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By Valentine’s Day, the current of political resistance had pushed me to the edge.
After that breakup, I vowed to never make a submissive deal for love again.
What I neglected to see was that I identified with him. As a sorrowful figure who woke up into a mess with no clear solution, my drifting midlife crisis yoked well with his whole-life crisis. ”I realized that I was sloshing around in too much resentment. Then I decided to accept that my desires could remain like a thousand-piece puzzle still in the box, unassembled.
What I did was relax, letting myself simply be worshipped. What was even more revealing was when he shared his history with older women: his last serious girlfriend was almost my age. He left her during a tense recovery, when the healthy baby and the infirm mother both needed someone to wipe their tushies. Instead, he took the infant to live with an attractive rural woman he had met on Facebook, somehow got kicked out of there, lost custody of the kid to his half-sister, and six months later escorted me to a near-empty gastropub that charged for Brussels sprouts.
Then he told me that his worst day had been when his mother sexually abused him. As Nietzsche said, sometimes we show compassion to the unlucky because we are just glad it is not us.
The forces of solitude were crushing me when the damp-sky summer began.
I was haunting a corner market designed to look like a Gold Rush general store, buying the cheapest bottle of Pinot Noir and a sushi platter for one, when out of nowhere the bearded guy working the register asked me to dinner.There was a gray hair invading my afro-pompadour, sneering, I had a “survival job” in government communications where getting boss approval on anything was like facing the powerful final opponent in a martial-arts movie. “Senior”-titled Elon Musk admirers who wanted to be treated like heads of state.