not dead.

No, I am not dead.

Not sure if I can say the same about my love life, though.

The Man and I did not work out. Very slowly, bit by bit, I started to notice he had issues. A ton of issues. Serious issues. Issues that no man at his age should have. Issues that no man should bring to the dating scene. Some were health related, some were the result of an unfortunate upbringing, but many of them were connected to him being horrible at being an adult.

Now, we all have issues. I’m lazy, I don’t cook regularly, I could lose some weight, and I have a smart ass mouth. I would hope that the man in my life would grow to love me enough to work with me on those things. So when I started to piece things together and noticed his issues, I took that into consideration, and instead of running away, I sat him down to talk about them. I thought about how he made me feel, how he made me laugh, how he listened hungrily to my stories, how he rubbed my back when migraines trampled through my skull, how he wouldn't let the sun set without hearing my voice. He made me feel something I hadn't felt in a long time. That something was special. 

Walking away from that over a few issues didn't seem like a good idea.

So we talked and he admitted his problems, and then I put on my Super Black Woman cape and asked him if he needed my help: not to do or pay for anything, but to come up with a plan to make progress and build better habits that would put those issues to rest. I was worried that his ego would make him resistant, but he eagerly agreed and thanked me profusely. “I want this to be different. I want to do whatever I can to make this work,” he said.

I wasn't thrilled about his response. I thought he should want to make changes for his own good, whether I’m in the picture or not, but an elder told me that if love is what motivates him, let it be. So, I did. 

We made a plan.  But sitting down to create said plan meant he had to be honest about EVERYTHING. And being honest about everything meant I learned a lot of stuff that didn't sit well with me. “But, he’s putting in the effort to make a plan, so that should count for something,” said the little white angel sitting on my left shoulder.

Making a plan, and actually executing a plan are two different things. In the weeks that followed, I found that he knew less about DOING, and more about LETTING THINGS HAPPEN.  Living a life where things just happen to you is not a life I want to live. It feels like you're drowning and constantly asking for someone to pull you out of the water. It's much more exhausting than actually learning how to swim and strapping yourself with a life jacket, just in case.

I went out of town for a few days for a writing retreat. Being away from him helped bring clarity to the situation. I realized that The Man would be able to give me love, but he most likely would never be able to give or consistently partake in the life full of swim lessons and life jackets that I want for myself and my unhatched ovaries.

He shed a few tears when I broke it off with him. I told him we could still be friends. That if he ever needed my help, I’d be there for him. He asked why I’d changed my mind, and I told him that I desire someone who can be responsible and make good decisions. I mean, you can make me laugh and take care of me when I’m sick, but would we also be able to buy a house together? Would you set a good example for our children if we were to have them? Are you making healthy choices that will ensure you live well past the age of 45? I didn't see any of that happening. I saw me helping him time after time, again and again, and him eventually sucking the life out of me. 

I would've happily stuck around and worked through it with this handsome man who gave great hugs and kept a smile on my face if I were in my mid-20s. But I’m staring at 34, and I could see this thing we had was being held together by passion. Nothing real lasts long with only deep kisses and back rubs as fuel.

He apologized. Confessed a few more secrets (I swear this man kept a glove compartment full of confessions). Said he knew it wouldn't work from the beginning.  Felt he shouldn't have even entertained the thought of us getting serious.“I feel horrible. Like I wasted your time,” he said.

I don’t think it was a waste of time. I learned a lot of things about myself that will come in handy in the future. It also inspired some great writing.

So, no, I’m not dead. And maybe my love life isn't, either. I’m just hitting pause until the next go-round.