I think I’m ready to try my hand at dating.
I think.
In thinking about the possibility of dating, I did something I have never done before, I went back and read something I wrote during my early days of being widowed. It was a post from my own blog, where I was discussing how our song, “Something Stupid,” came to be.
In that post I was talking about the early days, when we were a very new couple, and love, passion, and sex, were all so new and exciting. We were in the throes of passion, and one of us said it, “I love you.” Now looking back I could swear it was Michael who said it first, and he always swore it was me. In either case, we both ended up proclaiming our love, and then laughed about how vulnerable one feels when those words are first proclaimed. We talked about what it meant for each of us to be in love, and what we wanted out of the relationship.
In considering the idea of dating, I have to admit that I really miss being loved, both emotionally and physically. I worry that I may not truly be ready for this, or that my motives might be confused with my need for comfort.
Is it fair to begin a new relationship when my emotional needs are so high?
I also don’t want to confuse sex with love. After having such a wonderfully loving relationship, one where I felt fulfilled if we were making love, or if we were just sitting side by side reading, I don’t know if I will have the patience of mind to allow a new relationship to slowly develop. I fear that I am too needy. Will I become an emotional mess if something in a new relationship triggers past memories? Will a new potential partner be comfortable with the ghost of my late husband remaining a central presence in my life? Will I even find someone who will want to date me?
If I am honest, I would have to say that what I really want is for someone to come over and just hold me through the night. Is that too much to ask for?
I also worry that the first time I do have someone in my bed, that I will just become a wreck. I worry that it will take me back to those wonderful nights with Michael, and I’ll either be filled with sorrow that it is not him next to me, or guilt that I have allowed someone to occupy what was once his space.
Maybe I’m not ready to begin dating after all. Maybe I’m just terribly lonely. Maybe I’m still holding on to something I used to cherish, but can never again be.
I wish I knew what was best for me. I wish I wasn’t sitting here wishing that this had not been my fate. I wish I didn’t talk to myself so much. I wish I wasn’t so analytical.
Am I ready to start dating?
I think I’m ready to start dating.
I think.