The past week has given me a lot on which to reflect. Earlier in the week, I modeled for a Portuguese embroidery designer, and got incredible feedback from friends, loved ones, and strangers alike. Heading to the venue and carrying the dress and 'siat' to our uber, people asked me "where's the wedding?!" and gushed that I looked beautiful. This was the beginning of a night that would prove to be surreal. Let me elaborate.
I modeled the most beautiful dress I've ever worn. The dress felt so special because it fit like it was made for me. It boasted embroidered flowers and butterflies in a rainbow of colors that, as the wind blew, made them dance and flutter on a bed of white linen. My literal job was to stand or sit there and look beautiful, and to greet and to pass out sachets of lavender to guests of the event. Being that the evening was hosted by the Portuguese Consulate to celebrate Portugal's longstanding relationship with America for the upcoming holiday (fun fact: the founding fathers toasted the signing of the Declaration of Independence with Madeira wine), all of the guests were Portuguese or Portuguese Americans. They were very friendly, and fell all over me in this dress. People I'd never met fawned over my beauty in this masterpiece and pleaded for photos with me and of me, which I, flattered, obliged. The night was elegantly simple, and classic. The guests enjoyed a fine catered dinner in a private museum garden, where I frolicked in my beautiful gown in the late day sun. After dinner, we sprawled on chairs on the lawn to take in the beautiful music of a Portuguese concert pianist and singer. Listening to the tinkling of piano keys while draped across a chair in a white gown that surrounded me, enveloped me, consumed me in the best way, I felt grateful for the beauty of the moment. The wind blew and the butterflies danced on my legs. I drank in every drop of every second there on the lawn, as each was exquisite. At a point, I got up to walk toward the gate where I would see the guests out, as they'd soon be leaving after a peaceful hour of music and wine, and I was actually still working, believe it or not. As I stood there, the beautiful green flickers of fireflies caught my eye, and I let my eyes rest on the lush bed of ivy as dozens of little green lights swirled about. I stood there in a dress of white and couldn't help but think: this is what my wedding would be like. People gasping at my beautiful dress, the look of bliss overtaking me as I take it all in, a green ivy-laden garden with dinner and music, and guests in elegant suits and gowns. The most surreal part is when a man asked me to dance. He was an older gentleman- older than me, at least- and smiling at seeing me sway to romantic music in a language I don't yet speak, he asked me to dance. Yes, if this were my wedding, we would dance among fireflies in a garden of green, and I would be the happiest of any bride in the arms of a man who'd love me.
Friends and loved ones, seeing photos of my elegant night, extolled upon me the kindest compliments, expressions of admiration and awe, and encouragement to pursue my dreams and desires. Some sent private responses that were incredibly thoughtful and tender, and some, I think, just marveled at the unlikely event of seeing me in a white gown. I often balk at marriage and kids because my desire for them waned over the years since nearing this life with a man I loved. My desire for them further diminished after I was left by a man without explanation, after I was raped by a man at my most vulnerable, after I have endlessly allowed men to break down my barriers only to commit the same or similar acts of treason to which the man prior had subjected me. It is not hard to be a decent person, but I have somehow managed in the past three years to allow terrible or emotionally inept men into my world, and it ended up costing me a great deal.
The truth is, I am not closed off to the idea of marriage. I'm not closed to love. I believe, in spite of it all, I am more open to it than ever, almost as an act of rebellion. I REFUSE to close myself to the life I want. I DEFY the notion that hurt people hurt people; they CAN, but that doesn't mean they must. I was talking to a man I'm getting to know about trust, as he, too, has been greatly hurt, and it hurts me to know that he feels, in some way, unable to trust women. I find it especially troubling because he is a man I'd desire to pursue if he were available, but instead, some other women ruined his ability to trust. I don't want to become so jaded that men see me or listen to me and head for the hills because I'm bitter. I am an optimistic idealist and I believe in the good in people, while hoping for the best in them. But the world and it's terrible, hurtful people chip away at my natural character, making it hard to stay open. Defense is a learned response, so only a fool fails to block repeated blows. But how do you stay open for the right person while trying to dodge the bad?
To exorcise some of the bad that has happened to me, I said his name aloud. I finally told someone outside of my close circle of trusted friends, someone in the community who could possibly help, his name. I told this person what he did to me, and I said his name. So now it's out there. Yes, it hurt to relive it. Yes, it hurt to admit it out loud: I was raped. Yes, it makes me angry. Yes, I want him to die. Yes. The act of saying his name conjures strong emotions and reactions, but saying it to someone with authority felt like safety. It felt like taking off a bandaid to discover the wound had healed. Yes, there's a scar, but the wound is shut. It felt like freedom.
I seldom revisit or entertain people or things that have hurt me, but since talking this week about the man who ghosted me, he was on my mind. I was annoyed at him tonight. I was reading an article about sexual harassment in comedy, and he came to mind (despite all of his terrible, selfish traits, which I would uncover during our 9-month relationship, he was an ally to women in comedy, and I can never balk at him for that). I visited his facebook page to discover that he left New York and is back in Orlando. He is single. The man who made plans to move to New York to pursue comedy and- bonus- build a life with me, has started his life all over. Seeing that he started dating someone else a few months after ghosting me was devastating, but the realization I had tonight was profound: Ross ghosted on his own dreams, not just me. He'll never have anything good or stable to build on because he is a coward, as proven by the way he failed to address his motivations with me, his partner. As I have known, and can now confirm, he made a decision for me, which, despite his selfish, hateful way of doing it, bestowed upon me the blessing of opportunity to move on. I could have been wasting my time with a man made of cowardice; instead, by his backhanded blessing, I am single. And I am open. I'm open to building a life with a man who dreams of me in a white dress. I'm open to dancing with a man among fireflies to the tinkling of piano keys, to the winds that rustle butterfly wings. I'm open to sweaty days in bed, now unto the age of wrinkles, with a man who makes me laugh. I'm open to loving a man who will stay, who will bravely stay by my side, even in uncertainty (and there will be some). I'm open to you, whoever you are, and I'm waiting.
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