I had dinner with a friend of mine the other night. As we contemplated whether to order appetizers or save room for dessert, her phone rang. Her child, sounding teary-eyed, pattered out her words with syncopated short breaths. Something dreadful happened, but not life-threatening. She wanted sympathy, and quite possibly assurance she’d be okay. Almost as an afterthought, the child informed her mother that her dad wasn’t anywhere to be found, because he skipped off to the tropics with girlfriend du jour.

After a loving, motherly sign-off, my friend clicked that red “end” button and sighed. “You know what sucks?”

“The kids like her, don’t they?” I said. “Of course they do.”

Friend snapped the menu shut and dropped her chin in her hand. “Yeah. Bastard thinks he traded up. I’m the late-model mom. Three kids on and he hits his mid-life crisis. Thought that Charger was enough. No. He needed a blonde in the passenger seat, and that sure isn’t my color.” She ran her fingers through her gorgeous brunette hair, quite thick and luxurious.

Much later, as I lay under the covers, staring at the ceiling, I contemplated my own circumstances. My ex believes he traded up when he unhitched his wagon from me. That woman, who my son tells me is “really nice and very interesting,” likes her as well.

Now, at this point, I could throw myself a one-woman pity party and weep into my pillow. Or I can examine the reality of the situation. So I did.

Time and distance have a great way of putting perspective into things. I did love my ex when I married him. He was personable and funny. We shared the same astrological sign. We listened to the same music, shared a love of arts and culture, exhibited a natural curiosity about the world, and devoured anything that hinted at chocolate. And much more, naturally. But as life hurled its challenges at us, his backbone slacked while mine stood straight. Our time together shrank. And so, when the younger model showed up, he acted accordingly.

I’m not going to lie. Casting oneself adrift from marriage is torture. Everything that once ruled your life is gone. The daily routines, the former family members, the house you shared and the life within it – gone. That empty space on my left hand third finger revealed a dent where a white gold band resided for sixteen years. Mourning the loss created inertia.

Eventually, I got sick of it. Why should I be the one alone, bored and angry? I slapped myself awake, determined to distance myself from my former life. Here’s the opportunity to reinvent myself. And boy, did I ever!

I traded myself up.

Gone were the dowdy clothes that covered my plump body. Because I worked out daily, I shed those extra pounds I didn’t need. Took up yoga, too. Met some wonderful people who became close friends. Wasn’t afraid to go to the movies by myself, either, or anywhere. Was accepted to a social club that only allowed a limited number of people each year. And that, my friends, was the best thing ever.

While it might seem a bit snobbish to only allow a certain few to join a club, the reasons are well-founded. It’s a very old club, situated in a preserve, and they want prospective members to care for the property as well as contribute to its offerings. It’s a co-op, so after probation, I own part of it. As such, I run the kitchen all summer long and every weekend prepare, along with wonderful volunteers, an amazing lunch for all to enjoy.

Here’s where I met Glamour Man, at a social affair. We started talking and after long, discovered much in common between us. But not like my ex, wherein we shared our likes and dislikes. This time, GM and I discovered our commonality differently. Things like our attitudes. Stuff that happened to us. The way life treated us unfairly, and how we dug ourselves out of our holes. How we viewed the world, for the most part. He’s a conservative, I’m a liberal, but somehow we always manage to come to the same conclusions. Our differences didn’t lead to an argument, but a discussion on how we arrived at our viewpoints. Perhaps a case of opposites attract?

While he hints at a possible relationship, and while I certainly would welcome it (I think I’ve made that quite clear in some of my posts), I’d rather wait for it to blossom at its own pace. Most of my friends think this is a lost cause, and so does my sister. But two of my friends think differently. One’s a man, the other’s a woman, and they both agree something’s there. I may hold out for it, but won’t rule out dating other men, either. There’s nothing wrong with comparing and contrasting. And who knows? There might be someone who’s far better than GM for me.

For if life has taught me anything, the world is filled with possibilities. Some good, some bad, some meh. I fully intend to trade up my next love, romantic partner, partner in crime, gentleman caller, pookie-poo or whatever one calls a boyfriend these days. This time, I want it to last. In my heart of hearts, I believe it will.