Of men and white horses...

I should get out more. With men. That was the counsellor’s advice this week. Go out and meet men, she said. In her opinion, I am perfectly justified, and indeed morally entitled to enter into relationships with other men. Other than the one I married, that is.

Yes, she said. Get out and about and meet men. Do stuff with them. Precisely what stuff and how much stuff, she didn’t say. She didn’t go as far as the Merry Widow had; she didn’t say “The way to get over a man is to get under another one” but I got the drift.

Certainly, I would like nothing better than to have Prince Charming’s (older) brother rock up on a white horse and bedazzle me with wit and flowers.  I do go out, a lot.  But somehow never seem to meet men who appeal as a romantic partner.  And you never see one trotting up the road  on a white horse, either. The guys who do ride horses round town - well let’s just say, they couldn’t be more unsuitable. Might be better to change the white horse requirement – better yet, delete it.

There are people who have a list of requirements; i.e. he must have x, y, z, live in A, B, C. All very practical. All about materiality. I can’t be that prescriptive. I know we all have types we are subconsciously attracted to or something like that. But for me it’s very simple. I just want Prince Charming.  Some one who is kind, gentle, smart, fun and doesn't take class A drugs. See? Simple.

The counsellor asked what I was doing about moving on and meeting someone else. The trouble is, I haven’t moved on. Nor can I until the divorce, really. I’ve always behaved honourably; when I was single and when married. Never sought solace outside the relationship. Never broke my vows, never cheated, never crossed the line.  You’re either single/divorced (therefore unattached and free) or you’re married /separated (attached and semi-detached).  I don’t believe you can ever achieve your happiness at the expense of someone else’s. I think it’s wrong.

There have been times over the long years when I thought I would actually die from loneliness; that my body would physically turn to stone. W.B. Yeats in his poem says it best; “Too long a period of mourning can make a stone of the heart.”   I’ve had my heart broken; twice. That’s more than enough times. So I’m torn; one part of me wishes, really wishes, to meet someone with whom to have a loving relationship of affection and companionship, a supportive and encouraging partner. The other part fears that that will never happen, that too much time has passed. A gremlin sits on my shoulder and whispers in my ear- mutters something about getting older, lacking confidence, too much to ask, what if… But – one of the reasons I am getting divorced is to make a clean break, to leave myself free and open to the possibility of a new relationship, yes?  I silence the gremlin with the words of the counsellor; “You’re very smart, very attractive, you have a figure a nineteen year old would envy and you’re full of fun. Why wouldn’t you meet someone?”  So I shall ask the Universe to send me the right one, and hope that I will be able to dismantle the barricades I built around myself when I meet him. Since he won’t be on a white horse or wearing a suit of armour, it would be difficult for him to jump the walls otherwise…