Jobs these days seem awfully hard to come by. There are times when I fell so utterly unemployable, like not a soul cares to hire me. I indulge in these pity parties sometimes, not thinking about what I do have. A reminder that there are better days would sure be welcome sometimes.

I decided to take a mental health break yesterday. I couldn’t write another cover letter, search for another position that will be turned down again, or sit at my laptop while the sun blazed in a perfectly clear blue sky. Screw it, I said. I packed a lunch and drove to my social club at 9:30 in the morning. There, a beautiful swimming pool and hot tub awaited me. And so did a few other things.

Glamour Man showed up.

Now, I should add that he came to another party a couple of weeks ago, after the one where I completely ignored him. Decided to do the grownup thing and just clear the air. I’d be running into him all summer long, and it would be pointless to keep ducking him. So we had a two-hour, honest conversation that we never had previously. He straightened out the mystery of the other-women phone call (it really wasn’t what I thought it was, but he wasn’t truthful either). Said I was an awesome woman. Said he’d like to have a do-over. I agreed, but internally, to a point.

As much as my heart wants things to work out romantically, I can’t see it happening. He’s divorced more recently than me. Without him saying as much, I know he’s seeing other women. After all, he’s fresh on the market and wants to see what’s out there. Doesn’t want to commit to anyone. I get it, but I want no part of this. We’re in two different places when it comes to dating. I’ve been freed to do so since 2017. He’s been free for much less. If he really wanted to be with me, nothing would stop him. He’s not ready, and I’d be a fool to think he is.

I gleaned from our conversation by what he doesn’t say, he reveals himself. For example, he said he’d join me at the club last weekend. I asked him if he’d like to go to a nearby restaurant for dinner. He gave me what seemed like a positive answer, but as the week went on, he just plain didn’t answer yes or no. Yesterday, I asked him why. Once again, his answer was evasive.

GM and I sat by the pool, talking as he sunned himself and I shaded my skin under an umbrella. He brought me three bottles of French wine because I thought I might enjoy them. Nice gesture! Poured myself a thermo pool-safe wine cup of white and damn, if it wasn’t hitting the spot.

I wound up talking a lot about myself and the situation I’m presently in, mainly because he asked. He offered little in the way of self-revelation; he seems to keep much about his life locked away. Two can play at that game. Said that’s enough about me and from this point on, I’m keeping my lips shut. GM said he wished I didn’t and that he’s a good listener. So am I, I replied. I added to this line of conversation that he would never take me on anything that remotely resembled a date, including dinner out. He disagreed. Then he left, heading out to dinner with several couples, and, I rightly or wrong assume, with his own date.

Suddenly, that sauvignon blanc tasted awful. Gazing at those two other bottles of red, tucked in a bag, made me feel sick to my stomach. What am I doing? It’s the same thing all over again. Too much charm, once again, threw shackles around my heart. I spilled out the rest of the bottle, its once crisp flavor turning sour. Stuck the reds in a supply closet. Out of sight, out of mind.

Later, my friend Patty stopped by. We were having dinner before the evening’s poker game. Told her about the afternoon’s events. Christ, she said, not this again. He’s not your forever man, and I hope you realize that. He certainly isn’t, I said, but that doesn’t make it any easier. I wish I could forget him. And I’m trying.

As we played poker, I couldn’t shake how I felt, about GM and coming close to settling for crumbs of a man instead of one who’ll fully occupy my heart. It was as if someone else was playing the game but I was sitting in their body. Despite this, I didn’t do too badly, knocking out a few players. A displaced method of knocking GM out of my life, perhaps.

GM told me to text him and let him know how I played. As I drove home, the thought of doing so made me feel even worse. Can’t quite explain it, but it was like I was gasping for air. Oh, I realize this sounds overly dramatic, but anyone who’s been betrayed and/or misled feels this way. I rolled around in bed, trying to shake the thought of how I let myself be played…almost. I didn’t text him. Felt better for not having done so.

Over coffee this morning looking for jobs, I received a text from another friend. There’s a band we both love coming out with new material – have I heard it yet? This simple act made me consider what real friendship looks like. We check on each other every day, even if it’s a hello. This person also arranged for me to have a Mother’s Day celebration, so I wouldn’t be alone.

And that thought wandered to more.

At my social club, I’ve made so many friends. Sure, some are mere acquaintances. Many are substantial. It took some doing, but friends I’ve made there over time have blossomed into genuine platonic relationships. People who I see all year around, even when the pool is closed and snow covers it up. One friend calls me if she doesn’t hear from me. Others live about two hours away but stay in touch by text. People invite me over to dinner, to hang out, or surprise me in unexpected ways. The outpouring of support I’ve received over losing my job and not yet finding another has been overwhelming. About five or six have taken my resume to see what they can do to help. Some said they’d pray for me. And others will sit with me, even if I’m crying, showing that they care.

This is what real friendship looks like. Not a man whose opinion of himself is more inflated than the Goodyear blimp. Not someone who makes me feel woozy for all the wrong reasons. Thinking I’ll be impressed over a few bottles of wine as a gift. Or by his mere presence.

Sometimes it takes time to learn life lessons. Even in late middle age. And it’s never too late to start over. I’m an expert at it, having done it several times.

A glimmer of hope shone this morning. Five guys on the app wanted to meet me, where there were none yesterday. Think I might give at least one of them a shot. And if it doesn’t work out? There are four more.