Is my not being in a relationship a function of unrealistic expectations, commitment issues, age, or merely that I haven’t met the right person yet. I’m on the back nine now, and isn’t it time?
This summer will be a sweet sixteen years since the demise of my marriage. Not withstanding the baggage of my past, it seems unfathomable that I continue to ride solo. As busy and as full as my life is, am I not wired to share?
Some people “know” the minute they meet someone.
Stuart walked into Ohio State’s Taylor Tower forty years ago this spring and spotted Marilyn talking to Cheryl, another Heights girl.
“Who is this enchanting lady?” he interrupted, forcing an introduction.
(They got married right out of school and are still together).
I used to think I’d know the “look” if I met it: Dirty blonde hair, suburban blue eyes, nice fragrance.
Blue jeans and a smile.
I’m really not a high-maintenance guy. So what’s my problem?
This week I made a written inventory of my past relationships. I listed each person I’d had even a passing interest in regardless of the duration of the encounter.
I am trying to find a common thread.
In 1971 Stuart did his Marine Reserve stint in Cape May, New Jersey. At the time I was debating getting engaged. His three-page letter, (off the backs of Highlights For Children magazine sales report forms), remains in my personal archives. In long-hand, he counseled me find someone that could fulfill me mentally, physically and spiritually. He urged me to look for all three.
It was 1971 and we weren’t quite 22; I thought he was full of shit.
Who thinks that way at that age?
Stuart did.
Maybe that’s why he’s still with Marilyn.

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