The best worst thing
A few days ago, Peripatetic Polar Bear asked, "What's the best worst thing that ever happened to you?"
I've led a pretty charmed life in many respects. No major tragedies. No health problems that couldn't be treated. No huge struggles. The only really bad thing about my life for many years was that I was really, really lonely.
Now, there are a lot of really stupid things you can do if you're really, really lonely. Lucky for me, I avoided most of them. One advantage to discovering at a painfully early age that the world is a scary place was that I was too scared to get myself into big trouble on any front. But eventually even the Coward of the Universe (my superhero identity before I became -- musical flourish -- Housewife... of... the... Universe!) broke down and took a risk. A stupid one.
There was this guy, see. Looking back on it after so many years, there really isn't too much to say about it. He was sort of a jerk, but I was sort of an idiot. And a very lonely idiot, at that. So there was this guy, and whatever it was we were doing, we did it for a couple of years, and it pretty much sucked, but it was just slightly better than nothing. Just slightly.
Finally, though, things came to a head and I was forced to realize that this -- whatever it was -- was not any better than being alone, that it was several degrees worse. The guy and I had a big ol' angst-filled farewell, and I wept lo! so many copious tears all the way home. (Nothing, but nothing, could make me nostalgic for the drama of my late teens and early 20s. What a waste.)
Right after the guy and I broke up that last time, I did something that was totally out of character for me. I went to go see my grandma, who was then recuperating from back surgery. My plan was just to spend some time with her before I left on a summer trip. But once there, I broke down and sobbed on her shoulder about this guy. My poor grandma was not one to be particularly comfortable with emotional displays (or personal revelations, but those I kept to a minimum, even while sobbing on her shoulder). She patted me awkwardly until I pulled myself together, and, as is generally the rule in my family, we didn't speak of it again.
End of story. At least, that's what I thought. I went on my summer trip, and started making some plans to pull together some sort of life for myself.
What I did not know was that, a few days after my visit, the rabbi came to visit my grandma. A courtesy visit after her surgery. And my grandma did something totally out of character for her. She shook her finger at the rabbi and implored, "Rabbi, you have to do something! Phantom is 24 and she hasn't met anyone yet!"
The rabbi, who was himself rather reserved, went home and told his wife about this encounter. They both laughed. She was not the yenta type either, so this request from my grandma looked to produce little more than laughter around the rabbi's dinner table.
Until. One day I got a call from the rabbi's wife. She sounded extremely embarassed. "Uh, Phantom? Would you, er, mind if I gave a friend of my son-in-law your number for when he's in town over the holidays?"
After I stopped laughing, I said, "Sure, why not?" A blind date set up by the rabbi's wife? Who in her right mind would give up the opportunity to tell THAT story?
Well, pixies, that friend of her son-in-law was none other than Mr. Blue. Together for ten and a half years, married for eight, two Adorable Offspring, three Jonathan Richman tickets for tonight.
And I am here to say that breaking up with that guy was the best worst thing that ever happened to me.
I've led a pretty charmed life in many respects. No major tragedies. No health problems that couldn't be treated. No huge struggles. The only really bad thing about my life for many years was that I was really, really lonely.
Now, there are a lot of really stupid things you can do if you're really, really lonely. Lucky for me, I avoided most of them. One advantage to discovering at a painfully early age that the world is a scary place was that I was too scared to get myself into big trouble on any front. But eventually even the Coward of the Universe (my superhero identity before I became -- musical flourish -- Housewife... of... the... Universe!) broke down and took a risk. A stupid one.
There was this guy, see. Looking back on it after so many years, there really isn't too much to say about it. He was sort of a jerk, but I was sort of an idiot. And a very lonely idiot, at that. So there was this guy, and whatever it was we were doing, we did it for a couple of years, and it pretty much sucked, but it was just slightly better than nothing. Just slightly.
Finally, though, things came to a head and I was forced to realize that this -- whatever it was -- was not any better than being alone, that it was several degrees worse. The guy and I had a big ol' angst-filled farewell, and I wept lo! so many copious tears all the way home. (Nothing, but nothing, could make me nostalgic for the drama of my late teens and early 20s. What a waste.)
Right after the guy and I broke up that last time, I did something that was totally out of character for me. I went to go see my grandma, who was then recuperating from back surgery. My plan was just to spend some time with her before I left on a summer trip. But once there, I broke down and sobbed on her shoulder about this guy. My poor grandma was not one to be particularly comfortable with emotional displays (or personal revelations, but those I kept to a minimum, even while sobbing on her shoulder). She patted me awkwardly until I pulled myself together, and, as is generally the rule in my family, we didn't speak of it again.
End of story. At least, that's what I thought. I went on my summer trip, and started making some plans to pull together some sort of life for myself.
What I did not know was that, a few days after my visit, the rabbi came to visit my grandma. A courtesy visit after her surgery. And my grandma did something totally out of character for her. She shook her finger at the rabbi and implored, "Rabbi, you have to do something! Phantom is 24 and she hasn't met anyone yet!"
The rabbi, who was himself rather reserved, went home and told his wife about this encounter. They both laughed. She was not the yenta type either, so this request from my grandma looked to produce little more than laughter around the rabbi's dinner table.
Until. One day I got a call from the rabbi's wife. She sounded extremely embarassed. "Uh, Phantom? Would you, er, mind if I gave a friend of my son-in-law your number for when he's in town over the holidays?"
After I stopped laughing, I said, "Sure, why not?" A blind date set up by the rabbi's wife? Who in her right mind would give up the opportunity to tell THAT story?
Well, pixies, that friend of her son-in-law was none other than Mr. Blue. Together for ten and a half years, married for eight, two Adorable Offspring, three Jonathan Richman tickets for tonight.
And I am here to say that breaking up with that guy was the best worst thing that ever happened to me.
posted by Phantom Scribbler at 3:50 PM 
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