I once saved nearly all the love letters/emails from past boyfriends/love interests/high school crushes. I had a fantasy of writing a book about the love letters compiled during my life.  It would be an interesting window into my relationships – a cool chronicle of how many relationships one woman can screw up.

However, in a cleaning hissy fit at my condo – spurred by my parents moving out of my childhood home last fall – nearly all of my adolescent love letters went in the trash.

Not sure why I pitched those and not the more recent ones.Frankly the most recent ones are more harmful than the teen years letters.  In some ways, holding onto letters/emails from recent boyfriends is clinging to a relationship that didn’t work out for very good reasons.  In the case of Frank the Plumber, they are the “proof” of his asinine behavior and justified my case when he dumped me for his ex-wife at his homecoming.

This bout of love letter reflection all started because I’m reading a book about the Peabody sisters – Elizabeth, Mary and Sophia – young women in early-19^th century Boston who were well-read, intellectual and part of the Transcendentalist intelligentsia.  Years ahead of her time, the never-married Elizabeth was the founder of kindergarten in America.  And after years-long courtships and correspondences, Mary wed education pioneer Horace Mann, and Sophia got hitched to venerate author Nathanial Hawthorne.

Men just aren’t making love letters like they did in the early 19^th century.

Listen to this – Nathanial Hawthorne to Sophia Peabody: “Our souls drift far away among the clouds, and wherever there was ethereal beauty, there we, our true selves; there we grew into each other, and became a married pair.  I love thee with infinite intensity, and think of thee continually, and desire thee as never before.”

During their honeymoon at Ralph Waldo Emerson’s house, Old Manse, they scratched poems to each other into the window panes.  Totally romantic.

Counter that with a couple of “romantic” excerpts from an email Frank sent me during his deployment:  “I look forward to a nice long warm snuggle. The trip has been on the cold side.”  “I am really craving your company, and anxiously await hearing about your busy life.”   “Can I have a booby picture, pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeease?”  “ I am very anxious to touch you.  It may look like a locomotive is en route.”

He gets his point across, but it still doesn’t sound as eloquent as Hawthorne.

Alright, so it might not be fair to quote words written from a man in a war zone. So I just dug out some love letters from another boyfriend who was working overseas.  Here’s how he started one letter: “This letter is in … what, not penance, but sort of as an afterthought – I hadn’t thought the lack of same would be missed, but now I’ll try and get on top of putting pen to paper more frequently.”

Oh boy – guilted into writing a letter – that’s the kind of sentiment that sets a girls heart atwitter!  He wasn’t a very sentimental guy, but here’s his best attempt: “Yesterday was Valentine’s Day.  I thought about you a lot … I think you got my flowers and the CD, so – from here and now to wherever and whenever you are when you read this, my love.”

I have had love poems penned for me.  Once on a cocktail napkins by a stranger in a bar, who when I ignored him, tried getting my attention by pulling me towards him by my back belt loop.  This did not endear him to me and nearly resulted in my fist in his face.  The other was when Crazy Jeff wrote me a poem after meeting me at public function in my former place of work.

In the following days, he wrote the poem – which was something about how great it was meeting me and ended in his phone number – and then left it for me at the front desk of my office building.  He could only remember my first name and that I once lived in Montana. Enough evidence for my co-workers to get it to me, but the jealous bitches thought they would have fun at my expense and passed it around the office having a good laugh.  I didn’t even know he had left the poem until I passed him on the street and he asked me about it.  I then had to go shame each of my co-workers into telling me where it was.

So after reviewing my archive of “love letters” and “love emails” – I’ve come to a couple of conclusions.  These letters and emails are interesting chronicles of my various couplings, and are a great record of my psychological development in the relationship arena.  But they are wanting, and so is my heart.

There has to be a man out there with genuine sentiments and a good heart who has revived the lost art of the love letter.

I remember my first kiss …

I was fifteen – his name was Bruce. We both worked at the local grocery store, but went to different high schools. I think I only wanted to “go out” (we were so innocent in the early ‘90s) with him because I didn’t want to be “sweet sixteen and never been kissed.”

I think that was the first time I realized that I could wield power over a man. I remember breaking up with him soon after that – a scene that rolled out on my parents’ front lawn. I couldn’t give him a good reason; I just didn’t want to “date” anymore.

But back to the kisses …

The “when” of a first kiss tells you a lot about how much he’s into you. Is it on the first date? If it’s a hug and a kiss on the cheek, he might be a gentleman. If it’s a gentle, slightly prolonged goodnight kiss on the mouth, he likes you but is being a gentleman. If it’s a total mash-mouth with tongue, he just wants to f*ck you, so proceed with caution.

Second date? This is the best time for a first “real kiss.” If he hasn’t done it by the second date it means he’s not going to do it, so you should just forget it. But if you’re really into him and you’re getting all of the green light signals from him, you should take the lead. Men love it when women take charge of physical contact.

The “where” is telling as well. I’ve had some interesting first kiss locations:

• There was the one on the floor of my college dorm room, can’t remember his name
• With Harry it was on a swing in a romantic moonlit park
• My first kiss with Russell was in my living room
• Soldier Boy and I kissed in a parking lot after a fun date
• With Rich the Sailor it was in the evening on a pier overlooking the city lights
• The Plumber and I did it while slow dancing in a restaurant
• With Justin, my post-college boyfriend, it was on the bed in his apartment
• Crazy Jeff first kissed me on Halloween night under a street lamp in a park

Okay so not all of these are romantic locations, but each happened in a certain place for a reason, which brings me to the “how” and “why.”

“How” and “why” a first kiss happens are the most important parts of the story. How and why are intertwined – the motive and execution are linked. Looking back I realize that several of my first kisses came after months of harmless flirting and pent-up sexual tension. That’s how the first kisses were with Russell, Rich the Sailor and Justin.

Then there were the kisses that I motivated: Soldier Boy and the Plumber. For me, it’s about the power that physical contact possesses, and the control that I can wield over a relationship by bestowing or withholding that physical contact. It’s totally psycho – I get it. But knowing that I can control a man is very powerful. Is it right? No. Is it healthy? Of course not. I’ve been in therapy for a while now, but this is something I still haven’t been able to get past.

I haven’t had a first kiss in over a year and a half – since my first date with the Plumber. I’m jonesing for another first kiss. The anticipation is like a drug … will he, won’t he, should I?  The spine tingle, the taste of his lips, the moment your heart skips a beat … oh dear. I really need a date!

But this “single-time-around” has been a lot harder for me to get back in the dating scene.

I’m not sure if I’m unmotivated or if I have shut down because I was burned so badly.  Maybe it’s a combination of both. 

I know that I don’t want to be alone.  It would be great to have male companionship – someone to go to dinner with, go for a run with, or just hang out at home with.  One of my co-workers joked with me that maybe I should stay away from men for a while.  I responded with, “That would be a good idea, except I’m not a lesbian.”

Not only do I crave male companionship, but I’m incredibly horny.  I remember learning in middle school health class that only boys have “wet dreams.”  Well, I beg to differ because my horny subconscious is providing me with some seriously hot sex dreams that include orgasms.

Everyone keeps telling me to get back into online dating.  I’ve done it before, but I have real reservations about it.  Paying to meet people – it’s like joining a college fraternity or sorority.  Then you have to wade through all those profiles, trying to decide who might be a good “match.”  And besides, it’s all based on looks.

I just saw a news story tonight that said dating websites are lying when they say they’re using “algorithms” to match paying customers with perspective mates.   That doesn’t make me feel good – everything based on a lie – that’s how my previous in-person-match relationship started and it didn’t end so well.  So why should I bother to pay for a lie when I can get one in person!?

Perhaps, as an acquaintance once said to me when I bemoaned the lack of quality men where I was living, “Me thinks the lady doth protest too much.”  I want something, but I’m not willing to work for it.

So I decided to try another strategy – getting out an about.  I volunteered at a major local sporting event, thinking that there may be some available men also volunteering there or even a couple of amateur athletes.  But no such luck.  Then last night I went on the town with a girlfriend.  A hot new bar in a popular neighborhood.  What could be better, right?  My girlfriend and I got our cute on and from what I saw of other women in the joint (with all due modesty), we were in the top 10 best of those ladies present.

Not a single guy approached.  I was giving open posture, looking around, laughing.  I thought I was putting out a good vibe.  Not a bite.  Oh well.  Maybe I was expecting too much.

I still have one invite left for the dinner date service I signed up for over a year ago.  I’ve found those to work well as a way to meet men.  I’ve gotten  three “hits” from the previous three dinners I went on.  None of them turned into anything, but at least it was something.

At times like this when I’m brooding over being single, I remember the “Sex and the City” episode when Charlotte is talking to the girls about her exhaustion with dating.  She says, “My hair hurts.  I’ve been dating since I was fifteen. I’m exhausted. Where is he?”  My sentiments exactly, sister.

Am I not being proactive enough?  I’m not getting any younger here.  Wasting a year of my life on a lying son-of-a-bitch was the most infuriating thing that’s ever happened to me (and I’ve been fired from a job!).  I know, I know – some of you are probably thinking, “Oh, stop being so hard on yourself. Get over it.  Shut up.”

So, I’m turning myself over to the fates.  I’m also taking dating advice.  Any suggestions?

Heart on keyboard photo available from Shutterstock.

Now judging “good men” and “good relationships” is an inexact science, as I can only see them from the outside.  I can only adjudicate what’s presented to me because I’m not privy to what happens behind closed doors, so these comments are based purely on my perceptions.

My friend Renatta’s fiancé Claudio is one of the “good ones.”  They have been dating for many years – since high school, although they have known each other since childhood.  Now in their 30s, their relationship had evolved (from the outside it seems) to a supportive and loving partnership that includes fun weekend trips to exciting driving-distance locations and weekly ballroom dance classes.

Over the Christmas holiday while visiting family, Claudio prepared a big surprise for Renatta.  During her mother’s annual holiday scavenger hunt, Claudio arranged access to their childhood school.  At the very spot he first caught sight of her (around the age of 10), he dropped to one knee and presented her with a lovely ring (a ring that he had carefully chosen after months of searching for the right one).  Total romance – a very personal proposal.

On the subject of proposals, years ago I was walking through Lafayette Park by the White House in DC, and a woman whom I had never met yelled to me from where she sat on a bench, “We just got engaged!”  It put me in a good mood.

Then there’s my friend Kathleen’s husband Jay.  They live by the maxim, “We can be independent together.”   His love for her is so apparent.  He seems to relish his ability to take care of her and make her happy (although she’d probably never want to admit she “needs” to be taken care of).  They enjoy each other’s company, but are just as happy to go an entire day without talking with each other or to travel on their own with friends.

I have traveled with Jay and Kathleen – a trip to Belgium and The Netherlands – that was a very good time.  A man has to be really tolerant to spend a week sharing a hotel room with his wife and her friend.

I find it welcoming, and somewhat amusing, when Jay says to me, “Kate, we haven’t seen you up at the house for a while.  Why don’t you come up some time for dinner and stay the night?”  How many women can say that their friend’s husband extends open invitations to their house for dinner and fun conversation (and our favorite game, “Drunk Scrabble”)?  Jay likes to see Kathleen happy and will do anything for her.  When little arguments come up Kathleen likes to say, “It ain’t worth getting divorced over.”  Then she reminds him if they ever do split, she gets half – and half of what they have is a lot.

When looking for good men in my family, I immediately think of my grandfather – my mom’s dad.  He’s 89 and my grandmother is 85.  I love watching them together.  My gram has always operated in her own world.  She’s perfectly “normal,” but, she is the slowest eater I’ve ever met, likes to saunter instead of walking normal speeds, and can be a bit ditzy at times.  I’ve never seen him say a cruel word to her or raise his voice at her. They’re always holding hands and cuddling.

From the time I was a child, I idolized their relationship.  I thought that’s how married people in love were supposed to behave and treat each other – with tolerance and lots of affection.  I never saw either of those in my own parent’s relationship so I was really grateful to have such behaviors elsewhere in my family.

So now I’m heading back into the dating world – searching for the man that’s “right for me.”  I know he’s out there.  He’s honest, trustworthy, affectionate, tolerant and romantic.  Wish me luck!

Good man photo available from Shutterstock.

Here was what he wrote – mind you this email came two weeks after I was supposed to pick him up.

[Note: he must have written this email on a phone, as it is filled with spelling and grammar mistakes.]

“I start off by telling you I am sorry.  My ex was also at the welcome home.  I looked for you, but she found me first.  She is very angry, and threatened to make a big scene, so I left with her to diffuse the situation.  I didn’t expect you, so I didn’t think it was an issue.  I don’t expect u to believe anything I say, just wanted to end the mystery. You r a talented and beautiful lady.  It is my loss.”

Seriously?  Seriously! Receiving this email was more emotionally disturbing to me than the actual night when he disappeared.  I guess I was in shock that night, numb to any emotion except devastation.  In the two intervening weeks I had time to process what happened and came to the conclusion that he had some sort of mental break own and couldn’t deal with being home and confronting me.

The actual explanation was more frustrating and maddening than what I had thought.  I was fuming – practically steaming out my ears – as I read the email.

I have many of issues with what he told me.  First, why was his ex-wife there?  Granted the “welcome home” information was on the news so she could have heard about it that way – but now I’m wondering whether or not he had been communicating with her all along.  Why would a woman who has been divorced for two years attend her ex’s homecoming ceremony?  From what Frank had told me, their separation had been pretty rough.

I call “bullshit” on him saying, “I didn’t expect you, so I didn’t think it was an issue.”  That’s a lie because just six hours earlier I had emailed asking if I could come and get him, and he had responded “yes.”

He completely contradicts himself in the email, as he said he looked for me – then saying he wasn’t expecting me.  What an ass!  I also want to know why his ex-wife was angry and threatening to create a scene if he didn’t tell her I was coming.  What a coward!  How selfish can he be?  If he really loved me, if he had intended to follow through on his desire to be a part of my life, he would have told her to ‘get lost’ and would have found his way to me.

I also have a big issue with the fact that it took him two weeks and several emails from me to his sister in order for him to actually write to me.  I really have no more words to describe how disappointed and betrayed I feel.

The really weird part about this is that about two weeks before the homecoming I had a dream that I was at the ceremony and looking for him.  In the dream, I saw him across the room and he was hugging his ex.  Our eyes locked across the room – him with a forlorn look, me seething with anger and disappointment.  How’s that for irony?!

At least someone ‘upstairs’ was looking out for me and in reality I was spared the anguish of seeing that.  The weird thing about it all is the night of the homecoming I was actually probably within 20 feet of their reunion while I was looking for him.  So strange.  If I wrote this as a screenplay people would think it was too fantastical to even play as a fictional Lifetime Movie.

Needless to say I didn’t let his email go unanswered.  I let loose in a stream-of-consciousness email – writing solidly for about 10 minutes – letting my emotions out – giving him a written tongue lashing about the crappy way he treated me.  And as you can probably guess, it’s been a week and I haven’t heard from him.

This whole situation has made me evaluate the way I “select” men. I’m obviously not listening to my inner-voice that says, “Hmm, I don’t think so.”  When there appears to be a spark, I try to play it out and see what happens.  However, I need to stop being so ‘nice’ about giving people second chances and start taking a chance on me.

Oh, yeah … P.S. to Frank: you’re damn right it’s your loss. I deserve a lot better than you – you crazy, lying, selfish bastard.

Angry woman photo available from Shutterstock.

However, this latest episode takes the cake!

The last few weeks I had been anxiously awaiting Frank’s return from Afghanistan. I’d scrubbed, peeled, and waxed myself.  Cleaned the house and made room for him in my bureau drawers and medicine cabinet. I psyched myself up for his return. Last Thursday I heard a local news story that his unit was returning that evening. Originally he said I could pick him up Friday night, so I emailed to check on the new arrival time.  He wrote back saying, “We’ll be there tonight!  Come get me.” 

So after work I rushed home, changed clothes, touched up my hair and make-up and set out for the Armory where the families and friends were gathering to greet the soldiers.  The gymnasium was filled with people – all in groups, families.  I seemed to be the only one there alone.  It felt weird, a place I never would have expected myself to be, ever.  About 15 minutes later, the unit marched in.

After a prayer and a short speech from the CO, they were dismissed.  It was some sort of organized chaos.  Families running to hug their soldiers.  Daddies holding infants they barely knew.  Spouses kissing.  There were only 150 soldiers in the unit, so not that many to search through.  I waded onto the floor of the gymnasium – like a salmon swimming upstream – walking amongst the throngs of happy people.  I looked around at all their faces – couldn’t find Frank.  So I stepped up on to a set of bleachers to get a better look.  Scanned the crowd, but still couldn’t see him.

About a half hour passed and the crowd started to thin – all the families were going home together to get reacquainted.  I started to panic.  Where the hell was he?  Did he go home with some else?  Was he avoiding me?  Had he even gotten on the bus at the airport?  He knew I was coming to get him and he had said he was anxious to see me, so where the hell was he?

I girded my courage and asked a couple of his fellow soldiers if they had seen him.  Each in turn answered, “No.”  Strange.  By then it was 11:15pm – I had been there for 45 minutes. I was just about the only civilian left in the Armory.  This was where it started to turn into a Lifetime Movie.

I was standing in the middle of this vacuous gymnasium – soldiers milling around me in slow motion as the camera pans in a circle with me in the center.  Something strange was definitely going on.

I found another solider – an major, same rank as Frank – and asked if he had seen Frank.  The Major told me that Frank had been on the same bus as him, so he knew that he had returned to the Armory.  He searched the restricted areas of the building for me while another soldier found one of Frank’s bags by itself in the parking lot.  The Major returned and said that Frank didn’t seem to be in the building.

Crestfallen, I walked out of the Armory at 11:30pm with my head held high.  I fought back the tears until I was well away from the building and then once in my car – a deluge.  I honestly don’t know how I drove home – I was nearly hyperventilating the whole way.

Friday came and went – no word from Frank.  Saturday, Sunday, Monday – no word.  Devastating!   That is the word that I’ve used to describe this situation – devastating.  All of our communications for the past year had led me to believe that upon his return he wanted to build a life with me.  How could he just walk away from all of that without a word?

Weeks ago, he had sent a nice tea set from Afghanistan to my house and told me it was for “us.”  Now that tea set is taking up precious real estate in my small condo – and it reminded me of him, something that I wanted no part of.  Monday morning I emailed him and told him that he could come and pick up the tea set in the lobby of my building.  I also mentioned that after what he had done to me on Thursday night he didn’t deserve it, but that I was trying to be the “bigger” person in the situation.  No reply – and the tea set was still in the lobby the following evening.

Tuesday night I emailed his sister – my first communication ever with a member of his family.  I asked her if she had heard from him and told her that he needed to come and pick up the tea set.  She replied that she had not heard from him either but knew that he had seen their mother and that he was fine.  She told me that she would see him on the weekend.  (PS – it’s the following Monday and still nothing!)

So it’s been a week and a half since that fateful Thursday night.  I just don’t get it!  The only explanation I can muster is that he must have had some sort of mental breakdown.  There is serious mental illness in his family.  Maybe the pressure of the return, some PTSD, not knowing what kind of life he was returning to – no business, no job – he just freaked and decided he couldn’t face me.

But to not even offer me the courtesy of an explanation or an “I’m sorry, I can’t” is unforgiveable.  I want to know that he’s okay, but I’m out – no more Frank in my life.   What hurts the most is that I wasted a f*cking year of my life with him!  Was he trying to play me?  Well, if that was his mission, it worked!  So now I’m back on the dating scene… 37, cute, smart, and sassy.  Oh yeah, no more soldiers. Period.  Ever.

And if he doesn’t come get that frickin’ tea set before the end of the month it’s going to Goodwill!

Teary eye photo available from Shutterstock.

Kathleen and I are both fans of this complicated and multi-faceted man; however that’s not the point of this blog.  One of his quotes, written in bronze on an interior wall, really hit home about something I’ve been marinating on for a while – change.

The quote reads, in part: “As [man] becomes more developed, more enlightened, as new discoveries are made, new truths discovered and manners and opinions change, with the change of circumstances, [man] must advance also to keep pace with the times.”  I feel like this captures the journey I’ve been on for the past couple of years.  As I’ve become more enlightened and my circumstances have changed, I have advanced and evolved as well.  Or at least I’ve really tried to advance and evolve.

I’m starting to feel more comfortable in my new mental awareness.  I know that when I get frustrated I will say things that push people’s buttons.  This has been happening with my new boss.  I perceive some of her weaknesses, which I think happen to be areas of strength for me, so I offer up some advice or a way of doing something in an attempt to be helpful.

However, this can be perceived as trying to “one-up” her or make her look incompetent.  This is where I often get blindsided with a kick in the ass, so I have to constantly check my frustration and bite my tongue.  Call it job security.  Luckily our deputy director is very approachable and has been a good sounding board for me.

As I’ve changed and started to refine or divest myself of my old faults, I’ve become acutely aware of similar faults in other people.  One colleague is forever blaming things on other people and trying to get her way.  She had the balls to tell her accountant to call the IRS and try to get a rule changed in her favor. Yes, she was trying to get IRS tax code over-ruled – that’s the kind of entitlement she had (At age 45! Although I have a feeling she was raise this way and has been thus all her life).

Now, I’ve never tried to get laws altered in my favor, but I did have a hard time accepting responsibility for my faults and knowing when it was time to move on.  I just want to grab her, shake her, slap her, and say, “Get over yourself!”

Another colleague is a bit of a “negative Nellie” – he’s always casting doubt on suggestions and tattling to his boss when he perceives that someone has stepped out of line.  Again, I want to say, “Get over yourself.”  Focus on your own work and how you can support your colleagues.

I used to be very selfish with work ideas and get personally offended if someone didn’t want to do things my way.  I would undercut colleagues’ ideas and tattle about the most absurd things (telling on a co-worker who was texting in a board meeting was my all-time favorite ‘tattle’).  Doing these types of things only creates animosity in the work environment and are remembered by your boss when the annual review comes around.

I’m also trying to apply Mr. Jefferson’s logic of change to my love life.  I’m trying to be more open and receptive in my relationship with Frank, but so many unanswered questions float around in my head.  If he “lied by omission” to me about being married before, what else has he lied about? Not having leave during his year-long deployment, how much he claims to be in love with me yet has only phoned me once during his year away, how honorable really are his intentions because after knowing me for over a year he ‘Facebook friends’ a bottle-blond/fake-boobed flight attendant instead of ‘friending’ me?

Okay, so, the old bitter me returns every once and a while. In this case it was my friend the ‘green monster’ – no not the one in Fenway Park, I’m referring to ‘jealousy.’  My past relationships have been f*cked-up with so many trust issues that it’s going to be hard for me to change that one.

So I guess we all have our Achilles’ heels.

Frank returns home this week and will move in with me.  In all honesty, I’m scared shitless.  I have no idea what’s going to happen.  I don’t want to be played for the fool, yet how do I go about trusting him when there are so many unanswered questions? How many questions can I pepper him with in the first 24 hours of his return?  Oh, and I suppose if I’m on this truth and honesty kick, at some point I’m going to have to tell him about this blog that I’ve been writing for nearly three years, of which he’s taken up a good deal of real estate in for the past fourteen months.

My head his spinning … this change thing is hard … I think I need to make an appointment with my therapist PDQ!

Change photo available from Shutterstock.

Frank is returning from Afghanistan in about four weeks.  The past 11 months flew by really fast, but now the last month is going to drag with anticipation.  He’s hit the part in his tour where they are transitioning their duties to the replacement unit, so he is feeling very superfluous.  This is the worst thing for a soldier in theatre.  He now has time to contemplate his situation and think deeply about where they are in their life and where they are going.

In his latest email, Frank wrote, “Being a lame duck now, I have to develop an enthusiasm for the next act in my life.  This one is over, and I have to accept it.”  This hit me hard!

While I will never be able to sympathize with his particular situation, I have had some serious life-changes (including being fired from a job) which forced me to reevaluate my life.  So he’s transitioning, and this requires those of us in his life to be delicate and supportive.  However, because I assume that I’m going to be part of the next act in his life – I would hope he would have some enthusiasm for it … i.e. ME!

He talks about coming home to me – snuggling with me – doing the day to day things of life.  He closed down his business before he left, so he’s rudderless when it comes to work.  I can imagine it’s emasculating to be without one’s work, which has been his life’s focus when he’s not on deployment.  He’s made it clear that he wants me to be part of his life when he returns.  But I can tell he’s going to be in weird place for a while, and that’s scary for both of us.

Military reunions are filled with all sorts of weirdness.  The spouse (or girlfriend) left behind has taken to living a “singleton’s” life – making decisions and doing things without consulting a partner.  There’s the concern of, “Will he/she have changed?”  “Will he/she still love me?” Even if the soldier returns without a physical injury, there’s the pallor of PTSD that hangs over the head of every veteran.  This leaves the significant other and family members wondering when and if the ‘other shoe will drop.’

Many of the tips for reuniting with returning service members deal specifically with a family unit.  Nowhere have I found tips for girlfriends coping with the return of their boyfriends whom they only knew for two months before said soldier went to war for a year.  I’m soliciting advice — let me know if you have any ides.

To add a layer of complication, Frank is planning to live with me when he returns.  It’ll be nice to have him around and will force us into really getting to know each other – to communicate effectively.

He’s decided to go to graduate school when he gets back, so he’s prepping to take the GREs and trying figure out which state university to attend (he gets free tuition as a member of the National Guard).  He’s going to be casting about for direction, so hopefully I can be a pillar of stability for him.  I’m excited and scared.  I’m looking forward to opening up my life to him and becoming part of his life.

Yellow ribbon photo available from Shutterstock

It began in early December when I started a new job and my boss gave me a New Yorker article about a surgeon who was skeptical about the idea of having a mentor (he thought he was at the top of his game) until he tried it, and then realized it helped him become a better surgeon.  He likened it to coaching.

For nearly 20 years of my life I’ve coached figure skaters, and 12 of those years were spent with one particular student.  I first met Heather when she was 9 years old – a tall, emotionally fragile girl from a divorced family.  Heather would cry every time she couldn’t land a jump.  I thought, like most skaters, she was frustrated with herself and mad that she couldn’t do it “right.”  Years later she revealed to me that she cried because she was worried that she was disappointing me because she wasn’t able to land her jumps correctly.  Nothing could have been further from the truth.  I was, and still am, proud of her.  (Now 21, she skates professionally with a big touring company.) 

I realized from day one of coaching Heather that our relationship was about more than skating.  We shared an emotional bond.  To me this is where a relationship transcends from “coaching” to “mentoring” – an emotional investment on part of both the mentor and the mentee.  I was not only Heather’s ‘skating coach’ (which she still introduces me as all these years later), but her older sister, role model, and sounding board.  My connection with Heather is so strong that when I interact with her on an adult-to-adult level, I can see how she absorbed so many of the things that I said and did during our formative years together.  It’s kind of freaky to see so much of myself reflected in her.  Heather’s mother often acknowledges and praises my role in helping to “raise” her.

I consider myself so fortunate to have played such a role in another person’s life.  However, I’m sad that I never had that sort of intense mentor relationship in my life.  Sure I had my share of skating coaches, but none that made an emotional investment in my life.

As a young professional I now realize that I was in desperate need of a mentor, and probably could have attached myself to any one of many opportunities.  Unfortunately at that time of my life I was so emotionally wounded that I never could have opened up to ask for help.  It took being fired from a job (mainly because of a bad attitude) to throw myself at a mentor who was a professional job coach.  This got me through the initial post-firing shock and on the right path. Unfortunately a longer lasting relationship with this job coach would have cost me a lot of money.

Of course I’ve had “emotional mentors” – therapists – who have guided me through rough spots to help me get my life on track, but it’s the professional mentor relationship that’s missing.  At this point of my life I’m nearly “mid-career” and finally (I’d like to think) hitting my “stride” — however — the New Yorker mentoring article really made me think about where I am professionally.

I have a great network of colleagues across the country whom I can reach out to with quick inquires or for small pieces of advice on an as-needed basis.  But still there’s not that on-going counseling relationship.  Someone to observe my interactions with students, someone to consult with about lesson plans.  I’m not even sure how it would work, but I’m committed to figuring it out.  I’m going to reach out to my peer network and see what they think.

Students in library photo available from Shutterstock.

I laughed out loud.  I couldn’t picture my Frank, manly and buff plumber/Army Major, reading a “smutty” woman’s magazine.  When I told Kathleen, she laughed too and then said that he must be highly evolved in order to feel comfortable reading it.  Hmmm… highly evolved?  I needed to think about that one.

“Highly evolved” has many meanings.  Often times it refers to the achievement of enlightenment and spirituality.  It also literally refers to the physiological evolution of “man.”  Nowadays it is often applied to men who have become more in-touch with their feelings, have begun to express their emotions in constructive outward ways, and engage in healthy communication with their partners.  Sometimes it’s used in conjunction with the term “metrosexual” – although that’s something Frank could never be accused of being.

Recently, I was touched by Frank’s disclosure of his mature handling of a highly emotional situation.  His cousin passed away suddenly.  He was devastated by the news (the first of his generation to pass), and he was coping with this all alone, without family, in a far-away place.  Instead of turning to his unit’s chaplain – he admitted that’s not his style – he immediately shared his sad news with his closest colleagues so that they could help him grieve through this difficult time.  He said, “I have sought comfort from my co-workers by telling them right away, not bottling it up.”  I find that very reassuring – knowing that he’s willing and able to share his emotions with others to get through difficult times.  That bodes well for our relationship.

While doing some research for this blog I found an article that referred to the same “highly evolved” phenomenon as the “post-modern male.”  Another website elaborated, “Highly evolved people are naturally and wholly “attractive,” as they give off no signs or energies that limit themselves or anyone or anything around them – they are not governed by personal likes or dislikes, absolute right or wrong, fears or phobias, theologies, philosophies or ideologies, etc.”

I can see this … highly evolved people are magnetic, physical appearance aside, because of the way they view the world – it’s contagious.  An issue of Wired magazine included a guide for the modern man – “How to Behave: New Rules for Highly Evolved Humans.”  The guide was an attempt to show men ways in which they can cope and take advantage of technological advances.  While I don’t necessarily think that being highly evolved is all about spirituality, it’s certainly more about that than about how to download porn onto your iPhone (something Frank readily admitted to).

Full disclosure: I too used to read Cosmo, but after a couple of years, all the issues started to blend together.  It seemed as if the editors recycled the insides and just put on different covers.  Articles with titles like “Steamy ways for him to turn you on;” “Blow his mind every single time;” and “Naughty Sex Tips” regurgitate the same information with different titles.  Seriously, how many ways are there to give a blow job?

In high school and college we used to joke that having your boyfriend read Cosmo was the easy way out of telling a man what you really wanted in bed.  Cosmo is pretty much an instructional manual for guys on how to get a girl “off.”  It’s also known as masturbation material for teenage boys – or really horny, lonely soldiers.

It’s hard to judge someone’s degree of evolution from thousands of miles away.  Frank is due home on Valentine’s Day, so I’ll reserve final judgment until I have a chance to interact with him in person.

Confident man photo available at Shutterstock