from Wikipedia (apparently outback versions of vision quests are pretty popular here in Australia - who knew?)

A vision quest is a rite of passage in some Native American cultures. The ceremony of the Vision Quest is one of the most universal and ancient means to find spiritual guidance and purpose. A Vision Quest can provide deep understanding of one's life purpose.

A traditional Native American Vision Quest consists of a person spending one to four days and nights secluded in nature. This provides time for deep communion with the fundamental forces and spiritual energies of creation and self-identity. During this time of intense spiritual communication a person can receive profound insight into themselves and the world. This insight, typically in the form of a dream of Vision, relates directly to their purpose and destiny in life.

I wrote to one of the women I met in the States on my return this week. At the dinner catch-up we’d had in New York I had asked her if finding a man was achievable.  She had said it was easy enough to find a man in New York – but a much harder task to find the “right” man.  In the email I said I was now leaning towards other cities outside New York in my search for a place to call home.

This is what she wrote back:

“Just keep an open mind and everything will work out. What I said about the right men being available can apply to any city anywhere really...one’s individual perspective has to change and the world starts looking a little brighter. There comes a time when we have to stop blaming our surroundings and get real with what’s happening on the inside. Ya know?! There are great communities just outside NYC like where I am now, or even parts of Brooklyn, so you'll find what’s best for you.”

She’s right.  It starts from within. Which is kind of funny that parallel but inadvertent to these events - my sister in law gives me the book: “Why you’re not married...yet” for a belated birthday present this week.  It’s a corker – and I recommend it to older single women but be warned, you’ll need a thick skin (which I have) because the author’s approach is it is ourselves that prevents the marital outcome.  In relating to myself – I agree!

With all of this – internal and external change is inevitable.  And I have a new sense of curiosity and intrigue as to where I’ll take myself next!

Postscript:

I relayed my observation to (American friend) Nicole about the youngsters being married and she suggested the reason they marry young is the US doesn't recognise defacto status as well married people get better tax benefits in the States.  So people get married.

I thought this was funny that my observation was correct and not just me playing Cinderella or some such starry-eyed, noticing these young people married. 

It is a financial imperative!

When Baby Makes Three

Like it or lump it the dynamic changes when your friends have kids.

Several of my good friends are parents now.  I have a handful that are childless but most of those don't want to remain so. Time will tell, or put realistically, it'll simply run out.

I'm no angel so I'm going to enter territories where the winged creatures may fear to tread.  Heck, I fear to tread in some part as I don't want to upset my friends (but then again new mothers hardly have time to read their friend's blog posts).  But some do, so disclaimer up front.

Parents - my intention is not to upset you.  The truth is my dirty laundry has been piling up in my head for years now - as I lose one best friend after another to the realms of motherhood.

Having said that my friends are a smart bunch and no doubt already know that despite my gripes, I'm not stupid enough to deny that change is inevitable - as is the fact people do breed.  So while I can not speak for my friends' perception of the status quo of our friendship since their baby has come - I'll speak for myself. 

It's been an adjustment and (sorry junior) one I'm not always pleased about.  Having your best mates have kids when you don't have them nor are likely to - means your friend is not as available to you.  But I'm still wide open to them.  So right there we're already out of kilter.

I miss our chats, your presence in downward dog at yoga class, brunch sans children and catch-ups over wines at the latest hotspot on a Friday or Saturday night.

When my friends have their kids, and their own life is thrown in turmoil - my life too experiences a jolt. I have no option but to see my mates with their kids in tow or lose them. The part of the friendship that is and was cherished - a one on one exclusive - is now gone to the dogs. But it's not the dogs barking for (and winning) mummy's attention during our get togethers.

Unfortunately your tiny tot is my elephant in the room.

So what can I do?

I've spent hours in front of Foxtel there's a start.  I've whiled many a Friday or Saturday night alone watching TV with my old dog and drinking vodka (very Bridget Jones).

I've spent a lot of time befriending the barman and patrons at local pubs; acquainting with neighbours; and racking up quite the mobile phone expense chatting to my friend Justine in Sydney for enjoyment because I've lost home grown entertainment in the form of going out with old friends.

The solution?

A life coach suggested joining social networking groups such as MeetUp and there was one other site….?  Others have suggested (shock horror) making new friends. I've made a few here and there but there's nothing like history in a friendship.  Shout out to my gay friend Renato who insists he has no desire to become a father himself - and yes, I did float the idea of our having kids together!

The key answer to my situation is to get creative and forge on with enriching my life in other ways. And those who know me already know there are steps being undertaken to achieve this.

But before I sign off - I must mention the kids.  Even though baby photo after toddler photo coming through on my facebook status stream can be a little annoying (sorry) especially being single and childless myself - children are most often endearing and cute.  

Like the film; "The Kids are All Right".

Really, it's me - the grumpy old lady who needs to get with the times.  We ain't in our 20s anymore.  I have to grow up alongside your kids. I can also look on the bright side. There will be a day I can share a wine with my new friend - my old mate's grown up child...for entertainment, on a Friday or Saturday night.

Farewell oh familiar one

There's something to the phrase ‘everything happens for a reason’ that I have long latched onto.

Charlotte from Sex in the City says to Carrie:  "Everything happens for a reason.  Even if you don’t know what it is yet,” as she attempts to console Carrie after the Berger ‘post it’ breakup note.

“Look at me,” Charlotte encourages.  “If I had never married Trey, then I never would have gotten divorced and I never would have met my divorce lawyer Harry, and I wouldn’t be engaged now.”

I've often thought back to this scene (because of course I am a child of Sex and the City and have seen every episode at least three times) as I repeatedly find myself in the role play of Carrie’s life. 

As I’ll ponder yet another relationship let down I will ask:  "What just happened?” and “How on earth did I let myself end up here again?”

Which is why having such sayings as ‘everything happens for a reason’ can provide me with great comfort.  

The mental anxiety, angst and yearning that weighed on my shoulder as I weaned myself off the ‘unavailable’ Tristan is only beginning to loosen its grip.  But in hindsight that knight in (perhaps not so) shining armour entered my life for a reason.  

He floated in on the long white cloud from the land of (New Zealand) to teach this Eve a thing or two about biting into the forbidden Kiwifruit.

After an adult lifetime of getting caught up in a net of unavailable men - where there’s plenty of fish in that sea - Tristan as it turns out is likely to be my last catch.  

Because now it feels like I have finally learned my lesson. 

Inadvertent to him, Tristan helped me awake from the spell of my own self destructive path. 

Up until now I had never believed a man worthy or of value unless he was out of reach - propped up on a pedestal.  He would sit up there and I would make do with sitting on the chair below, waiting for the day he’d topple down into my lap.

It’s been a while between drinks since my last swill of Tristan.  Sure, I’ve had a heavy hangover period, what goes up must come down, and I’ve faced more than a few cold lights of day juxtaposed against Melbourne’s winter grey, for my mind to come out of the fog of that particular cloud.  

But I believe to my core that Tristan entered my life for a reason. He was my lesson and teaching (and what a good teacher he was, not surprising that he actually does teach tertiary students in Dunedin).  

He put on one heck of a farewell do for me – the last hoorah, a swansong if you will - in the long line of saying sayonara to unavailable men. 

It took meeting Tristan, experiencing him and losing him – to finally figure it out.  This cannot go on any longer.

After years of acting this way and gravitating to the well-worn familiarity of the unavailable man, Tristan sounded alarm bells in more ways than one. 

And what a relief to feel it’s over. What joy to know there is and will be a different way.