The Write Way Around: Traveling Tales

In the time that I’ve been back in Sydney, I’ve not gone out once. In order to save money in this city you basically need to stay say inside your house and not leave, and saving money in the limited time I have left has taken priority.

But last night was my good friend’s birthday, and so I went out. Thankfully I had a scuba diving assignment I needed to wake up for at 6:45 AM, which dissuaded me from ditching my budget to drink but didn’t keep me from staying out til all hours of the night.

Anyway, a friend recently described life post-break up as something I felt was spot on: it’s a social experiment of sorts.

In the time that I’ve been single, I’ve met a fair amount of guys without going out of my way to meet them. In that time I’ve tried to follow the advice of women (and men) around the globe: it takes meeting someone else to get over it -OR – the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.

I find this to be half-true. In the beginning, I pushed myself to “get over it” too quickly and judged myself too harshly for being hung up on X. I went home crying one too many nights after meeting a guy and feeling painfully guilty for having cheated on X when we weren’t even together.

My flatmates told me to be kind to myself. Meet guys, be open to conversation, but don’t take it any further until you truly feel ready.

And so I did, or tried very hard to. In that, I was surprised when I had a good conversation with a guy and found myself laughing and enjoying it. It doesn’t mean feelings are instantaneously gone, or that when a happy memory slips into thought it doesn’t feel like an earthquaking destroying the strength I’ve been trying to build.

It would just serve as a reminder that there was life and love for me after X.

I still found myself winding up in situations I wasn’t ready to be in – the feeling of someone else’s touch or body. It was unnerving – scary almost, because everything about these new guys felt so foreign. Not only did I not know them personally, but physically they were like an unexplored country to me: shoulders not as broad, a little too tall, stronger or thinner, the way someone would hold my face or how no one knew how to play with my hand.* I just found the unfamiliarity of it really unsettling.
So once again, I told myself to take a step back, not to judge myself for feeling sad or uncomfortable, and that eventually I’ll feel happy to have let something go from a conversation to something more.

But Saturday night, I went out to the Ivy to celebrate my friend’s birthday by going to the 70s theme night at the Ivy pool, and there was a kid there that – for the first time in a very long time – I felt like I had to talk to him.

The Ivy has a bit of a reputation for bringing in a varied crowd, and there was every kind of guy under the sun there, all of whom give sleazy looks or cheeky smiles like it’s their job.
Earlier that night I met an investment banker who claimed to be from New York (which got me so excited) but really was a small town Wisconsin boy with a bucketload of money and a mouth that liked to run on with stories about himself like a broken faucet. It almost felt like he had something to prove. Despite all that, though, he seemed nice enough (aside from a few drunken comments about cultural indifferences). Yet as we were talking I spotted someone else over at the bar and felt like my heart skipped a beat. I excused myself and went over to my friend: I need to talk to that guy. Like really. I need to know who he is.

“Really? Who? Oh – wow. He’s really cute!”

He wasn’t just cute – he was magnetic. It was the first time I felt the need to be near someone, find literally any excuse to strike up a conversation. I hadn’t felt like that since meeting X in Asia.

This kid’s eyes were like orbs; they weren’t that bone-chilling, icy blue but instead were a deep, deep blue that I wanted to dive in to and swim til forever in. He had dark hair, a bit of an unshaven look and knew how to dress. For a second I found myself thinking, Is this okay? Am I not supposed to be grieving still? Does this mean I wasn’t truly in love?

I pushed away those thoughts, telling myself to again look at it as nothing but a reminder that this was a big, big world with a lot of people in it. There was life after X.
So, my friend and I went over to this guy and his friend. The second they said hello I knew they were Italian, and I melted right into their rhythm of their accents.** We sat there talking for quite a while, and I learned that he was here coaching soccer at a high school and training young kids to play soccer. He was from Milan, and it suited him, because he looked like he walked right off the pages of a magazine. He got an extra 8 million points when he told me he wanted to write a book similar to Playing for Pizza, which I haven’t read but will read his when he publishes it.

The whole night felt good, and before he left he kissed*** me, and for the first time I wasn’t politely backing away or feeling like it wasn’t something I wanted to happen; this time, I wanted it to happen again…and again and again. It didn’t upset me, I didn’t focus on how different it felt, I didn’t think of anything other than the fact that it was fun. I was having fun and enjoying myself and for once not feeling so paralysed by heartbreak (or excessive public displays of affection). He took my number, told me he wants to see me again to take me to dinner in Surry Hills to show me where you can find the best pizza (he doesn’t ever consider ordering a bowl of pasta anywhere) in Sydney. Granted when a guy in a bar (especially The Ivy) takes your number it seems more likely that he won’t message than he would, but so far he’s been on his game.

Being single again now feels like one big social experiment. I pay so much more attention to the details of what’s said, what isn’t, what responses are given, what moves are made, the way people interact. I feel like I’m seeing, listening to and learning about things on a level that I never was on before, because I guess in a way I feel like I was never an active participant in the dating world. Now having been in a long-term and serious relationship, I feel like things seem more intricate and everything is scrutinized to the umpteenth degree.

I like feeling like an aware observer now.

 

Sidenotes:
*The hand thing probably sounds like something it’s not.
**I’ll be genuinely surprised if I marry an American.
*** I sort of really hate the word kiss so apologise for using it.