[Wedding bound in 3 shades of grey.]
Dating someone new is a pretty magical, transformative thing—when done with one’s whole heart and head and time and that kind of thing. At this age, especially.
I wrote once about how with years I noted a general narrowing of my existence and often fought it—an uphill battle with a spouse who wrapped narrowing around him like a cozy blanket.
With this widening of life and space and days come broader social circles, and lots of names to remember. I’m learning something about myself: I don’t remember names very well. I don’t remember people well, really, unless that person and I have had a chance to connect for more than 2.5 beer-soaked minutes. We have to have a one-on-one conversation that spans a few minutes, in which I can make some sort of meaningful association that clicks in my brain pan.
I’ve been meeting people at a speed and volume that my memory couldn’t keep up with. I was meeting people two and three times and unsure when and where I’d met them before, let alone who they were. It was starting to get embarrassing. Until I had it served back to me.
A wine tasting, at which I encountered numerous humans from my not-so-distant past. My old life. And they didn’t recognize me—at least, not without my other, former half. It was such a slap in the face. I returned a “nice to meet you,” with a “nice seeing you again.” I’d hung out with this person on numerous occasions; really? The annoyance bubbled up like the Cava in my glass.
Had I not offered these people a meaningful enough association aside from standing next to someone on a regular basis? I considered holding up a photo of him on my phone next to my face next time I had to attend something like that. Ouch. With the Cheers theme song ironically looping in my head, I felt annexed from the past and also like flotsam on the future.
Until, I had my self-pity served right back to me: A pool party. A teenager I’d met in passing at a restaurant—I was the only one beer-soaked in this scenario—and she said hello, and I replied, “Nice to meet you,” and she said, “Good to see you again.”
I guess you can sit around and bitch about how your past doesn’t want you around anymore, but your future’s not going to want you either if you can’t tighten up.
-C.
[Deets for the cheap seats: L’Agence Sophie silk dress via Shopbop, but still available on Outnet here + Joie sandals.]
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