Monika Basile's Blog: Confessions of a Bleeding Heart - Posts Tagged "hope"
The Real Men
The things I admire about men are not what they would ever imagine.
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws become something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded that when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbors snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsman ship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. It isn’t really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
I love a man who can plunge a toilet and actually know what the hell he is doing. I love a man who sits down at new electronic equipment and is determined enough to figure out how to hook it up and get it working. I admire the man who knows that when a car is running funny to check the oil, the fluids and then every thing-a-ma-bob until they get it working again. I am astounded when I watch a man build something and measure and saw and hammer and a few bits of wood, wire, nuts and screws become something wondrous like a tree house or a swing set or a beautiful cabinet.
I find it amazing when a man can go to work in a suit and tie and never look uncomfortable or out of place. I like that even if they are clueless on a particular project at a job, they never let anyone see them sweat and still seem professional. I am astounded that when he can take a reaming from his boss or superiors and not feel the need to burst into tears. I admire the men who take the time to gain the knowledge to make them successful in whatever they do.
There is…
The man who kisses his kids good night and the one who makes time for his old mother to cut the grass and then sit and chat a minute. The man who plows his neighbors snow just because he was up first. The man who helps a buddy move even though he is too tired to do so. The man who coaches a little league team and makes a difference by showing good sportsman ship. The man who can say he is sorry when he wrongs someone. The man who pays his child support on time and even gives extra because he knows his kid needs more. The man, who instead of walking away, stands there looking completely out of his element while a woman in his life cries—but he doesn’t walk away, he stays. The man who is courageous when he is terrified.
These are the good men living side by side with us each day. We are not enemies. We are not from other planets. We are merely different.
We women spend too much time man-bashing. We spend too much time lamenting that there are “no good men out there”. There are. There truly are good men in abundance. We women need to realize that instead of being discouraged.
For the ladies who have such men in their lives, you are not holding a one in a million man—but one of a million and more. Appreciate him. Quit crabbing because he leaves his dirty underwear hanging on the bathroom doorknob, that he wants a night out with his friends now and then, that he’s not perfect. Just appreciate it.
And for those of us ladies who haven’t found him yet—believe you will. Believe he actually exists because he does. The good men of the world are alive and well and they are looking for you too.
It isn’t a man’s power or prestige. It isn’t what car he drives or that he has the face of a God. It isn’t his multiple PHD’s or the vacation home in the islands that is attractive to me. It isn’t really that important. It’s who he is.
Oh, and did I mention they smell awfully good too?
Monika M. Basile
Letter to the Man of My Future
There are things you will not know about me in the beginning. We are supposed to show our best sides first and be on our best behavior in the beginning. We are imposed upon with that rule by whatever deity created it.
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
If we are cars in the show room of life, we wouldn’t point out all the faulty parts, the dings and scratches we try to hide with a fine wax. We would never say, “Hey buddy, sometimes it breaks down and then you have to call a tow.” I am not implying that I am some hunk of junk trying to pass herself off as a Rolls Royce. What I am merely trying to get across with this bad metaphor is I am not “new” and that there are secrets in my life, just like in yours. And besides, one man’s junk is another man’s treasure—this is what I am banking on. I am hoping that you, the man of my future, will see all of the junk—yet find me enough of a treasure to keep me and not throw me into the scrap pile.
It would be so much easier to go into a relationship and just blurt out every ridiculous tragedy or insanity of my life. It would be easier to tell you that I have all these odd happenings and chaos rather than hope you will like me enough after awhile, to not run for the hills screaming when you witness them one by one or all at the same time. (This is my life and it happens quite often for everything to hit all at once.) It would avoid so much heartache to show up in a romance with a resume—politely listing each challenge that affects me and will someday affect you if you choose to stay.
Future man? There are things you will have to accept and get used to about me and the life I live and I would rather find out in the beginning that you are capable of trying. I would like to know before my heart gets too involved that you are brave—that you see enough in me to at least try to be brave some of the time if not most of the time. I know it seems a lot to ask but I will give the same. I can promise you I am not a ninny and I will not run away at the first sign of strangeness or difficulty.
I ask too—that you do not expect me to change the inherent characteristics that make me who I am. I ask that you accept that I will forever be a bleeding heart and trying to take care of people. I will never be able to walk away from someone who needs me no matter how many times they may have hurt me—no matter if I actually am emotionally involved with someone our not. My home will most likely have one child or another messing it up and causing me both joy and great worry. It will be my own children and even other people’s children whom I take under my wing. Just remember this heart of mine is big and it may even be your children someday too. Please sir, see this great capacity for loving people as a treasure and not a weakness. I most likely will love you just as fiercely and with the same loyalty.
I want to tell you I have silly fears that are unreasonable and absurd. I will always be afraid of the dark and the wind and clowns. I have been afraid of these things for my entire life and I do not see that ever changing. So don’t go standing in the middle of a tornado and let me cower inside alone terrified you will be blown away. Don’t dress up in a red nose and giant shoes and hide under my bed thinking that if I face my fear I will get over it. Don’t be annoyed that I sleep with the blinds open to let the stars and moon in because in the darkest part of night I feel it swallows me whole if I can’t see outside.
I hope you will be able to understand that I get lost in my own thinking at times. Sometimes, I need to be pulled back into reality and not with criticism and outrage—but with kindness and humor. I know it’s a tough job but someone has to do it. I have an extremely over active imagination and can get carried away. There will be times that I will need you—and I will be afraid to ask. And if I actually do muster up the courage to actually tell you, I will need you to follow through and be there—even if you can’t help me. Just be there.
Since I began with a bad metaphor I shall end with one too dear sir. Man of my future, I am not something to be test driven and discarded, I am waiting for you to close the deal so you will see that though there are kinks to be worked out… I am quite dependable. There are a few weird noises, clanks and clatters, but I still run pretty well. And just when you think that the brakes have gone bad and you are careening into a head on collision—it’ll be okay again. I’m here, sir, and I know—somewhere out there in this giant car lot, you’re looking for me.
Monika M. Basile
Ordinary Miracles
Einstein said that we could live two ways. One way is as if nothing is a miracle. The other as if everything is a miracle. I live that quote by the latter part.
In the darkest parts of night, I think too much. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can get dizzy laying in my bed without ever having the luxury of a good stiff drink. I am a worrier by nature, by heredity and by being blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination and yet, I am a believer in miracles in whatever form they take. I am merely impatient for them to arrive.
I am also learning to be a bit more specific in what I pray for too. I am sure God knows what I actually mean yet I think he tries to teach me a lesson or two along the way.
Last year I prayed for my stinking old faded— red to hot pink van that sounded like a spaceship taking off to just last until August. “Please, God.” I begged. “Just let this damn van last until August when I get my bonus so I can find another car.” It did. It died on August 11. However, I needed to be more specific as my bonus arrived almost two weeks later. But to me—that van creeping on and on for months on end lasted me and this was a miracle in my life. That van itself was the vehicle in several miracles. I happened to get a flat tire literally in front of the tire place where I had bought tires a few years before. My warranty had expired but someone else with the last name Basile still had a warranty and the service man took pity on me and gave me a tire. I had driven on the tire all morning. It could have blown out anywhere, but instead it blew out right in the spot I needed it to.
Though some may see it more as a tragedy to suffer out driving a van in a heat wave with no air conditioning and windows that did not roll down—I was still able to get to work each day. Of course I prayed each time I got in the stupid thing, but God made it last until August like I asked. And though this is a small thing, a small miracle, it helped me continue on in life.
We do not need a big ka-bang to have had a miracle in our lives. There does not have to be a burning bush, a fire breathing dragon slain, a neon lettered sign hanging in the sky with fireworks spelling out, “Hey you! Miracle coming—watch for it now!” We simply have to notice that what happened—shouldn’t have but it did anyway. We only have to see that we are somehow changed by what happens.
Sometimes people are put into our lives simply to be a miracle. It’s funny really, a dear friend of mine who is not a believer in miracles helped create one. He helped me to save someone whom I love very much and never realized he was the miracle. And it doesn’t matter what he believes—he is a miracle to me along with all of the other miraculous people who helped. There have been so many people in my life who have simply stepped in at the least expected time and changed my world. It isn’t luck(because mine isn’t very good). It isn’t even chance. It is what it is. You do not have to believe in miracles for them to happen. They happen anyway.
Does it mean my life is free of heartache? Does it mean that I live the life of Riley? Does it mean that things are easy and wonderful and perfect because I believe in miracles? Does it mean I never fear or question or wonder how I will get through what I have to get through?
Absolutely not.
It means that no matter how much I worry and no matter how much real or imagined tragedy may haunt me—I have hope that a miracle may just be waiting to appear as soon as I turn my head. I just have to stop a moment and notice.
Monika M. Basile
In the darkest parts of night, I think too much. My mind goes a hundred miles a minute and I can get dizzy laying in my bed without ever having the luxury of a good stiff drink. I am a worrier by nature, by heredity and by being blessed/cursed with an overactive imagination and yet, I am a believer in miracles in whatever form they take. I am merely impatient for them to arrive.
I am also learning to be a bit more specific in what I pray for too. I am sure God knows what I actually mean yet I think he tries to teach me a lesson or two along the way.
Last year I prayed for my stinking old faded— red to hot pink van that sounded like a spaceship taking off to just last until August. “Please, God.” I begged. “Just let this damn van last until August when I get my bonus so I can find another car.” It did. It died on August 11. However, I needed to be more specific as my bonus arrived almost two weeks later. But to me—that van creeping on and on for months on end lasted me and this was a miracle in my life. That van itself was the vehicle in several miracles. I happened to get a flat tire literally in front of the tire place where I had bought tires a few years before. My warranty had expired but someone else with the last name Basile still had a warranty and the service man took pity on me and gave me a tire. I had driven on the tire all morning. It could have blown out anywhere, but instead it blew out right in the spot I needed it to.
Though some may see it more as a tragedy to suffer out driving a van in a heat wave with no air conditioning and windows that did not roll down—I was still able to get to work each day. Of course I prayed each time I got in the stupid thing, but God made it last until August like I asked. And though this is a small thing, a small miracle, it helped me continue on in life.
We do not need a big ka-bang to have had a miracle in our lives. There does not have to be a burning bush, a fire breathing dragon slain, a neon lettered sign hanging in the sky with fireworks spelling out, “Hey you! Miracle coming—watch for it now!” We simply have to notice that what happened—shouldn’t have but it did anyway. We only have to see that we are somehow changed by what happens.
Sometimes people are put into our lives simply to be a miracle. It’s funny really, a dear friend of mine who is not a believer in miracles helped create one. He helped me to save someone whom I love very much and never realized he was the miracle. And it doesn’t matter what he believes—he is a miracle to me along with all of the other miraculous people who helped. There have been so many people in my life who have simply stepped in at the least expected time and changed my world. It isn’t luck(because mine isn’t very good). It isn’t even chance. It is what it is. You do not have to believe in miracles for them to happen. They happen anyway.
Does it mean my life is free of heartache? Does it mean that I live the life of Riley? Does it mean that things are easy and wonderful and perfect because I believe in miracles? Does it mean I never fear or question or wonder how I will get through what I have to get through?
Absolutely not.
It means that no matter how much I worry and no matter how much real or imagined tragedy may haunt me—I have hope that a miracle may just be waiting to appear as soon as I turn my head. I just have to stop a moment and notice.
Monika M. Basile
Being Careful What I Wish For
It is funny how there is a rare occasion when we get exactly what we have hoped, wished and prayed for. Then we have a hard time believing it has happened and think it might be mere coincidence instead of just being thankful for our good fortune.
I started an experiment last September. I asked God for a boyfriend (though I feel I am too old for that term it was the easiest to use) for Christmas. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous to most people who will read this. It is even ridiculous to me though it was me who prayed diligently and specifically on the off chance that if I was consistent in my thinking each day, what I asked for…would be mine.
What I asked for specifically was for God to bring into my life the man who would be kind to me, good to me, and the man whom I could feel as good about as they would feel about me. I asked God to choose since I am so horribly awful at choosing for myself. And I also took the advice of my crazy lady client and I got back on the internet as she told me too though she said God knew I was afraid to.
I joined a dating site finally in November. I got my courage up after the big freak out I had at the beginning of last year. Yes, I had reason to freak out at my last attempt—my prospects had been unusual and daunting. Including the man who sent me an odd rambling of sorts how he had invested a great deal of time to find me and spoke of his hobby of collecting exotic pets. The pictures on his profile showed him brushing his teeth happily with a squirrel sitting on the edge of the sink and his raccoons walking about on the kitchen counters. (In case anyone is wondering—to me this is wildlife not exotic pets) There were men who outright asked for dirty naked pictures and those who thought it might be flattering to tell me I looked like the kind of woman who was into casual sex. I had real reason to cut out on the whole internet thing. However, I tried again as I felt I should give the whole dating thing another chance.
And again, I had gotten the barrage of odd requests and an abundance of twenty something men to ask if I was a cougar and interested etc. I had one man ask me how curvy I was and when I responded, “As curvy as God made me” he replied, “Cute, but can I have measurements?” I said, “Absolutely not.” He never responded again. Despite all of this idiocy, I didn’t give up. I didn’t let it scare me this time. I held firm to my thoughts and continued to pray, “A boyfriend for Christmas, God… a boyfriend for Christmas…”
I even was so silly that when people asked me what I wanted for Christmas I said, “I asked God for a boyfriend…” and then would laugh as if I wasn’t quite serious because it sounds loony—yet I was deadly serious and meant every word.
In mid December, a man contacted me and was respectful. He called me and asked me out to dinner two days before Christmas. He was a gentleman that evening and we went out the day after Christmas too. Real dates—dinners, a movie, regular phone calls and texts. Normalcy—something I am not used to. When I returned to work a co-worker asked me what I got for Christmas, and I responded, “It’s a bit surprising but I may have gotten a boyfriend like I asked for. We’ll see.” My client asked me, “Did you get a boyfriend for Christmas?’ and I laughed and told her yes. She crowed loudly, “I told you! I told you! God told me you had to try again.”
I had some misgivings. This man is a nice man, a good guy, a normal person. What could he possibly see in me? However, he mentioned shyly one evening that he had contacted me almost a year ago and I never responded on the dating site that had scared me away. I remembered, after racking my brain his photo and simple letter and I am not even sure why I didn’t respond. It may have been I simply wasn’t ready for him then. Who knows?
He has met my children and all of the children in and out of my house. He hasn’t run yet. I haven’t really brought anyone into my real life for the fear of that—the running part. Last night he met my parents and family. I know my family was a bit shocked, he is not the typical man I date. He is pretty much the opposite in many ways. He is better. And he seems to still like me despite the utter chaos of my world. I don’t think he’s nuts in the least bit either which is really nice.
I don’t have any idea what will happen next or how long it will last. I got what I asked for and it’s really nice to have it. I had a New Year’s Eve date too—an added bonus since I have never had one before and I never thought to even ask for that one. I am willing to allow everything to unfold and see what happens next. I don’t have anything to lose and a heck of a lot to gain. We’ll see, we’ll see.
Monika m. Basile
I started an experiment last September. I asked God for a boyfriend (though I feel I am too old for that term it was the easiest to use) for Christmas. I know that sounds a bit ridiculous to most people who will read this. It is even ridiculous to me though it was me who prayed diligently and specifically on the off chance that if I was consistent in my thinking each day, what I asked for…would be mine.
What I asked for specifically was for God to bring into my life the man who would be kind to me, good to me, and the man whom I could feel as good about as they would feel about me. I asked God to choose since I am so horribly awful at choosing for myself. And I also took the advice of my crazy lady client and I got back on the internet as she told me too though she said God knew I was afraid to.
I joined a dating site finally in November. I got my courage up after the big freak out I had at the beginning of last year. Yes, I had reason to freak out at my last attempt—my prospects had been unusual and daunting. Including the man who sent me an odd rambling of sorts how he had invested a great deal of time to find me and spoke of his hobby of collecting exotic pets. The pictures on his profile showed him brushing his teeth happily with a squirrel sitting on the edge of the sink and his raccoons walking about on the kitchen counters. (In case anyone is wondering—to me this is wildlife not exotic pets) There were men who outright asked for dirty naked pictures and those who thought it might be flattering to tell me I looked like the kind of woman who was into casual sex. I had real reason to cut out on the whole internet thing. However, I tried again as I felt I should give the whole dating thing another chance.
And again, I had gotten the barrage of odd requests and an abundance of twenty something men to ask if I was a cougar and interested etc. I had one man ask me how curvy I was and when I responded, “As curvy as God made me” he replied, “Cute, but can I have measurements?” I said, “Absolutely not.” He never responded again. Despite all of this idiocy, I didn’t give up. I didn’t let it scare me this time. I held firm to my thoughts and continued to pray, “A boyfriend for Christmas, God… a boyfriend for Christmas…”
I even was so silly that when people asked me what I wanted for Christmas I said, “I asked God for a boyfriend…” and then would laugh as if I wasn’t quite serious because it sounds loony—yet I was deadly serious and meant every word.
In mid December, a man contacted me and was respectful. He called me and asked me out to dinner two days before Christmas. He was a gentleman that evening and we went out the day after Christmas too. Real dates—dinners, a movie, regular phone calls and texts. Normalcy—something I am not used to. When I returned to work a co-worker asked me what I got for Christmas, and I responded, “It’s a bit surprising but I may have gotten a boyfriend like I asked for. We’ll see.” My client asked me, “Did you get a boyfriend for Christmas?’ and I laughed and told her yes. She crowed loudly, “I told you! I told you! God told me you had to try again.”
I had some misgivings. This man is a nice man, a good guy, a normal person. What could he possibly see in me? However, he mentioned shyly one evening that he had contacted me almost a year ago and I never responded on the dating site that had scared me away. I remembered, after racking my brain his photo and simple letter and I am not even sure why I didn’t respond. It may have been I simply wasn’t ready for him then. Who knows?
He has met my children and all of the children in and out of my house. He hasn’t run yet. I haven’t really brought anyone into my real life for the fear of that—the running part. Last night he met my parents and family. I know my family was a bit shocked, he is not the typical man I date. He is pretty much the opposite in many ways. He is better. And he seems to still like me despite the utter chaos of my world. I don’t think he’s nuts in the least bit either which is really nice.
I don’t have any idea what will happen next or how long it will last. I got what I asked for and it’s really nice to have it. I had a New Year’s Eve date too—an added bonus since I have never had one before and I never thought to even ask for that one. I am willing to allow everything to unfold and see what happens next. I don’t have anything to lose and a heck of a lot to gain. We’ll see, we’ll see.
Monika m. Basile
Never Give Up
“Never give up...” most believe this is a quote from Winston Churchill. However, he really said, “Never give in...” I believe both thoughts are true. It’s why I am still here doing this dating thing. I’m not giving up.
I have been told by several people that I am absolutely nuts to continue this on especially because of the outcome of my last few dates. Lately, I have had some really great first dates with interesting men only to be asked a different version of the same question the next day.
“What do you like?” meaning sexually.
I am baffled and disappointed.
Part of me wonders if men encounter so many prudish women that they live in fear of every woman being prudish that maybe they ask to know up front. Yet I am utterly uncomfortable to answer that question from a stranger. It is intimate and private and something to be explored by lovers. It isn’t prudish to say, “I don’t know you well enough to talk of such things.”
I feel I might have a knack at magic because then that man suddenly disappears. Ta da!
It’s okay. At least I know right then that we are not a match. It is one step closer to the man I will be a match to.
I keep getting the same advice from family and friends, “Give up on the online dating thing. Try to meet someone at the grocery store or the library or church. Have friends set you up...”
My job takes me to the grocery store several times a week. I am there so much all of the employees know me by name. The produce man, Patrick, hugs me every week. We chat about his upcoming move to Vegas. The check out lady, Yvonne, asks how the kids are and what I’ve been up to. I am in the grocery store constantly. I have had several inebriated men hit on my in the aisles of the grocery store. I even had an old drunk man climb into the bin of watermelons to pick me the perfect one ( it actually was perfect). Yet, I haven’t met the man of my dreams but I am open to it if he shows up there in the middle of the frozen foods section.
All of my friends are in relationships or married. I am the single one. The fifth wheel, the one who messes up the dinner party. Nobody seems to know anyone male who is single. So unless I am being set up with the invisible man...it ain’t gonna work.
“It’ll happen when you are not looking...”
That to me is the painful one. I don’t know how to not look. Does that mean it will never happen? I don’t intend to imply that I am desperately running through the streets with a wild look in my eyes, whispering under my breath, “Please, please...somebody pick me.” Because I’m not. I just can’t pretend that I have no concern with ever having someone to share my life with. Because I do. It’s why I’m here and not giving up on any part of it, not on the good and not in the midst of the bad.
I am not giving in to the thoughts I sometimes have of, “How can this possibly be worth it?” or of , “Why am I doing this to myself?” and I refuse to believe that even most men are so ill mannered to want to know my every sexual desire without ever knowing me. They are not.
On I go, plugging away, meeting interesting people I may never see again. Stepping one step closer to maybe finding one of the ones who is stepping one step closer to finding me.
Monika M. Basile
I have been told by several people that I am absolutely nuts to continue this on especially because of the outcome of my last few dates. Lately, I have had some really great first dates with interesting men only to be asked a different version of the same question the next day.
“What do you like?” meaning sexually.
I am baffled and disappointed.
Part of me wonders if men encounter so many prudish women that they live in fear of every woman being prudish that maybe they ask to know up front. Yet I am utterly uncomfortable to answer that question from a stranger. It is intimate and private and something to be explored by lovers. It isn’t prudish to say, “I don’t know you well enough to talk of such things.”
I feel I might have a knack at magic because then that man suddenly disappears. Ta da!
It’s okay. At least I know right then that we are not a match. It is one step closer to the man I will be a match to.
I keep getting the same advice from family and friends, “Give up on the online dating thing. Try to meet someone at the grocery store or the library or church. Have friends set you up...”
My job takes me to the grocery store several times a week. I am there so much all of the employees know me by name. The produce man, Patrick, hugs me every week. We chat about his upcoming move to Vegas. The check out lady, Yvonne, asks how the kids are and what I’ve been up to. I am in the grocery store constantly. I have had several inebriated men hit on my in the aisles of the grocery store. I even had an old drunk man climb into the bin of watermelons to pick me the perfect one ( it actually was perfect). Yet, I haven’t met the man of my dreams but I am open to it if he shows up there in the middle of the frozen foods section.
All of my friends are in relationships or married. I am the single one. The fifth wheel, the one who messes up the dinner party. Nobody seems to know anyone male who is single. So unless I am being set up with the invisible man...it ain’t gonna work.
“It’ll happen when you are not looking...”
That to me is the painful one. I don’t know how to not look. Does that mean it will never happen? I don’t intend to imply that I am desperately running through the streets with a wild look in my eyes, whispering under my breath, “Please, please...somebody pick me.” Because I’m not. I just can’t pretend that I have no concern with ever having someone to share my life with. Because I do. It’s why I’m here and not giving up on any part of it, not on the good and not in the midst of the bad.
I am not giving in to the thoughts I sometimes have of, “How can this possibly be worth it?” or of , “Why am I doing this to myself?” and I refuse to believe that even most men are so ill mannered to want to know my every sexual desire without ever knowing me. They are not.
On I go, plugging away, meeting interesting people I may never see again. Stepping one step closer to maybe finding one of the ones who is stepping one step closer to finding me.
Monika M. Basile
More Than Paper
A lovely man recently asked me this question;
“Do you want to get married again?”
I was surprised. During all these years of dating—not one man has asked that. Not one single one. I think many people are turning against this tradition. It actually has been a question that I had been mulling over a few months before and came to a decision on. Yes. I do want to get married again. I don’t have to—I want to.
These past years I assumed someday I would live with someone again and just share my life. I didn’t really think too much about actually doing the marriage thing. I just figured living together would be okay, would be good enough, would be enough and it didn’t really matter. It’s just a piece of paper, right? It’s not all that important really, is it? And to my utter chagrin, I realize I was wrong in that line of thought.
A few months ago, while watching a wedding show, watching family and friends gathered, hearing heartfelt and genuine vows, and seeing the pure joy radiating forth, I realized that getting married means so much. It is a symbol but more than a symbol. It is a proclamation to the world. It is a declaration of love, hope and faith. It is more than a piece of paper. It is a grander story to tell than the one of living together tells. It is so much bigger than so many of us who have been through awful relationships realize.
There is nothing wrong with living together. There really isn’t. It’s just not going all the way. It isn’t completely committing even if it is committing. It isn’t near as powerful as the union of marriage. The story it tells is, “I love you. I’m willing to see what happens. I just don’t know how it all will turn out.”
And even marrying someone we never know how it will turn out. It’s simply a deeper faith in another. It is a bigger hope. It is a risk, but one that obviously means someone is serious about taking it. It is standing before your family and friends and the person you choose and it is telling this story instead, “I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you and I am bound to you in my heart, before or families, before our government, and before our God. And even though I don’t know what will happen or how it will all turn out, I know this—I want to find out with you. You are who I choose to share my life with. You are who I love most in the world.”
I want to tell that story someday again in my life. I want to share that story with someone again in my life. I don’t have to—I want to.
It is an act of bravery when two people get married. It is an act of bravery to put your trust in another’s hands and live your life with the thought that this person shall hold your heart tightly without destroying it. It is definitely a risk worth taking. We can’t live our lives by statistics and the fear of failing. We would be too chicken to do anything if we did. We are better off living it with love...definitely better off with love.
Monika M. Basile
“Do you want to get married again?”
I was surprised. During all these years of dating—not one man has asked that. Not one single one. I think many people are turning against this tradition. It actually has been a question that I had been mulling over a few months before and came to a decision on. Yes. I do want to get married again. I don’t have to—I want to.
These past years I assumed someday I would live with someone again and just share my life. I didn’t really think too much about actually doing the marriage thing. I just figured living together would be okay, would be good enough, would be enough and it didn’t really matter. It’s just a piece of paper, right? It’s not all that important really, is it? And to my utter chagrin, I realize I was wrong in that line of thought.
A few months ago, while watching a wedding show, watching family and friends gathered, hearing heartfelt and genuine vows, and seeing the pure joy radiating forth, I realized that getting married means so much. It is a symbol but more than a symbol. It is a proclamation to the world. It is a declaration of love, hope and faith. It is more than a piece of paper. It is a grander story to tell than the one of living together tells. It is so much bigger than so many of us who have been through awful relationships realize.
There is nothing wrong with living together. There really isn’t. It’s just not going all the way. It isn’t completely committing even if it is committing. It isn’t near as powerful as the union of marriage. The story it tells is, “I love you. I’m willing to see what happens. I just don’t know how it all will turn out.”
And even marrying someone we never know how it will turn out. It’s simply a deeper faith in another. It is a bigger hope. It is a risk, but one that obviously means someone is serious about taking it. It is standing before your family and friends and the person you choose and it is telling this story instead, “I love you. I can’t imagine my life without you and I am bound to you in my heart, before or families, before our government, and before our God. And even though I don’t know what will happen or how it will all turn out, I know this—I want to find out with you. You are who I choose to share my life with. You are who I love most in the world.”
I want to tell that story someday again in my life. I want to share that story with someone again in my life. I don’t have to—I want to.
It is an act of bravery when two people get married. It is an act of bravery to put your trust in another’s hands and live your life with the thought that this person shall hold your heart tightly without destroying it. It is definitely a risk worth taking. We can’t live our lives by statistics and the fear of failing. We would be too chicken to do anything if we did. We are better off living it with love...definitely better off with love.
Monika M. Basile
The Creeps
Love has a funny way of creeping up on you when you least expect it. Please note I am saying, “not expecting” and not the infamous phrase of “not looking for it”. There is a difference.
I am almost fearful to even write about it, as if it will all disappear simply to put it into words. At the same time I have wanted to shout from the rooftops, “Here now! It’s happening!” Instead I have been more quiet about this gentle surprise—wanting to keep it all safely hidden away so no one picks it apart—especially me. I tend to be someone to overanalyze things. I am sure most folks have figured that out.
I think it’s quite humorous for God to put someone in my life that I never in a million years would have thought I would have fallen in love with when he once had literally made me puke.
He was one of my brother’s friends. I met him when I was six or seven. We walked to school each day, my brother and him and me. I remember him being funny and making me laugh—except the day I puked after listening to him burp the ABC’s. We were in a heated car, my father driving the boys to bowling and me the tag along. He was himself, a goofball, and started to burp these long horrendous sounds, making me nauseous. When we arrived at the bowling alley I went right inside to the bathroom and was sick. This is my most distinct memory of him. I also remember him walking this tiny little dog he told me was named Killer and how I laughed and laughed over that. I find out now that it wasn’t even the dog’s name.
He crept up on me. I crept up on him. Love can be creepy. Who would have thought it?
It’s here now—in all its imperfection and I am just amazed at how different it is than I thought it would be. It is an odd feeling that he stays. I have this fear that he won’t, not because of anything he does because he is consistently consistent. It is something I have to own—this unreasonable fear that I am trying hard to shake, because it is just that—unreasonable. It is amazing to me too, that when I told him that—he didn’t run right then.
Trust is not an easy thing to give when you have had it broken over and over and over again. Yet, I have chosen to jump in with the faith that I have placed my heart into the most tender of hands—in the hands of a man who loves me back.
I come into this from a place of gratitude. I feel lucky. I don’t feel like I am owed this or deserve this or I did anything special to obtain it. Everyone deserves love in their lives but it doesn’t mean they will have it. We can all be doing all the right things, being exactly who we should be, and it doesn’t mean it will happen. I feel so thankful, not out of desperation, not out of loneliness, but out of the sheer appreciation of the man he is and that the great orchestration of events allowed him into my life. It feels like such a wondrous adventure to just sit and do nothing—to let it be and allow it all to unfold as it will. I am grateful for the experience and I am blessed that I am utterly aware of the gift of this time.
I only hope it creeps past so slowly so I can savor every moment.
Monika M. Basile
I am almost fearful to even write about it, as if it will all disappear simply to put it into words. At the same time I have wanted to shout from the rooftops, “Here now! It’s happening!” Instead I have been more quiet about this gentle surprise—wanting to keep it all safely hidden away so no one picks it apart—especially me. I tend to be someone to overanalyze things. I am sure most folks have figured that out.
I think it’s quite humorous for God to put someone in my life that I never in a million years would have thought I would have fallen in love with when he once had literally made me puke.
He was one of my brother’s friends. I met him when I was six or seven. We walked to school each day, my brother and him and me. I remember him being funny and making me laugh—except the day I puked after listening to him burp the ABC’s. We were in a heated car, my father driving the boys to bowling and me the tag along. He was himself, a goofball, and started to burp these long horrendous sounds, making me nauseous. When we arrived at the bowling alley I went right inside to the bathroom and was sick. This is my most distinct memory of him. I also remember him walking this tiny little dog he told me was named Killer and how I laughed and laughed over that. I find out now that it wasn’t even the dog’s name.
He crept up on me. I crept up on him. Love can be creepy. Who would have thought it?
It’s here now—in all its imperfection and I am just amazed at how different it is than I thought it would be. It is an odd feeling that he stays. I have this fear that he won’t, not because of anything he does because he is consistently consistent. It is something I have to own—this unreasonable fear that I am trying hard to shake, because it is just that—unreasonable. It is amazing to me too, that when I told him that—he didn’t run right then.
Trust is not an easy thing to give when you have had it broken over and over and over again. Yet, I have chosen to jump in with the faith that I have placed my heart into the most tender of hands—in the hands of a man who loves me back.
I come into this from a place of gratitude. I feel lucky. I don’t feel like I am owed this or deserve this or I did anything special to obtain it. Everyone deserves love in their lives but it doesn’t mean they will have it. We can all be doing all the right things, being exactly who we should be, and it doesn’t mean it will happen. I feel so thankful, not out of desperation, not out of loneliness, but out of the sheer appreciation of the man he is and that the great orchestration of events allowed him into my life. It feels like such a wondrous adventure to just sit and do nothing—to let it be and allow it all to unfold as it will. I am grateful for the experience and I am blessed that I am utterly aware of the gift of this time.
I only hope it creeps past so slowly so I can savor every moment.
Monika M. Basile
