Door Number Three

I have been in love twice. Two times. The other dating/relationship experiences were something else. Infatuation. Poor judgment or maybe just poor lighting. Caught up in a fun moment that I spent the remainder of the involvement trying to recreate. A humiliating episode that would turn out to be character building. Something that could have been wonderful except for the timing. In love. Twice. I was married to the first one. And in many respects it was very good. And given our respective amounts of baggage when we hopped on the marital plane I think it worked well most of the time. It was a practical arrangement and was a quite traditional marriage. And oddly, for me anyway, the practicality and tradition were aspects that made it falter and fade. I chose him because I knew he was reliable. That he would be a good father to the children my biological clock was screaming for. That he would go to work and come home at night and be faithful to me. We worked remarkably well together on projects that ranged from adding on to our home to a complete kitchen remodel to building a garden shed. He mowed the lawn and changed the oil in the cars. I cooked the meals and did the laundry and stayed home with our children. For the most part I was happy for a long time. At least I thought that I was. I chose him with my head, too much with my head. I did love him very, very much but I chose him too much with my head and not enough with my heart. So eventually there was something in me that was unsatisfied and unanswered. The second time I fell in love it was a decision made primarily with my hormones. It was an emotional hormonal roller coaster ride which I barely survived and only recently feel as though I have mostly recovered from. But, oh, what a ride it was. Not one that I would care to take again. I loved him deeply and dearly and with a ferocity that often surprised me. He left me with many a cherished memory, just as many hard lessons learned, and a heart so broken I truly thought I would die. Where love grows, so sayeth the song, a fool knows that the hurt can go as deep, don't make a promise that you cannot keep. I am healed but scarred, realistic yet optimistic, and feel ready for love number three to knock at my door. And this time I know that while it is necessary and important for my head and my hormones to be engaged, this time he must first speak to my heart. Third time's the charm, after all.