Maggie West

Black and White Equals Gray

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder."

How many of us heard this expression and thought "What a crock of shit?" I know I did, many times, many years ago.

But I was young, foolish, and looked like the ass end of a horse in those days. My main concern was being attractive. So, I put certain behaviors on a shelf along with all my parents' teachings a long time ago. To my mind, men/boys didn't care about actions, only what I looked like in a skirt. That was enough to alter me for years to come.

That was the beginning of an ending I wrote into my life: "Hindsight is 20/20" they say. Had I remained the person my mother and father nurtured, the pages of my life may have been written differently. But I didn't.

Even as an adult—even in my thirties—my behavior was questionable. To be sure, part of me was a good person; a good friend. But the other half was ambitious, conniving, deceptive, and wild. But I was visibly attractive—somewhat at any rate.

This other half guided me into a relationship I thought would last forever. It lasted a mere fourteen years. And in those fourteen years, I did things that I truly regret (that I'm truly ashamed of). Things that I thought would keep my relationship intact. Things I thought my ex-husband wanted—needed—me to do. In those days, I became someone I thought he needed me to be. But as I said, I wrote our ending years before when I exchanged the better person of my youth for the lemon into which I developed. This souring only attracted people of the same nature. So my pugnacity grew. The moral and proper behaviors instilled in me as a child vanished. We squeezed each other dry until only bitter memories remained.

It took me two years to realize what I had done. I blamed my ex in the beginning. But he was what he was.

I couldn't change that. I could, however, change myself.

Of course, change—any change—is not a quick process. With the help of good friends, my mother, and my children, however, the old me resurfaced. Just a little at first, and then I meet Jeff through author Barry Eisler on March 6, 2007. The rest is now history.

Before continuing, I must state that Jeff was a godsend: We grew close rather quickly. And to this day, the reason for this escapes me. I only know that on that fateful day I found the answer to my prayers.

Of this man, I say this: His years on this earth, regardless of what transpired, molded the exemplary person who now stands at my side. He's honest, kind, and forthright and as different from the men of my past as night and day. His integrity took me by the hand two and a half years ago and has not let go since. I am a better person, in part, because of him.

At first, I was afraid to mention my past—to mention my recklessness—to this mountain of a man. But I finally did. To which he inquired, "What did you feel like when you did those things?"

Never, and I mean never, had anyone ever asked this question. Simply the asking lit the proverbial light bulb in my head. I hadn't liked it—I hadn't liked me. Perhaps this assisted my "change?" The person I could be proud of was there all along.

Therefore, when I read my e-mails from men or women who mention their negative behaviors, I cringe. Through e-mails I cannot identify these people as having good natures. Hell, I didn't see my own for many years.

Hence, if we do things we regret, we should ask ourselves Jeff's question. If we hate ourselves for what we do, then nurture those feelings: not the amoral ones. If, however, we feel no remorse, then we are a horse of a different color and my advice may not be that which my readers seek.

The idiom, "A tiger doesn't change his stripes" comes to mind. I'm not one to judge though. How could I? My past is as checkered as the next guy's. I simply learn from my mistakes and hopefully redirect others to a better path.

I do, however, know that inner beauty lights our way.

If we cannot discern black from white; right from wrong, then the grays become even harder. As Jeff says, "Never forget that gray is a mixture of black and white." And since life is chock-full of all three it may behoove us to figure out which is which. Or one can take my mother's advice: "Treat others as you wish to be treated." But if all else fails, my father's counsel was pretty damned good as well: "If someone jumped off a cliff would you?"

For the sake of illustration: It's easy to nag simply for the sake of nagging, right? But what if the amount of nagging, or measuring one person's nagging against another's is the issue? My mom does it; my friends do it; no big deal then. These are grays—are they not?

No, not really. To nag is to pester or annoy; to torment with anxiety; to scold, complain, or find fault constantly. Therefore, any amount of it is harmful in any relationship.

What's important is how we live our lives; how we treat others.

We should all stop and take a long hard look, every now and then, at whom we've become; or at the very least, the fallout we create by our actions. We must know that external beauty is limited. At some point, we all face the aging process. But our ethics and morals remain intact until the day of our death. So, which benefits us most?

My guess: the inside. The outside takes care of itself.

At the age of fifty-two, my looks aren't anything to write home about. But in my mind I'm the catch of the century for retaining the principles I learned at an early age. I'd like to think that Jeff saw these things in me on the day we met, or soon thereafter.

No one's life is a bed of roses. But creating a stench that permeates our futures isn't conducive to happiness either. My father used to say, "Bullshit works for a while, but eventually people know you for who you really are, and you're left with an ugly stain that no amount of soap will wash off." He was right.

Hence, when next we hear "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder," remember our physical appearance deteriorates with time, but our inner beauty does not and it is what attracts people most in the long run—for the long haul. It may stay hidden for a while, as mine did, but eventually it'll crawl from the dunghill under which we buried it, brush itself off, and surprise us.

No shit.

I Can’t Win!

Women are curious creatures.

Not curious in that we eagerly seek out knowledge or information—though we can be and are under most non-relationship circumstances—but in the Alice in Wonderland sense of the word: "Curiouser and curiouser..." When we argue or carry-on certain conversations with our significant others, however, we lose all reason and common sense.

Myself included (though not as much today as in my youth).

Why does this happen? Is it a genetic defect? Did our mothers somehow nurture it into our makeup?

I consider myself a person who solves most situations with a measure of intelligence and a mound of common sense. (More of the latter of course, but I've been blessed with ample amounts of both.) And I've made the acquaintance of many women who do the same. But in our intimate relationships, we drop "bombs," often losing all rational thought as we explode with emotion. Plainly put, we throw the baby out with the bath water. And, perhaps, most women regret these blasts later as I do.

Nevertheless, when "TC" began with "I can't win," I intuitively knew the source of his frustration—a woman.

I'd heard the same words spoken by numerous men in the past. And after the telling of each, the men referred to the women in their lives. With contorted features and clenched teeth, they explained their annoyances and/or previous grievances. It was not uncommon to hear these men sob, rave, or maniacally laugh; or see them tug their hair, stomp the floor, or slam their fists into the nearest target.

But that's not all…

At some point in each conversation, they generally turned to everything women did—since grade school—that drove them ape-shit. And being a woman, I scanned the check list of my own actions in my head as they spoke: Yep, I've done that. Uh-oh! That one, too. Hmmm…there's another. Damn! I do the same shit.

Afterwards, I'm shot the bulging-eyed "why?" expressions as these men rattle off a thousand questions. Okay, maybe not a thousand—but close to it.

"Why does she irritate me so?"
"Why can't she just stop?"
"Why does she always bring ____ into it?"

Why this…why that…why…why…why

And TC was no different.

After explaining that he frequently leaves the house in order to end arguments with his wife, he asked me "Why does my wife become just as angry when I agree with her as when I disagree?"

"I can't win Maggie."

First, most men resort to "fight or flight" when confronted. Their hemispheric orientation, dominant representational systems, and endocrine systems are very different from ours.

Second, when men walk away it means they're disengaging. Their left-brains have temporarily overridden their "lizard brains." It means they're physically and emotionally ready to "lay it all on the line"—but they've seen "the big picture." They decide to disengage rather than cave in to biology and employ that ever-present mega-dose of adrenaline and testosterone.

I should note that women must refrain from following their men as they uncouple: Especially if our intent is continuing the argument. This harms more than it heals.

On the other hand, women want men to pursue them once they leave the room during disputes. This action—to their minds—shows affection, caring, and compassion. They feel wanted and needed—important.

It boggles the mind. Doesn't it?

Naturally, hearing these things relieved TC (Something with which to confront the wife at a later time—no doubt).

Then, in his wife's defense, I began relaying reasons this could occur: If women become accustomed to a routine of clashing with their mates and suddenly hear "yes, dear," it sounds sarcastic. And if men employ the phrase after each sentence, then it surely is mockery. These two little words, however, used properly, do wonders for settling the many disputes of couples married for forty-plus years.

So, when's the appropriate time to use the "yes dear" response?

I don't know. I'm a woman.

And women move in seemingly unpredictable patterns. One minute everything is right with the world, and the next, it's gone mad. Is there such a thing as reasoning during moments such as these? Not in my mind—but again, I'm a woman.

Perhaps with many years under their belts, certain couples recognize these quarrels as minor. Perhaps the men and women in successful relationships realize which issues are important and which are not. As I've said one or two times before; knowing when to let go and when to stand and fight is vital for long-term "bliss."

So, who gives in first?

Does it matter? Ultimately, will giving in mar or damage us in any way? If both parties aren't in it for the "long haul," it might. Otherwise, it doesn't.

When, then, should we stop trying; when do we give up?

We shouldn't, in my book…

Most women react in the same manner under similar circumstances. Why begin this crazed cycle anew? Why put ourselves through other relationships with the misguided notion that "things will be different the next time?" The odds are; they won't.

I spent many years in the school of I'm-right-you're-wrong. And graduating from this rut seemed impossible until I realized that the problem was me.

Today, my humor and past experiences keep me sane (if you want to call it that) in this insane world. I am content with my life—with my love.

I know I'm crazy. I admit it. Adjectives applied to my behavior range from "peculiar" to "psychotic." And that's not news to me. I'm never shocked to hear this validated. I simply agree.

I'm certain I irritate Bean more often than not. He most assuredly thinks that I traveled here from some distant planet (and in all fairness, others have said the same of him…) And I'm just as certain that he blows off most of the steam created by my way of thinking when I'm not around. Otherwise, I'd see more meltdowns.

What a great partner, huh?

When he says "yes dear," it's a big accomplishment for him; whether or not he says it sarcastically (I add this only because tact isn't his strong suit). Regardless of his intent, I accept it as an affectionate term. Of course, my imagination is in overdrive most of the time—it helps.

When he walks away from an argument, I know he'll be back to take up his sword and duel with me again. I look forward to it, actually—another demented response, I'm sure.

But I know Bean loves me. And I make sure he knows I love him—no matter what circumstances befall us.

That's enough for me.

That's enough for him.

Is it enough for you?

Perhaps if more women recognized their imbalanced, subjective attached nature—and men their imbalanced, objective, detached nature—relationships would last longer. If nothing else, the number of arguments would surely decrease. Right?

Hell, I don't think women understand men any more than men understand women.

But, yet again, I'm a woman.

So ladies, repeat after me: "I'm crazy, and I admit it."

Ask Maggie

On this website, I (we) take relationship queries to heart. I state the "we" since the advice and opinions given within these pages are a combination of many others and my own. This team effort keeps the content enlightening and hopefully noteworthy for our visitors.

I may, periodically, pass on the various questions to a database of regular readers, to passers-by on any street, and/or survey a particular demographic. Answers are everywhere and come from anywhere. At times, they even come from where we least expect it.

The past experiences of those who have had similar situations, as well as my own, fill these pages. Discussions with couples who have been successfully married for 30+ years or boyfriend/girlfriend partnerships, which have stood the test of time and learned the art of communication, are included. And the list goes on…

…Whatever it takes.

If you have a question, ask Maggie: maggietwest@aim.com 

She's (we're) here to help.

NOTE: Real names are only used when permission is given. Otherwise, the names and places have been changed.

A Great Catch (or Two)

Some women have all the luck...

We spend our lives looking for that one pearl in a sea of murky water and mucky sand. And these days, the right conditions in which to shape this proverbial treasure do not exist (in my opinion), which makes it practically impossible. But there are women with such riches. I consider myself one of them.

The treasure of which I speak is a good man.

The most cherished possession for nearly all women is a good man by their side. But how do we know if we have such men? What reveals their inherent natures to us?

My answer: Time.

Most men start out as rowdy little boys who later turn into rebellious teens. As they grow into men, the nurtured aspects of their character mingled with a number of external forces shape who they become.

A few hints: Do they face most sticky situations head-on with good judgment and moral principles? Are they respected by others? Who are their friends? Do they still associate with childhood friends (There's a wealth of information to be had from this one)? What are their parents like?

Of course, the answers to these questions aren't fool-proof; but they help. They are but a few signposts that guide us to the man our men are, and only Time shows us the rest.

Regrettably, today most relationships end before men mature into the well-rounded, ripened, colorful apples of our eyes. Metaphorically speaking, we take one or two bites and throw them away.

What a shame.

Moreover, numerous years of marital "bliss" also shape certain aspects of their character. If women (and men too) put more time and effort into their relationships, the men of which dreams are made may ultimately grow.

But don't lose hope ladies. They're not extinct yet. Magnificent men are out there.

I saw one today: Mark.

I've known Mark for a little over two years—since I moved to Georgia. I'd like to think that in that time we've become somewhat friends. Granted, I only see him when my truck breaks down. But lately, that's been quite often.

This morning, I dropped off my little red wagon for service again. My darling husband (and I) overslept and he couldn't drive me to the garage as planned. So, I went solo. And it was raining. Upon arriving, I told Mark "I'll just walk home." We discussed the enjoyment of walking in the rain for a spell, and afterward he said, "I'll take you home."

Ah, the mark of a true gentleman.

As he drove me home in the rain, he mentions the significance of today's date.

"Today is the anniversary of losing my virginity."

Wow!

Now, I realize that most of us probably recall the specific details of such a thing. But how many can purport knowing the exact date? Not many, I suspect.

During our conversation, I also found out that he married this first love of his and brought two children into the world. Alas, though, a few years later, he was divorced.

"To this day, she doesn't believe she was my first," Mark said.

I've never heard anyone mention the date of such a thing (Other than my husband, of course. He remembers most things.), and I've discussed it with innumerable men. In my book, this makes Mark an exceptional person. The fact that he remembers the precise day in which this happened merits an A+.

I believe him.

And if the man he's become doesn't prove some of the aforementioned points I made, I guess nothing does. He is kind, good natured, and honest among other things.

There is no doubt in my mind that as a young man Mark was incorrigible—most men are in their twenties. But today, he is a good man—a great catch.

Too bad this isn't a dating site.

Hmmm…perhaps, if one lives in the Roswell, Georgia area; she could…

Aw, never mind.

At any rate, I'm amazed at the things that trigger certain emotional responses and memories—especially mine. For after seeing Mark this morning, I, once again, made note of how truly blessed I am for finding my Jeff: A pearl that may be a little bumpy still (smiling), but a true treasure nonetheless.

Thanks Mark.

Damn! I'm lucky.

Friends or Lovers

I can count on my one hand the number of great friendships I have. Conversely, the bad friendships I've had in the past are innumerable.

There are many big, bad wolves with ulterior motives in this big, bad world, and they rarely have one's best interests at heart. While searching for the needle in the haystack—real friendships—we are wounded by the many pricks (No pun intended) hidden in the heap. The likelihood that everyone we meet will become a lifelong friend is slim to none.

For this reason, when I receive e-mails that pertain to the camaraderie—the closeness—between two people who are not sexually involved, I'm cautious when answering. I prefer discussing these matters in person, and that is rarely possible. Especially when the internet and e-mail are our communication tools—shit! It's frustrating. There are many inquiries to make; many of the social interactions, between the two people in question, or the lack thereof, to discuss. Nevertheless, from time to time, I proceed without them.

As I do today…

"Paula" and "Paul" have been friends for almost three years. In her e-mail, Paula wrote: We were together every day; either before work or after; even during work hours, we texted each other regularly.

Neither Paula nor Paul was enamored of anyone at the time—let alone each other. Perhaps this is why they became close—very close. Unfortunately, such closeness alters many friendships. And Paula's situation is a perfect example.

Her feelings began to shift gears roughly one year ago. And her attempts to steer her heart away from these new emotions were useless. She also feared that declaring her love for Paul would surely end their friendship. And so, she remained silent.

Until six months ago…

During movie-night at Paul's apartment, after consuming too much alcohol, they made love. And afterward, she confessed her feelings for him and her torment in concealing them for twelve months.

Since then, their friendship has changed. But it's not the change for which Paula yearned. He now rarely calls. She rarely sees him. And she's filled with regret.

Therefore, she asks for a way in which to regain the friendship she once had. "I want to take back what I said" is one of the lines in her e-mail that leapt from the page.

And of this I must say: My dear Paula; what was said was said. You cannot go back—no one can. You can only go forward. Perhaps, this is not exactly what you wanted to hear. And telling you that you are not alone may not relieve the pain in your heart either. But it's true.

We all make mistakes. Unfortunately, there are times when we don't see them as blunders until we take the proverbial move in one direction or the other. And then, it's too late.

Friendship volleying (A term I use to describe such situations), however, can land on either side of the net. Many great loves began as friendships. But know that these attempts to win the game result in heartache as well.

Once we make a poor choice, we must move forward. Other alternatives present themselves and how to proceed is an individual decision. Suspending or minimizing any interaction for a spell in the hopes of remedying the situation, ending the friendship, or piecing it back together are all options.

Paula chose the latter.

And it will take time, much effort, and a good deal of patience. Even then, there's no guarantee the outcome will be a positive one. Therefore, before proceeding, Paula must accept the possibility of rejection.

Even if she isn't rejected, the friendship will not return to its original condition. But, a new friendship may develop that parallels the first and in some cases the second exceeds the previous one's strength: A stronger, more solid, friendship is established.

Don't lose hope…

But there is work to do.

First, admit your mistake. Do not excuse your behavior away by saying, "I was drunk." You were aware of your feelings; you put yourself and him in an awkward position—so come clean.

Do this regardless of who is initiating contact. Your e-mail states that you rarely see him; he hardly ever calls. Whether you approached him or he approached you; whether you called him first or he called you, makes no difference. Begin by making a clean break of things: Take responsibility.

Once you do, explain the value of his friendship and your willingness to make amends. Tell Paul that losing his friendship cut you deeply. Then, ask him how to proceed.

His suggestions will be ones with which he feels comfortable. And of all the successful attempts of which I've heard this is the best pattern to follow. Remember, it will take time.

As I said in the beginning of this piece, however, great friendships—lifelong friends—are hard to find. But, they are well worth the effort.

Alone And Pregnant

My recent e-mails beg the question: Do we even know why sex exists?

Let us begin by reading the definition from The American Heritage Dictionary New College Edition:

Sex - The property or quality by which organisms are classified according to their reproductive functions. The sexual urge or instinct as it manifests itself in behavior.

Sexual - Pertaining to or designating reproduction involving the union of male and female gametes.

Hopefully, these definitions will assist me with my answer to one of the messages I received from a young woman in her early twenties.

But first, allow me to digress for a moment or two…

Regrettably, the definitions of numerous words are so readily altered these days that one wonders why we bother putting them to paper at all. We interpret them as we choose; ignoring their original meanings.

If we compare today's dictionaries with those printed a mere thirty years ago, we see the capricious manner in which countless words are in vogued to the "point of no return." In other words, their meanings are lost in the latest fads, new slang, and popular rhetoric—never to be used properly in a sentence again. And then, we ultimately disregard the correct definitions.

Hell, many words are completely omitted from current dictionary editions and a large number of them aren't even recognized by a computer's spell check. One may find this rather comical—not I. It's a sign of the times: A sign of the ignorance plaguing our society.

In keeping with my original thought, though, today the word sex means a pleasure of sorts; a thrill; a conquest. Very few grasp that first and foremost it is an act of reproduction. And they're shocked when the rabbit dies.

Though current conditions parade myriad of couples who cheat, lie, backstab, or promiscuously fornicate for pleasure within the pages of numerous books, magazines, and newspapers; this does not excuse these behaviors. This does not make them right.

Why do we condone such conduct? Why do hordes view the latest and greatest Reality Slime Show rather than refusing to contribute to its popularity by not watching? Turn the frickin' set off. It works for me.

And why do we throw away millions of dollars on gossip and smut magazines, which create crap in-crap out mentalities for generations to come? Civilizations are wiped away in the wake of such torrents.

The pre-twenty-first century advice "If he/she jumped off a cliff, would you?" comes to mind. This and "You're gonna poke your eye out" were my father's favorites.

I believe in free speech as much as the next person. Let the media's propaganda infect the countryside. I could care less. I have my "cure:" A "little" thing called free will—a simple matter of choice. And I choose to not listen; I choose to not watch.

It's appalling to me how easily we allow others to herd us blindly into a ridiculous fad or malicious behavior. And the reasons given, the excuses made, are just as ridiculous as the behavior itself.

Our sexual escapades are included in this methodically designed mayhem. My e-mails have proven this to me. They've also shown me that for the most part our children are lost—lost in a sea of confusion and panic. And is it any wonder? Most adults lack direction and values. Therefore, how can we expect our children to behave otherwise?

One such lost individual is "Anne."

As I previously said, she's in her early twenties. And two months ago, a doctor informed her she was pregnant. Stunned and distraught, she went home and gave the news to her live-in boyfriend of two years. He, in turn, explained how much she meant to him; that he loved her—deeply; and how wonderful it would be to have her as the mother of his children.

Alas, that was two months ago…

Today, he wants out of the relationship. Anne wrote that he offered to pay for an abortion. But she doesn't want one—she thinks. She also mentions that he found a new love with which to spend his time. She's pregnant and alone, and asking if there's anything she can do; anything that will win back the heart of this man.

After a long and arduous period of consideration, I realized that her quandary hit home harder than any other question I've received in the past five years. I was twenty when my daughter was born. And I, too, was alone. My significant other wanted to stay together, but he also wanted me to get rid of our baby.

Putting my feelings aside as I answer Anne's e-mail could be rather difficult. But it's a task I'll gladly undertake. One for which I'm well equipped I believe. Not just due to the similarities of our predicaments, but because I've discussed these matters with quite a few youngsters, and therefore understand her options and I'm familiar with the ramifications of each choice. In the end, however, the choice is Anne's. What she does and how she reacts are her choices to make. Hopefully she finds the guidance she seeks and the peace of my mind she requires in my writing.

I'm fully aware that proper guidance and peace of mind are precious commodities. Their rarity makes them so to my mind. Still, for some reason, my life is now full of both. My guidance comes from many avenues: My husband, my mother, my mother-in-law, a handful of friends, reading, and last, but surely not least, my religious beliefs. My peace of mind mainly stems from only two of these listed items: My husband and my religious beliefs. And the older I get, the more I wish others had the wherewithal to gain these powerful assets. I find myself wanting to share these "gifts" I've been given. Naturally, I cannot share my husband for obvious reasons, but I do pass on much of the warmth and security he gives me. My hopes have been that others might find their way, as I have found mine.

And so, these hopes go out to Anne on this day.

But before I convey my opinions with regard to her situation, I'd like to quote an age old piece of advice that my mother often said, "Why would he buy the cow if the milk is free?" It sounds silly, huh? Well, I thought so too thirty-some years ago. But it holds just as true today as it did then. Oh sure, one may get lucky (as I have), but the odds are that good men will not settle down with women who are easily bedded.

The first step in any relationship is dating. And according to the same dictionary mentioned at the beginning of this piece, a date is defined as having social engagements with persons of the opposite sex. Notice this says social, not private—not sexual. Dating is a time of discovery. We should never cut this step short. We should revel in it. The longer this period lasts the better one knows the other proposed half of the new relationship. This step brings out the best in us: We put our best foot forward so to speak. So, have fun; get to know one another.

The women of the past were masters of this first step. In some instances, the dating period lasted for years. But for the most part, no matter how long it endured, sexual encounters came after weddings—not before.

Add to this that these women were ladies: A quality that is sorely lacking in the women of today. Their refined habits, gentle mannerisms, and sense of responsibility mingled with their courage and strength made the majority of them true prizes. Men fought for them; died for them. Armies battled due to the love of a man and a woman. Never underestimate the power of a lady.

And so, my first piece of advice for Anne is to remain ladylike: Head held high, shoulders back, no yelling—composure is the key. Then, do what's best for you and your child. Trying to win back the heart of a man who walked out on you after hearing of your pregnancy is not what's best. And he now beds someone else: A sure sign of a jerk in my book. If these are his actions now, then, even if, by chance, you win his heart again, he'll eventually leave once more. He might wait until next month, next year, or even ten years. But in all probability, he'll leave.

It's difficult for most women to walk away from dirtbags: Something I've never quite understood. But Anne, believe me when I say that there are men out there who will gladly accept you as you are—baby and all—good men. But for now, your main concern should be you and your baby.

As for the abortion issue, you should take responsibility for your actions, even though this man has chosen to ignore his. If you decide you're not ready for children either, perhaps an alternative to consider is adoption. There are many couples who would love to be in your shoes. And the life growing inside of you should have its chance to live.

If you choose to raise the baby, which is my advice to you, as I did, then know that my decision to do so was one I did not regret—and never have.

We never know who our children will become; what they'll accomplish in their lifetime. I thank God for my daughter. She was/is a beacon of light in my darkest hours. And recently, she bore my first grandchild. I think back to what my past would have been like without her and I know I made the right choice. There is no other choice in my mind.

If the three jobs, no sleep, and financial stress I endured in my twenties were my price to pay for having my daughter, then I'm glad I paid it. And given the choice once more, I'd do it all over again.

I know the road ahead seems bleak—insurmountable. But it doesn't have to be. It all depends on your mindset, attitude, and, yes, your courage and strength.

It's better to be alone and pregnant than alone and in a relationship. I learned that the hard way too.

Loaded For Bear

"Oh no, he didn't!" Cori said.

Cori is a wonderful young lady in her twenties who rarely frowns, and is usually in an exceptionally good mood. She makes me cry with laughter. I love that. And I have the distinct pleasure of seeing her twice a week.

Last week, this is what I heard:

I've been seeing this guy for seven months. Some of it has been a little "off;" some bad; but mostly it's been okay. What relationship doesn't have its ups and downs—right? Anyway, throughout the past few months, we discussed our likes and likes. And I made sure that he understood my distaste for "gay" tendencies in the bedroom. I've been with too many guys that want you to do some weird shit to them while having sex, and I'm just sick of it all. So, this guy knows this right? And what does he do last night? He asks me to fuckin' stick my finger up his ass while we're making love. "Oh no, you didn't!" I said to myself.

Oh no, he didn't! Maggie.

Are men just stupid? Well, I kicked him out. I never want to see him again. He thinks I'm being way too difficult. And he left saying that his request was not an unreasonable one. But, as I said, we discussed these things many times in the past.

What do you think?

I consider this a "loaded" question. Why? No matter how I answer, someone out there in Readerland will spit bullets. Fortunately, for me, though, I'm not writing to appease anyone. I often listen to the know-it-alls who refuse to listen to any sensible conclusions or the rigid ones who rarely bend when a clever opposing view is presented. And, without a doubt, there are oblivious ones who wouldn't know their ass from a hole in the ground. There's an innumerable assortment of "guns" and all sorts of "ammunition."

I collect numerous crucial and informative tidbits, however, from these people.

For instance, I know that we cannot always believe what we hear, read, or see. I know that a great number of so-called experts have no more expertise than a good number of the population. And if we do not ask for ourselves, search for ourselves, or seek answers for ourselves; our recourse when confronted with certain predicaments may lead us down the wrong path.

Therefore, I have a number of specific beliefs, with respect to the aforementioned matter. Let's take them one at a time, shall we?

Experimenting sexually with a partner has its advantages I'm told. Various books and magazines often make reference to this effect. Numerous writings assert that these sexual escapades bring two people in a relationship closer together: Of course, in my opinion, only if both parties agree wholeheartedly with the given circumstances. Often, one person gives in under duress or "for the sake of the relationship." Neither of these has a positive effect on any relationship. Additionally, let us ask: "To what extent do we experiment?" When do our sexual exploits become distasteful? I know it's hard (sarcasm), but we should not base propriety's standards on what actors do in a movie or what one reads in a magazine. These are forms of entertainment (to certain people, at any rate)—nothing more. And these days, the word "entertainment" is synonymous with "A crock of bullshit." So, I pay little attention.

But, the privilege of discussing many relationship issues with numerous couples has been mine for the past six years. And sexual experimentation is one of them. Their lessons, my theology, and my upbringing formed my many opinions.

Therefore, this is what I believe:

Cori, though in her early twenties, is a woman who already recognizes what she will and will not do behind closed doors. There are many more women who do not. Or, perhaps, they do and are afraid to voice their desires and/or fears thinking it would damage their relationships. To these women I can only say that a healthy relationship consists of devotion, dignity, and respect.

How do we truly respect those who do not respect us? What measure of dignity is negotiable? And how precious are loyalty and fidelity to us?

Most definitely, a relationship is full of compromises. But one should not make any concessions for the matters mentioned in the above paragraph. It is a sure sign of a bad relationship.

I, myself, learned this the hard way (A story for another time, perhaps).

Next, the man Cori mentioned can get the same "feeling" he wanted by way of that little area between a man's nut-sack and anus (The perineum). At least this is what I'm told. My husband calls it the "t'aint." Other men's descriptions of said area are rather humorous.

And one final note: Cori, don't say, "Oh no, he didn't." anymore. It's surely slang for "I come from the ghetto." It is to me at least; oh, and my husband; and the neighbor down the street; the person standing next to you in line at the grocery store while you're on the cell phone; even, perhaps, an educated bum or two (smiling).

Until next week, dear lady.

No More!

"No more."

With one look at his pained expression, I understood the difficulty he faced when saying these words to her.

For two years, he stood by his woman—through thick and thin, as the saying goes. He fortified his patience as she indulged in late night excursions, did nothing to discourage indecent proposals from other men, and exhibited other inappropriate behavior. What else could he do? He loved her.

They engaged in screaming altercations, wounding remarks and harsh words that poisoned the very root of their love. Soon, his or her—it matters not which—tongue cut too deep. And she left.

For months, in between drunken stupors—and the companionship of other men—she'd telephone. He listened, intently at first—then, later, rather indifferently. At times, she sounded remorseful; but at others, her words hacked at his heart with a vengeance. Overall—and most importantly to his mind—each conversation ended poorly.

After six months, he stopped taking her calls.

After a year, he began seeing someone else.

Next, the age-old phenomena of female behavior known as "If someone else wants him, he must be worth it" reared its ugly head and she requested to see him. He agreed. And they met.

To his surprise—and perhaps to his alone—she wanted to begin anew; to pick up the pieces and try again. He found himself listening to every word she said as he became simultaneously interested and dismayed. And when she finished, an austere silence filled the room.

"Six months ago, I would have given anything to hear those words," he told me. "Six months ago, I would have cut off my right arm for her."

"But now, now I'm tired of hurting. I'm tired of expecting a healthy relationship when there will never be one. She doesn't even know what one is. Does she? She'll never know."

He took a deep sigh, looked at me, and stated, "But I still loved her."

And then, his eyes lost their brilliance, his mouth drooped at the edges, and the shadows on his face deepened. Before continuing, he lowered his head and seemed to be rehashing the unfortunate circumstances in his mind.

He hesitated, and then muttered, "I told her, 'no more.' I just can't. No more."

His teary eyes rose to meet mine as he asked, "When do I give up? When does it become hopeless? Was I right in saying what I did?"

Regrettably, my response to these questions isn't a simple one. And when I say that it's not simple, this refers to the act, not the reply. The reply is rather simple and it's the same one for each.

In the movies and fairy tales, the answer would be that it's never too late. And, of course, one's family and friends are the quickest to jump to the "get rid of 'er/'im" conclusion. Moreover, in real life, these outlooks are the ones to which we cling. Aren't they?

But the answer lies within you.

How much are you willing to withstand? Weeks? Months? Years?

How long should we "hold on" to ensure that regret and remorse do not follow us in the years to come?

Each of us has a limit.

And no one's is the same.

For some, mere weeks ass before they seek the arms of another in hopes of dispelling their agony. And soon, the pain dissipates: Slowly at first, but we get better. For others, a lifetime would not be long enough to heal their wounded hearts. By my calculations, however, most of us will fall in between the two.

To my mind, however, none of us is immune.

For each of us there exists a person who will try our souls, break our hearts, and leave us questioning our own worth. How we deal with this pain, in part, defines our future relationships—our future lives.

We mustn't allow a false set of norms to dictate when it's time to quit. There are no norms.

The decision to say "No more" must come from within—not from without.

A Little Help From My Friends

"Who the hell are you…?"

I hear these words from time to time; particularly when I respond to certain relationship issues (and in a certain way). My answer: "Nobody special."

In the last five years, I've discussed relationships with thousands of people. In making this statement, I realize that "butt-loads" may be a better estimate. I've sat in smoky bars for months on end, stopped people on every street corner, and received a permanent seat at the local Borders café. In the last two years, I've met thousands more through this website. Some readers have stayed for the duration, others linger only for a spell, but all have contributed to this site and my mind, and for that I am grateful.

My friends and acquaintances include a few psychologists and psychiatrists who are tapped, every now and then, for information. Plus, others who, like my friend Marc MacYoung, give out reading lists: Emotional Vampires being one of them (and a damn good one, at that). Last but not least, there is my better half, Dave Bean, who has read (and probably has) about every neurosis and psychosis known to man.

Were it not for all these people—the ones I've met and haven't—the journey I embarked on five years ago would have been long and grueling. To some extent, perhaps, it still was. But I had some very good people as my guides. So, I never got lost or beaten by aggression and silly demands. If one knew half of my friends, one would know that, lined shoulder to shoulder, they make a pretty damn good wall and, at times, can be rather intimidating (hehehe).

Of course, I can't rule out common sense. Thank the Lord; I'm blessed with a fairly good share of it. Some of the predicaments that cross my screen simply need a fresh eye, an outside mindset, or new perspective in order to be assessed properly. And this I give them: A little too boldly sometimes, perhaps. But I'm asked, so I answer.

One of my readers posted an article of mine on AlphaInventions.com the other day. And my hits went through the roof (What a great site!). The quote which started off this post may have come from there, or, perhaps, I have pissed off someone else on my readers' list, yet again.

Either way, I am what I am. Someone who has simply seen our America family units placed upon the fires of governmental and social bullshit and left to burn until nothing but ashes remain. My goal is simple: To pull them out of the flames; one relationship at a time, if need be. And yes, the thought that I may not succeed has crossed my mind. But what kind of person would I be if I didn't try?

Nobody special.

The Jester

"Good-bye cruel world. I'm off to join the circus. Gonna be a broken-hearted clown."
~James Darren

How many times have we thought ourselves the fool?

How many times have our hearts been broken?

Many I suspect.

The world is far from perfect, and, as it's often been said, life isn't fair. Unfortunately, there's no changing these two well-known facts. When it comes to matters of the heart, there is no cheating, skipping over, or stealing in the game of life.

Why?

Because we know what we've done, how we've acted; we see the real us; and, regrettably, there's no running away from ourselves. Plus, "a tiger can't change his stripes." Others will eventually discover the truths. Our transgressions have a way of returning and biting us—hard—on the ass. I, along with innumerable others, have no idea how this happens. It simply does.

How we conduct ourselves during a divorce, broken heart, infidelity, or any of the other copious situations with which we're confronted while in relationships is a measure of our character. Forget melodramatic country songs, which purport bashing up cars, "turning the tables," or, in one way or another, getting back at whoever smashed our world to pieces. Forget most of the advice given by concerned family or friends (Some of it warrants our attention, but the majority comes from sympathizing with our situation: The "been there, done that" syndrome). And whose life is it anyway? Ultimately, who answers for the choices made, for the actions taken, and the words spoken? Each one of us does!

If I had a nickel for every time I hear "I'm sorry I did that to her/him," I'd be rich. Hell, even, a penny for all the "I wish I could take it all backs" I hear. And others like:

"Í should've done [that]."

"I should've done [this]."

"I should've kept my mouth shut."

"I shouldn't have…"

"I wish I could go back, I'd do/say things differently."

The conversations I have pertaining to these matters usually begin with: So-and-so said I should this; and I did; what a mistake that was. When are we going to understand that no two relationships are the same? Why? Because, no two people are exactly alike—that's why. What works for one person, doesn't always work for another. Though, I've said this a time or two, there are those who don't quite grasp the concept.

We must follow our own hearts.

Who knows our relationship better than us? Who knows the exact events that have transpired in the past few months or years better than us? How many of us leave out certain variables when telling our quandaries to family or friends: Things of which we're ashamed, things we don't want known, or simple facts that may be distasteful to us or others?

Will following our hearts make us fools? Perhaps. Will we lose our pride? Perhaps. Will we be sorry? There's a chance that we may not. The alternative is, however, certainly not an option if we desire to make amends.

If we do everything within our power to remedy a situation with our loved ones, the outcome, regardless of what transpires, leaves us content with our own actions. Our hearts may still be breaking, but they are also aware of what moral fiber we're made. Not exactly the answer we want, I imagine. But, it makes a huge difference, believe me. And, in all honesty, we may be surprised what acting the fool can accomplish in a relationship. The greatest fools I know are very happy with their lives. Dropping the silly antics and losing a bit of pride does wonders to heal the wounds we've inflicted or that have injured us.

I know a man who, many years ago, could not make things work with his wife. He tells me, "It wasn't anyone's fault. We just couldn't make it work." To this day, he keeps his wife in the lifestyle that they built together all those years ago even though they live apart. In his case, it was a matter of character—of promises made. Is he foolish for doing so? Not to him. He'll earnestly state his reasons for anyone who asks why. To say that this man has immeasurable integrity and principles does not do him justice. He is a successful business man with many solid friendships and another wonderful woman in his life who has accepted him completely and wholeheartedly. It has been so for over twenty years.

And I consider our meeting a blessing. The conversations we have had together have opened my eyes to many things, but most of all it has given us a mutual admiration of one another and the beginnings of a good friendship.

Then, there is a man who hid all his earnings from his wife through eighteen years of marriage, divorced her, and is living "high on the hog" while she returned to work and now lives modestly. There's a woman who writes: My husband cheated on me, so I slept with his best friend. I was hoping he'd feel as I felt—betrayed. But he didn't. Another woman writes: My husband is sleeping with a friend of mine and my friends say to dump his ass. But I love him."

As the years move on, and we look back at our lives, what will we see? How will we feel about what we see?

Joining the circus may, in all likelihood, sound pretty damn good to some. Others may think that retribution should be theirs for the taking. I found, however, that, though, we may not see it, a reckoning does occur. Paybacks come in many forms. How happy does one think another person will be after leaving a trail of heartache and misery behind him or her? Not very.

Think carefully before acting. Allowing revenge to darken our hearts may have the reverse effect. The atonements for our actions lie in the future. And the nature of these are squared solely on our shoulders—no one else's.

"There's a sucker born every minute."
~P.T. Barnum, Barnum and Bailey Circus