Two lents ago I gave up all things flirtatious and having to do with men for forty days and forty nights. I had all sorts of terrible habits when it came to men and needed a hiatus. My time for forty days and forty nights was called Naked with Chanel No. 5 because that is all I was naked with. I learned a lot about myself. I learned that forty days wasn't all that long.
And the first day of this year, on a terribly twisted ankle - I went out on date #39. Nice guy, not my guy. I was sort of really into someone else, we'll call him date #34. I stumbled through the date. Rode on a motorcycle for the first time... Not my guy.
I was having a hard time getting to #40. What did it mean? Would I actually have learned enough? Would I be on my way to something real? Having spent the weekend at my grandmother's bedside saying goodbye, I couldn't help but think how much I want to have a family, how much I want to start building a legacy, and how I'm not sure dates 1-39 have gotten me closer to that end. My favorites of the last forty were dates #7, #19, #32 and #34. But here I was, casting another line.
This last weekend date #40 came and went. Again, super nice guy. Super not my guy.
The premise of this month's central article is that when fishing one should be the prey, not the predator. Let the fish come to you. Set the stage, listen, and set the right size bait. It made me laugh. Isn't that what everyone tells us girls about love? Aren't we all supposed to let the right man hunt us? Isn't that what forty first dates should have taught me? Not really, but maybe a little.
Love is about Chemistry and Timing. In the last eight months I have had a fair amount of both. I've met Fish (I'm changing from calling them Date #s to calling them Fish) who were ready to bite, wanted nothing more than the right size bait to devour. Yet somehow, those pescados weren't the right ones for my waters... Then I've had the pleasure of finding a Fish or two that were entirely suited chemically to my climate, but weren't yet ready to bite. That's way worse.
Alright the long story short on this, I've met quite a few fish. I fell pretty hard for one, softer for another one or two, became very good friends with at least another three and the best part about date #40, is realizing that throwing them back is OK. No harm to them, no harm to me. It's time to stop counting.