A year ago, while in Hawaii (see previous post), and in the midst of the break-up of my longest relationship in 20 years, I determined that I needed at least a full year alone to “work on myself.” A time for grieving the passing of that relationship, of course, but the aim was to become the type of person I ultimately wanted to attract… A person who was totally autonomous, completely together, financially solvent, had their head on straight, and didn’t need “fixing” or “rescuing” in any form.
Well, as Dr. Phil would say, “Good luck with that.”
A couple months ago, I almost got sucked back into one of my prior “fix it” projects. But the old adage rang true: You can’t go home again. Or, even if you try, you are doomed to repeat the pain of the past. It didn’t work then, it won’t work now, and there is no amount of “wishing things were different” that’s going to change a darn thing.
Which means, since I recognized the self-destructive pattern before it got a vise-grip on my sanity, that I have, indeed, grown nearer my quest to be a self-sufficient, whole, vibrant, autonomous person. And that’s a good thing.
Acknowledging that I was given a test and successfully “dodged the bullet,” shall I proclaim myself now ready to go out in search of the next “Mr. Will Do”? Not likely. For one, I’m not sure Mr. Wonderful isn’t a figment of every single gal’s overactive imagination. After all, no one’s perfect. And for two, when HE’S ready, I’m sure he’ll come looking for ME.
And the bottom line: No white horses will need to be saddled up for either one of us.