That morning John said goodbye and headed home to take care of some business. He wanted to make reservations at his favorite place in Pismo Beach for my upcoming birthday, and said he had a few other things to attend to.
We were so happy.
The night before, John told me he loved me just seconds before drifting off to sleep. We didn’t speak of it the next morning, but there was joy surrounding us we could both feel.
And it felt good.
When John told me he was dating someone else, I wasn’t surprised. I could tell from our very first meeting at Starbucks that he’d been on many such meet and greets.
He was tall, dark and handsome, smart and witty. And I had been online dating long enough to know he was a rare find indeed. But just because he was one of few, that didn’t mean I wanted to jump into an intimate relationship with him.
So someone else did.
I’ve written before that 1999 was a difficult year for me. I moved, divorced, lost friends, changed jobs, had surgery and turned 40. It was a big year.
When I moved from my farm into town I went from 20 acres, a 3,000 square foot home, a shop and barn, lots of animals and spectacular views, to a 900 square foot home on a tiny lot, a carport and one dog. We split the dogs up when we got a divorce, but the kids came with me.
So I learned how to share a bathroom with teenage boys, make the best of our small house and go for walks in the park that was just a block away. I was finding my way again in the world, and it was exciting and scary.