I was in a cute dress at a tired event when an older black man strolled up to me. He didn’t have a pickup line–he knew that his main attraction was that he had a real job, a house he owned, and a 401K, rather than cash in shoeboxes underneath his bed in his Momma’s house. We danced, he bought me some drinks, we exchanged numbers, and at 3 am I received the obligatory “you’re so beautiful and smart” text.
It was all good…but the next day, an ex called asking me about the night before. He sounded kind of sour and uptight.
Then I realized that I gave my number to a friend of an ex.
I blushed for two seconds, and then shrugged and got ready for drinks with yet another one of my man friends.
But that call shook me up just a little bit–I never did go out with the man I met at that party.
The world I inhabit is regretfully small. I can’t control what other people know about me. And that’s a scary thing. I could leave everything about my personal life off of Facebook, Twitter, this blog, and not tell anybody anything but Jesus, my mom and my best friend, and still, people would know intimate details of my life.
I really don’t like that.
The lack of privacy ruins romantic relationships. The gleeful willingness to “tell-all” when you still don’t even really know what’s going on leads to nightmarish consequences.
Perhaps I need to learn how to live my life without apology.
To love hard, to breakup, to move on, to date–without worrying too much about the opinions of others. But I’m not there yet.
My ex knew me well enough to know that I, lover of secrets and private things, would feel exposed by his phone call.
That exposure led to a lack of mystery. That lack of mystery meant I also lacked a desire for the new man.
So I had to move on to the next one.
and I did.