The reason I didn't move forward with the conversation is I had already realized things weren't going to be more than an email correspondence and occasionally (and I mean rare occasion) hanging out before our second date. Don't get me wrong, it was a great date, but I was actually surprised that he had apparently contemplated otherwise. I knew this because I had stayed in the present. I had listened to my own gut reactions, and had noticed that our actual real time connecting (which was sporatic at best), rather than projecting a future of a possible "us together" based on the fact that he totally fit my political idealogy and is a smart funny wordsmith (which I love) and charming and cute.

You see, he is committed to a project, and it's an important project (the most important in his life at this point), and for the first time in my life I understand I have no need to long to be more important to someone because, well, I have a really full plate. I am dancing to the beat of my own drum and riding my own trains, whereas for much of my adult life I simply pretended to and waited for the damn phone to ring impatiently. Trust me, in the past I have created great romances in my head on fewer crumbs than the two of us had going, but this time I totally got that we hadn't actually created enough of a bond for me to really miss him.

I know both men and women are great at the projection game, shooting our imaginations forward into the future about how an attractive someone can totally fit into our lives when they simply smiled at us on the street, or a few hard to fathom conversations, or we've had a few good dates, etc. etc. but it's so emotionally dangerous because it keeps us from staying connected to how we really feel and what's really going on in our own heart and soul right now. And it keeps us being available for those who are actually ready to show up in person ready.

Oddly enough the next day after this email exchange, and my "thank you, but no thank you" answer my old boyfriend wrote me an email (and emailing is just not his cup of tea) and an old friend (male) im'd and asked, "hey, when are we getting together?"

In the movies these days our true romances are few and far between, and our romantic comedies often lack character, chemistry, story growth and teeth - they are so often about people who won't last longer together than the credits that it makes my teeth hurt more than the candy I eat while watching the film. So while I love movies, and I continue to search for the ones that inspire me, when I want to get clearer on what I want I turn to books.

Not long after I became separated (and eventually divorced) I decided that I wanted to figure out why I was so lousy at love. This site, and my years of being a romance and dating advice writer, all stem from that ongoing search. I'm very happy to announce that it has turned from an adventure that often made me cringe with embarrassment to one that I now truly enjoy. Now it's an adventure I look forward to.

Being a reader I of course initially marched off to the book store and bought every relationship book that intrigued me. But I also started to re-read The Lord of the Rings books (I'd gotten as far as the Hobbit and the first in the series in grade school) in preparation for the movies coming out because I have big fantasy geek side that I delve into whenever I'm sad, and stressed, or just totally tired. I was all three, and sick with migraine headaches to boot. Happily I discovered my first truly romantic ideal hero - the character of Faramir who comes into the series in book two.

A little while later I discovered Harry Potter. His youth and the fact that there was nothing at all romantic in the initial several books (let's give him a break, he was a kid) kept me from realizing that Harry is indeed my romantic ideal hero number two.

Around the same time I stumbled into a Crown Books and found a book called Death Comes as Epiphany by Sharan Newman for something like $4. It was a smart mystery romance set in the middle ages and I adored it. Happily it was also the first in a series of which several books had already been written. The stars of the series are a married couple who are continually stumbling upon mysteries and murders (they just meet in the first book) Catherine and Edgar, both who thought they originally wanted to join the church until they met each other.

It wasn't until beginning to re-read the Newman series a few days ago (I loaned them to friends and I'm slowly buying them back online) that I realized that Edgar is of course my romantic ideal hero number three and I got an even clearer picture of who the right man is for me than I had before. I love when this happens. All of my romantic heros are indeed heros, they are willing to face their own fears and even death to help others, especially those who are disadvantaged. All of them stand by their beliefs and have a very strong sense of justice and right and wrong. All of them love their friends and family deeply. All of them love to learn (though Harry isn't quite a book worm) and all of them love one woman truly, madly and deeply.

Like many of us I can get so wound up in wanting to get things done the way I envisioned and planned them in my mind, and on my calendar, that I completely forget to be here "now." This morning I have a shirt to try and iron as meticulously as possible, and cuticles to make neat (in case I show my hands in the photo), and I could really get wound up about the fact that while I'm looking forward to having a new photo taken I also dread the process because I'm just not fabulously photogenic. I have learned how to take a good photo, by being prepared and not fearing the process. Which brings we back to being here now. You have to be here "now" to take a good photo, you have to relax in the moment and think about what you want to project to whoever is looking at the photo, and not get all caught up in your head about feeling unattractive, and having a crooked nose (which I have), or skin that still breaks out (ditto), and the hundreds of other ways we can pick ourselves apart and not feel good enough.

I've learned something interesting over the years, the best models aren't the ones who are the most physically perfect, they are the ones who trust the photographer and know they can make some magic together in the moment. Fear makes even very beautiful people unappealing in a photo.

So I am very happy this morning that I decided to move slow and write this blog instead of rushing around. I'm happy to have reminded myself how to take a good photo. And I'm so happy I met E yesterday in person for coffee (which ended up being a long breakfast) and that my email friend is just as much fun to talk to in person. I don't think either of us knows what we're doing or where we're going and that's totally okay (something I couldn't have said to you, or enjoyed very much, five years ago). It's lovely just to let the process unfold and relish getting to know a new man.  It's lovely to discover new qualities, or unused qualities, brought forward from this new person too. We don't allow ourselves this pleasure very much, not with new people or even ones we've known for a long time. We project and assume, both in the negative and positive. We give people attributes and faults on very little information, or holding onto the past. But just by being curious and open can reap such rich rewards. People can surprise us, and we can surprise ourselves, in the most fascinating ways.

Whenever I can relax my guard and "be here now" I remember that now is where all the power truly is anyway. I can't undo yesterday's mistakes but I can learn from them now. I can't undo yesterday's sadness but I can change my attitude moving forward about it now. And the most important thing is that I can change my attitude about myself right here right now. If I can allow that I am enough as I am now I can take positive action, but I need project nothing. 

But I'm meandering off course here, that's a subject for another blog and/or article. What I've been thinking about over this long weekend, and something my email buddy brought up, is just how difficult it is to be yourself. He noted that he can only be truly himself by himself and I would wager that it's the same for most of us. We play roles in society, the dutiful daughter or son, the husband, the wife, the account executive with high energy, the friend with the open ear...and they are all part of ourselves, but if we're not careful we can become fragmented and inauthentic.

This gets us especially into trouble with love because we often move forward thinking we need to create a false front to even be given a chance. Often we present a self that is a dumbed down version of ourselves. True, it's not wise to move into initial encounters with people with our broken hearts on our sleeves and our closet full of skeletons open wide, but there's a middle path to navigate here, one that allows us our unique qualities and talents without celebrating our failures as the main reason to know us .

By only sharing the qualities we think most acceptable in society we narrow way down who we appeal to, and the people we get to meet. We become fake bland facades of ourselves and then we're surprised when we only get bland uninteresting acceptance in return, but on the other side, by only sharing our drama and challenges we either repel those we'd like to attract or attract only those who want to help save us.

For years and years I thought I would always be the person who loved more in a romance, that I would be the patient waiting one, hoping, because I'd spent a lot of time doing this. I blamed it on thinking I needed to earn my way into anything I longed for. So right after I presented myself as the sexy siren, I would switch to the all too available girl waiting by the phone. Perhaps you know this gig?

But over the past several years I've gotten very honest with myself about this - and I've realized that I haven't liked it when someone chases me too hard, is too filled with obvious ardour, it has made me tremendously uncomfortable. What I realized is that for years I set myself up as the one who would be waiting because it was a way of controlling things at a pace I could handle. I longed for more connection and attention and response from those I was crushing on, or was madly in love with, but in truth I wasn't in a place to handle very much more at all. Were it given to me on a platter I would have initially been thrilled and then I would have shut down, unable to accept it.

I have begun to make real peace with the fact that I am more of an introvert than an extrovert, though I can play the extrovert really well when I want to, and can enjoy it. I have begun to see my very necessary down time not as waiting for anything except for me, and inspiration, which is crucial for a writer. And it's crucial for me to understand my own romantic process and needs. And I'm coming to happily own my own particular brand of geek chic-ness, that I am brainy and passionate and green and love Vogue and Vanity Fair and Harry Potter, that I am crazy for Thich Nhat Hahn, www.speakingoffaith.org and the groundbreaking Susie Bright. And it's so much fun meeting the men who are drawn the to real me.

I was finally able to watch 2007 version of "The Painted Veil" with Naomi Watts and Ed Norton last night (the first time I rented it it was damaged) and so enjoyed it. Produced by both Watts and Norton it's a beautiful movie, certainly one to be proud of, and a very interesting tale of projection and desperation and finally redemption.

We know from the very start of the movie, almost from the first frame, that Norton's shy bookish doctor is in over his head with the beautiful bored and spoiled Watts. They marry anyway, because her family is disappointed in her and she wants some sort of independence, and he is in a rush, madly infatuated (perhaps for the first time in his life) and wants to find a wife before heading back to mainland China and his work. 

I don't want to give away much more of the plot for those who haven't seen it, but I do want to point out that it's an interesting study of someone who truly believes they know themselves well when they get into a relationships with someone who they know doesn't return their affection (at all, or at least not to the same degree), but feel they can handle because they are just so darn smitten. What a deal with the devil this is. Hell hath no fury like someone who loves madly, knows the love isn't quite returned, and then has the proof of it shoved in their face. Let's just say that Norton's doctor isn't quite the mild mannered fool he is taken to be (and when is Norton ever quite what he first appears?) and thus sets off the film's real adventure.

What I loved about the movie is the opportunity to see someone we've been intimate with, and think we know, in a whole new light. To see them at their best in tough circumstances, a best others know but we've been blind to, when we've already written them off.  In this case both leads have written each other off and are initially determined to hold the pistol of misery to each other's heads...but Mr. Somerset Maugham has another idea and it's a lovely one.

On a side note, and again I hope I'm not ruining it for anyone, there is a lovely moment when we watch Watt's character fall for the charming seducer of Liev Schreiber, a man of easy words who weaves a story that enchants her. We women are aural creatures, often falling through our ears -  thus the seduction technique was born. The problem is that bravado with words can only get you so far.

 
In the middle of watching So You Think You Can Dance? last night I was very sad to learn online that the fabulous Cyd Charisse had past away from an apparent heart attack on Tuesday. Oh Cyd, such charm and grace and legs! I will never forget the first time I became aware of this marvelously talented dancer while watching the fantasy dance sequence in "Singing in the Rain" as a young teen besotted with all things old Hollywood, and especially Gene Kelly. Oh my, when she takes Gene's geek glasses and grinds them into the floor! For me, in this number, she epitomizes the great mystery of female allure, one that I feel we just don't have a good handle on yet.

Cyd danced marvelously with both Fred Astaire and Gene Kelly, but it was Kelly who looked most comfortable handling those long long legs. There will never again be a woman who can carry off green tinged stockings the way Cyd did, there will never be a woman who can vamp pure sex but keep from crossing the line.

I am a dance fiend. It's been a long time since I've burned up the dance floor myself, dancing so long and so hard I had to dry my hair when I got home (okay, it hasn't been that long), but I still enjoy watching others go at it. I love Dancing with the Stars, but my fave is So You Think You Can Dance? I have to say it gives me hope, especially in a time when it's so popular to bash the young Gen Y generation for being lazy and technology obsessed. I adore the concept of having kids from all over the country, from all kinds of dance backgrounds, being paired off and then having to learn a new style of dance each week to present for our viewing pleasure (I never watch the next night when people are eliminated, I'm not into the embarrassment when everyone is obviously working so terribly hard).

Dance is where we see the great mysterious erotic energy between the sexes come into play, perhaps at its finest. It doesn't matter that many of the male dancers are gay, the yin and yang is still there, still wild and joyous to watch. What I particularly love is when the hip hop dudes take a leap of faith and truly step out of their comfort zone and learn to own a whole new manner of moving their bodies - whether it's tango or ballroom (as Switch did last night God bless him). They are marvelous when they can let go and trust. They make me cry. I have to be a bit silly and sentimental along with the female judges (who also cry at times) and admit they bloom into men right in front of our eyes. It's so very hot.

Dance can be brutal. I cringe when the contestants don't make it, when they stumble or just don't dazzle. It's so heart breaking and like everything in life sometimes it's just not your day, sometimes your best doesn't cut it. It's an exacting artsport but I'm not sure that any other form of exercise can get us out of our heads and into our bodies the way it can. When any of the other "pretty" sports have an air of sensuality to them (i.e. gymnastics, ice-skating) it is because of dance.  And what I love best is the pairing up of the men and the women, of each sex showing themselves at their very finest. 

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