Without Apology

My roommate tells me I’ve grown a penis. I’ve gotten balls of late. I was out on another first meetup with a congenial and successful man in his 50s who, sadly, wouldn’t stop talking. Yes, it was in theory a discussion about one of my great passions, rock climbing, but it was all about his climbing, and it was not a discussion after all. I was a captive audience.

After allowing him the courtesy of not interrupting for 20 minutes — while I plotted my escape — I dramatically placed the cap back on my bottle of Crystal Geyser, put my palms on the table and stood up, saying, “This is not a conversation. I am leaving. This is not working for me.”

My date was stunned; he thought we were talking about something I was interested in. He didn’t realize that he was talking only about himself. Not only was he not providing an opening for comments, he wasn’t interested in my comments, my experiences, or anything else about me. I kept trying to interject and join the conversation, but he talked over me, effectively silencing me into some kind of submission wherein he could feel safe and in control of the situation.

Not gonna happen. When I returned home I sent him an email suggesting that for his next meetup with a woman, let her talk. Take an interest in her stories, ask her questions, respond to her answers. Let there be an exchange rather than holding her a prisoner to bloviating. A monologue of chatter only shuts her up and out. How can a guy expect that a woman who doesn't know him wants to just sit silently, smiling and being agreeable? I could have just placed a Barbie doll on my seat.

Guys: Talking at a woman, especially talking down to a woman, suggests you believe she is less intelligent and less experienced than you. This garrulous pattern seems pandemic among men at midlife who need to be heard, comforted, listened to — and not threatened by a woman’s intelligence, independence, and power. If this is true, there are going to be a lot of single older men because women today simply will not put up with being shut down. It’s disempowering, and by our 50s, we’ve had enough.

What seems difficult for a woman even when she feels and sees what’s going on, however, is to speak up — to say, for example, “I’ve had enough” or “This date is over, it isn’t good for me” or “You’re not hearing me.” To interrupt, to end what was begun, to call a man out on his self-absorbed behaviors, to get up and walk away may be against our conditioning.

It isn’t, however, against our nature. This voice crying out to be heard is not the aggressive bi-yatch who rakes men for every evil thing they’ve ever done to women. No, this is a subtle but more powerful, impersonal voice. It’s a natural force, a wild feminine instinct that knows what she wants and needs and that lives life without apology. This is a woman’s foundational energy, a power that esteems itself in delicious self-awareness.

This is the voice that chooses life and self-worth over accommodation and polite behaviors. When this force becomes an integrated part of a woman, it provides a sense of balance and peace and joy that no man can put asunder. It is the substance of a woman’s confidence and strength, the point of power that is part of a woman’s seed DNA. Then a woman lives her own life fully, authentically, vitally.

Without apology.

Shut Your Pie Hole?

What is it about guys who cannot shut their pie holes on a first date?

Perhaps I am too good a listener. I was raised to not interrupt, to show interest in the other person, to ask questions and draw them out.

Clearly, I have either been too well raised or am too talented in this regard. I am done with being a captive audience: It’s time to find my voice.

Take this evening. I was having a drink on a first meet and greet, lovely venue by a river, soft breezes dovetailing off a crimson sunset. Hot day, cool night ... lots of potential, right?

Wrong. After the initial question about my rock climbing, George launched into a monologue that, being seamless, never offered any openings for communication. Worse, no openings to talk about myself.

Not that this is all about me.

But it is, in the sense of wondering why a guy would wink at me on match.com, call, ask me out for the next night, and then talk for 1.5 hours about himself and not try to get to know me at all.

It isn’t that I have to talk about myself, or that I mind listening. It’s just that I get the feeling guys truly don’t know how to connect with women. You can say it’s nerves, you can say it’s upbringing, but I wonder if there’s a basic disconnect between most men and self-awareness. Most don’t dare look within. Women have always done it for them: always reflected their feelings and self-esteem back to them. Thus, they haven’t had to take responsibility for the kind of self-awareness that is the only foundation for true intimacy and connection. For real love.

These guys are insufferable. How many phone conversations and dates do we endure where the man simply does not know when to stop talking — bloviating, if you will — and about himself? Too many men do not know how to have a discussion, engage in real dialogue. They windbag it over topics that invite no input. One-way is not a conversation. You may as well play with yourself; clearly woman not needed here.

Tonight, while being an unwilling accommodator, I veered off into more pleasant recesses of my mind to conjure various endings to the evening. George was a decent guy and deserved better than some of my machinations. I ended up excusing myself to use the restroom, returned without sitting down, and the evening was over. He was gracious, and when I got home he had already sent an email with a semi-apology for talking so much.

Listen up, guys: It isn’t that women need to talk about themselves all the time, but it will get you a lot farther, and in shorter time, if you take an interest in us. It isn’t all about you, and it isn’t all about us; but if there is any chance for connection, and more, then you’d better shut up and start listening.

Otherwise, why bother?

To Thine Own Self

I’ve been discovering lately how to be myself, not just with guys but with everyone. It’s a huge shift: In order to be myself, I have to know myself. And to truly know myself, I have to look in all the nooks and crannies.

I don’t always like what I find there.

Yet when I do discover things about myself, whether it is what people like about me or what I fear they don’t, then I am more able to relax and, well, be myself. Stop criticizing and judging my behavior, stop wondering if I am saying or doing the right things to make people happy or give them what they want. Just enjoying the moment: Being present. And I can’t be present if I’m not myself.

Because ultimately, each person’s life can only be about himself or herself. Life isn’t an energy that can be used to live anyone else’s life. You can only live your own. And that necessitates learning whose programming you are operating off of, and working consciously transform it so that your life is truly your own -- and you are free to be who you truly are. That's where life really exists -- in those spaces between who we think we are and who we want to be.

It's a daunting risk: To really be free, to cultivate inner freedom and self-knowledge. To discover and let go of what isn't really nourishing us.

The late great Irish poet and philosopher John O’Donohue said, so liltingly perfect, that the way we see things makes them what they are: We create our own prisons with our perceptions. We limit ourselves with closed vision. And one way we do that is with our beliefs and thoughts about our self-image.

”Who am I?” is perhaps the most universal and existential question possible. And I’m not going to answer it here lmao. What I do know is that as we age, the answer changes. It opens up the more we understand what our real values are, and live as close to them as possible. That’s important in terms of personal morality, but I’m speaking more of the effect it has on our health and energy. It is true that the closer we live to who we truly are, to our deepest values that are not imposed by society, religion, family, or fear, then we have more energy and are in life’s flow effortlessly.

What does this have to do with relationships? Everything. I am discovering that the more I am in alignment with my values – the more I know myself and honor who I am, moles and all – the more relaxed and open to life I am. As for dating, when I'm just being myself, then I'm not caretaking a guy's feelings or walking on eggshells to protect myself against possible rejection. When I am authentic, I take the risk being wholly myself -- then no matter what happens, I am joyful and playful and alive. It isn't results I'm after, but just simply being here as me.

Recently one online fellow asked, when I said I wasn’t interested in marrying, “Then what do you want from me?” And I realized the answer was: nothing. I didn’t want anything. I feel content within myself. I don’t need a guy to complete me, because you can never complete another person. Enhance, yes, but not complete. You cannot make anyone else happy.

How can you be true to yourself if you don't know who you are? You can't. And it's no use trying to be someone you aren't, in order to attract men. You'll wind up with the wrong men.

Now I get it.

LOL -- Losers OnLine?

Sometimes life just sends you a blog. Sometimes honesty is not the best policy.

A month ago I joined match.com because some dear friends met and matched that way, and have been urging me in that direction. So far it’s been pretty awful, especially since I actually am not looking for anyone or anything right now dating-wise. But the hits just keep on coming.

Got this one today — and I am not making it up.

“How is being a widow? I love hanging around my house and not really going anywhere too far - not good if I left my house for too long with two teenagers, both of whom have many, many friends. So, basically, I not into moving around at this point...if you are interested in pretty much doing nothing much - close to where I live, then I'm someone you might be interested in...and if you like travel...forget it - it's not me. I'd rather sit around, drink beer, smoke (cigarettes or pot) and relax...which my income allows me to do with quite extravagence...and don't count on me to spend too much....I'm frugal. I've found trying to lie about yourself on this website just ain't going to cut it and I'd be wasting my time, and yours, if I didn't tell it like I live it. Honesty is the best policy and much like Pinocio, lies just grow like a wooden nose. Maybe I threw away money ($60 - wow) but someone out there might understand how it's just right to be truthful.”

I appreciate his honesty, but feel sorry for the woman who is so desperate for male companionship that she will give up any excitement, care, adventure, and decent health just to be in the presence of a male body. I don't know if this guy wants sex, someone to smoke with, or someone to wipe off the couch after he farts and drools and eats Campbell's tomato soup out of a can, but I can't see him getting too many dates out of this profile.

On the other hand, I think this older guy is the role model for this younger one:

"hy im michael by the way im 20 and im i just want a friend in my life most people reject me all the time and dont give me a chance to be my friend or understand me at all so im looking for a older waomon to be my freind and understand me im here for freinds only nothing serious at all so understand that im not here to hurt anyone just friends only i like rock music and i like to play guitar and my life is muisc so let me know if you want to share that kind of topic with me and another my mother left me when i was 2 and it broke my heart and ever sence i liked older woamon and not younger woamon beacause i trut older more than younger so hope you get back to me soon and have a nice day michael"

Is honesty the best policy for online dating? I can see it now, like some movie starring Will Ferrell. Hey, now that’s an idea – wonder if I could turn this LOL thing into a screenplay?

Classic Commitment Phobia

It wasn’t me last time. Maybe it never was me.

For more than a year of mostly online dating, I’ve wondered why the guys have run away. I’ve wondered why I didn’t get asked out after the first date when it seemed we had a terrific time. I wondered why just when things seemed to be going really well, the guy would vanish.
I assume it was me. That I said or did something wrong. Or that I didn’t say or do something right. That my clothes were wrong. My age was wrong. My personality was wrong. That somehow, I was not enough. Maybe I simply sucked at dating. It has been a while, after all.

Now I have an answer that has eluded me all this time: I’ve been attracting “commitmentphobes.” I didn’t even know there was such a term, but after reading “Why Men Can’t Love” by Steven Carter and Julia Sokol, it has become so much clearer. (Not that I would have been the perfect woman for each of these men; unlikely.)

I am not the only woman who has suffered an egregious loss of self-esteem, self-respect, and trust in the ability to create a healthy relationship with a guy. The stories are legion: How could we have been so foolish? How could something so good suddenly turn so sour?

Case study: a classic case of commitmentphobia. The guy breaks up with the most fantastic woman because he can't commit further, even though they've been in a committed relationship for two years. He can't stay; he can't leave. The woman is devastated; she thought they were headed for permanence. As she tried to pull away, he calls, he texts, he wants to get together "like before, but without the sex."

Ah, because sex would imply commitment. So they pal around, and she finally tells him it hurts too much to do this. He waits a week, calls, says he is so sad. She coolly asks why. He finally admits he misses her.

He doesn't want to commit -- he just wants her to make him feel better!

Girls -- are we done with caretaking the guy's feelings, especially after he breaks up with us???

Even though the clues are there, we see what we want to see. We like being swept off our feet. We are on our best behavior – often walking on eggshells to create the best impression, which usually means we don’t probe, we don’t ask questions that would give us insights into whether this man is good material for us (e.g., why did he marry and divorce three times?). We go out of our way to be pleasing, smiling, accommodating, self-effacing.

Heaven forbid we should make demands or cause stress, the greatest of which would be, after a certain amount of time together, talking about monogamous commitment. So instead we give up pieces of our lives, forgoing our own plans and activities to be available, to say yes, to be the woman he says he wants. We wrap our lives around his, and then when he gets itchy, we fall apart.

We gave ourselves away to a fantasy.

Time to wake up! Do you need more proof? Here’s an online post (no, I didn’t answer it) stating what this gorgeous hunk is looking for in a woman. “A women who isn’t uptight ... have a li’l wild side but has to be beautiful ... someone to have a li’l fun with and laugh with and don’t have to worry about having a relationship ... someone who knows what she wants ...”

Wow. Classic player, classic hiding information about oneself. The clues that he is gonna break your heart are all over the place. It’s fine if we only want to play – and it’s OK to want that! – I’m just saying, if we expect more, if we ignore what he has clearly stated, then we will get hurt.

Often the guy in person will also say these things, but we don’t hear it. We are physically and sexually attracted. We are lonely. We want out of the house. We think a little is better than nothing. We don’t know our worth because we have settled so often, thinking there is nothing else out there but this one.

Don’t do it, ladies – don’t settle. We are worth so much more than this. If we want relationship, even if we want more than one relationship, each one should be worthy of our time and energy.

And it’s good to finally be able to say that.

Cultivating Imperfection

I've decided that I don't want to be perfect anymore. I am now unperfect.

It fits the new me. I'm tired of believing that I have to have a totally clean house with everything in its place. I'm weary of feeling that if I don't go out with makeup or groomed hair, that I won't meet the man of my dreams. Or anyone else for that matter.

I tested the theory today. My hair is now cut very short -- not sure I like it, but that's a holdover from my perfection obsession -- and I didn't comb it before I left for errands. While I was buying cat food, the cashier kept giving me strange looks -- not in my eyes, over my head. When I got back in my car I looked at my hair and saw it was sprouting up every which way.

Maybe I should rethink this new me.

Or maybe not. It's the wound of imperfection that women carry, and I see it everywhere, no matter our age. We are socialized to believe that if we are perfect, then the perfect man will love us. If we are nice, sweet, nurturing, obedient -- in short, the perfect appliance -- that the perfect man will hang around doting on us forever.

Well girlfriend, ain't so, are it. Giving the man everything he wants, grooming for him, getting buffed and thin for him, being available to him -- society's definition of perfection? -- just gives him what he wants and leaves us with the crumbs.

Nope, I don't want crumbs anymore. I want pebbles. Yes -- pebbles. One species of Antarctic penguin has it down, dude: The male has to bring rare pebbles to the female so that she can build her nest. In one version, I have heard that the guy builds monuments to her with these pebbles. If he gives her enough of what she wants, she will give him what he wants.

The relationship is really on her terms, with her rules. She is the dominant.

Pebbles. That's the ticket.

That means that we know what we want, we know we deserve to be courted and pleased, and that there are plenty more fish in the sea.

Remind me about this the next time I even deign to settle for crumbs.

In My Belayer I Trust

I understand that not many people take up an extreme sport like rock climbing at my age. I also understand that no matter what a person’s age, there are always gifts in trying new activities.

For me, perhaps the biggest gift besides becoming totally ripped is learning to trust: life, belay partners, myself. When your life literally depends on the skills and attention and care at the other end of the rope, there just ain’t no room for bullshit.

From the first class at the training gym, I began to understand that the relationships formed in this community would be different. There is always an atmosphere of support and encouragement and vitality. The age range is about three to 75, but everyone shares the same addiction to the challenges of climbing. Safety is job one: You always check and double check how you are tied into your harness, and how your partner is locked in as well.

Trust begins there, on the ground. It develops as you express what you like about being belayed (the person on the ground feeds you the rope, giving slack where needed and keeping you tight so that if you fall, you don’t fall far), asking for help or whooping for joy. When you climb outdoors, where routes and bouldering are infinitely harder than the gym’s color-coded routes & preset holds, personal stories evaporate as you come face-to-face with the elements.

Trust is an interesting issue; after learning about my late husband’s affairs and other indiscretions, I’ve been dealing with it continually. For years I lost my trust that life was beneficent, that men were reliable and honest, that I was worthy of my heart’s desire.

Climbing has changed all of that. I recently had my first outdoor climbing adventure, five days at the surreal Joshua Tree National Park in Southern California. Besides braving the elements and a winter chill, I was amazed at how quickly caring relationships form and how the bonding between couples is more authentic (no passive-aggressive games) than I’ve ever witnessed.

I was able to accomplish climbs far beyond my perceived ability level because of group energy: You overcome your self-limiting beliefs because the group supports you and brings you along. You do your own work, to be sure, but it is the trust of others that you can achieve more than you believe possible, that gets you to the top. You trust each person there with your life. You trust the rock to support and to guide you, even when there are no clear holds for fingers or feet. You trust your instincts and your intuition and your technique to get you up a sheer 100-foot granite slab — and down again. You trust that those endorphins are giving you the thrill of a lifetime.

Trust is something that develops when the mind chatter shuts down and you are in direct relationship with what life brings you. Trust means that you have cleared away the ego’s fears and deal only with what my climbing buddy Mara calls “reasonable fears”: The ones that keep you alive and safe. All of the rest is nonessential. Trust means that you stop resisting and start allowing life as it is.

Climbing is teaching me to trust that life is beautiful, generous, rich and enigmatic. When I climb I am fully myself, radiantly happy and at one with the present moment. That is a trust I’m cultivating in all of my relationships, both on and offline. And it brings me into a new year with a new attitude and new musculature: Life is worth trusting. When we let go, it flows in magnificently — the power of being open to life. We don’t have to do anything but show up.

Like Bees to an Orchard

I never realized how much fruitflies were like guys. Guy fruitflies, that is. Apparently — and if you know this already, you can cut to the chase — male fruitflies that don’t get adequate sleep cannot stay focused long enough to follow the female fruitfly around the Petri dish and mate with her. They get distracted, clean themselves ... and then try to chase, but just can’t keep up.

Why does that sound so familiar. We know that guys can fall asleep all too soon after sex, but it appears that if we gals want the full monty, we’d better hope they are getting their zzz’s the night before as well.

Guys are also like bees to an orchard; I’m beginning to understand that they don’t so much disappear or run away as they are prodigal, and wired to be so. Of course when we were all living in caves, the men had to go hunt for game in order for their tribes to survive. So that leaving may be in male DNA at this point. As is the female waiting game.

However, it can still be alarming when the men go off unannounced and you have a strong sense it’s not about the buffalo.

I really believe I’m onto something here. If women can truly grasp that men and women are wired differently, and that in order to individuate and mature we have different tasks, then it wouldn’t be such a big deal if our guy doesn’t call every day. Or if he has to go into his “cave” in order to de-stress. Men have to separate from the mother in order to grow up; they also have to have space from their women if they are to be able to be with us fully.

That doesn’t mean they don’t owe us some good, true, honest communication.

I think that’s the bigger issue: It’s not so much that men disappear, it’s that they don’t realize that women tend to take it personally. I see this in online chat rooms all the time, and read about it in women’s magazines: Why does my guy vanish? Why doesn’t he call?

The other part of the equation is that women are socialized to be available and pleasing. We tend to think that if we are not there for the guy when he wants and needs us to be, then he will disappear. Well, sometimes that is true, and sometimes it is not true. But it’s worth consideration.

I’m still working on this part of it, so bear with me, but men are continually telling me that they love a confident yet mysterious woman. A woman who is not always available. A woman who has her own mind. Mind you, too often when we SPEAK that mind we are called bitches, but nonetheless, there are ways to communicate our wants and needs once we are truly clear about what they are.

So ladies, I say unto you: The next time your guy pulls a disappearing act, realize that it may not be personal. It is partly the prodigal nature of male energy. If you truly have a good relationship, if you keep your own life interesting and care for yourself well, then he will return. And return. And return.

You can count on it. He can’t help himself. We have that much power. We are the orchard.

Taking Out the Trash

OK. Here’s the challenge: How to be naughty without being trashy.

We’re assuming you don’t want to be trashy. I think it’s appropriate to take a page from Heartless Bitches International, of which I am a proud member. Why? Because it’s a side of being a woman I’ve never given myself permission to explore. It is not about lambasting guys just because you feel like it. No: It’s about finding your voice and being authentic, and not being afraid of your power as a woman.

That includes your sexuality.

What is naughty? Depends if you ask a man or a woman. Same for trashy. There’s a myth that men want two different women: the virgin and the slut. Those definitions are so loaded it’s not worth getting into here, but let’s just say that for some reason, society has dictated that women have to be EITHER sweet good nice accommodating and caretaking, OR sensual passionate sexy hungry and predatory.

That means we are split; when our “trashy” voice comes out, we are called bitches. Or, when our bitchy voice comes out, we are called trashy.

Mama, where is the justice in this?

I think it’s fun — and empowering as a woman — to be BOTH naughty and nice. For me, being “naughty” means standing up for myself, stating what I want (which means I have to know a lot about myself, including my most secret fantasies and desires), telling the truth about my thoughts (as well as having my own thoughts), and calling people on their b.s.

It means taking responsibility for my best life. It means having the courage to know myself and to be myself. It isn’t about taking out my problems or my moods on anyone, or not being nurturing. It means knowing who I am and acting on my own behalf. If some people judge my desires as trashy, well than that’s just their problem, isn’t it now.

Being naughty is fun because it teaches me how much larger a life can be, and how much more fun I can have. It helps me relax. Releasing my inner bitch means I refuse to feel guilty because I haven't measured up to someone else's standard of who I should be. New fave phrases: "I'm not deaf sweetheart, I'm just ignoring you." Or "Don't talk to my breasts, they're deaf."

Being trashy: If that means kinky, then what’s wrong with that, as long as it’s consensual? Sex has as many expressions as there are people in the world. If a guy likes to see me in heels, fishnet stockings and a corset, does that mean I’m trashy if I go along?

I think not. I think it’s important to explore our edges and find out just how much pleasure is available to us. The key is doing no harm: Especially to myself with self-criticism, for believing that I don’t have permission to live a fully sensual and pleasurable life.

I’m tired of the chastity belt that society has placed on women, emotionally and sexually. I say, let’s take out the trash and live again.

Dancing Away the Blues

I got to test drive about 40 guys last night.

It’s called “blues dancing”: A dance studio in San Francisco holds classes followed by an open dance every Friday night. Singles are wholly welcome; in fact, you get to dance with just about everyone in the room if you want to. It’s not a singles scene but a dance club, and though certainly men and women want to meet, it’s a community more than a dating site.

I danced for 14 years in my 20s and 30s — ballet and jazz mostly, and performed for chump change toward the end. I loved it, but a hip injury ended it. I hadn’t been dancing for years, so I went with some trepidation — and a couple of new girlfriends.

I also haven’t dated much since my husband passed away, so I was filled with even more self-doubt about not just the dancing, but guy end of things. Would I measure up? Would I be accepted? Would I be a wallflower or get out on the floor and boogie?

We showed up at 9 p.m. for the intermediate class, and were glad we did. The two instructors choreographed the hour well, demonstrating steps that we tried out with partners, switching every few minutes in an organized circle of pairings.

It was wonderful: I realized I was in the presence of a far more enjoyable form of speed dating than merely sitting in a darkened, dank night club pretending to be charming for 5.5 minutes per guy. These guys were thin and they were chubby; tall and short; sweaty and cologned; white and dark. They were charming and quiet, supportive and distant. And every one a gentleman.

Talk about relationships: It was a short course in getting to know a lot of men in a short time. The goal was to relax and let them guide me, to surrender to their body movements, to sense their way of interpreting the music and just enjoy the experience.

I enjoyed, I had trouble surrendering, and I only relaxed after three hours. It’s been a long time since I’ve been in a man’s arms — 80 arms in an evening? — dancing, moving together, being sensual without being personal. The point was not to impress each other; it was to enjoy the experience of sharing a passion for dance and music —close physical contact without commitment. Safe sax.

At one switch, the teachers asked what combination of steps we had not done yet. The choices were big vs. small, fast vs. slow, and something called “fuzzy kitten” vs. “Ninja.” I hadn’t been feeling competent with some combinations, so I looked into the eyes of my large, sweet, sweaty partner and said, “I can do big and fast.” Without skipping a beat, he replied, “Honey, you’re every man’s dream!”

Touché. That loosened me up. I saw how hard I have fought for my independence over the years, how hard it is to trust and allow a man to lead. I listened to myself apologize for making mistakes. No one cared; it wasn’t about being perfect — hello, female conditioning! — it was about relaxing and flowing. I knew this, yet watched myself fall into old behaviors. I questioned how I could still be strong and follow, to let them lead yet still be myself and honor my own rhythm and strength. I let them support me, but it often made me feel powerless. When I finally stopped analyzing and thinking, I got into the movements and my body took over. At last.

The format at this event is that women can ask men to dance, with impunity. So I did. No one turned me down. Though we rarely spoke while dancing, we got to know each other through a blending of energy. I enjoyed melting into the experience and feeling how it was to be touched, cared for, guided and nurtured by so many different kinds of men who weren’t after anything but enjoying my presence as well.

It was enlightening: The dancer became the dance; I think I’ll go back next week.