I Love Her…

I have been married twice.

My first marriage lasted 20 years and my second 25.

And, on reflection, I am ashamed to admit that while I was fond of both, in retrospect I was in love with neither.

My first marriage could be summarized in a photo of two children pretending to be adults. She was, and is, a fine woman. The truth is she deserved better than she got.

My second marriage was pure heat. Nothing less, but mostly nothing more.

When I began dating Lorena Alcala after being separated a year from my second wife, I knew.

I knew that everything I had ever believed about love was altogether wrong from the start.

While objectively she was not the woman I was looking for, I knew deep within she was the woman I wanted. I needed.

She said the words first. “I love you, Jim.”

And I felt ashamed I had not told her first. Because I did love her. And I knew it.

I was a coward.

I knew I had a good relationship, the best I had ever had. And so I feared something bad was going to happen. Something bad always happened. And relationships ended and it hurt. And I didn’t want to be hurt again.

Brene Brown observed the dynamic this way:

“When we lose our tolerance for vulnerability, joy becomes foreboding. We are trying to dress rehearse tragedy to beat vulnerability to the punch.”

Thank goodness Lorena was not as damaged, not as fearful as I.

Once the words were said, I felt safe. I felt safe feeling them, saying them, and meaning them.

And then she was gone.

And now I am here.

Again.

This time alone and hating every moment of it.

But fearing the vulnerability it takes to be open to meeting someone new.

Not new. But different.

I don’t fear being unable to meet someone who is good, kind, and loving. Indeed, I have met several women who check all the boxes.

Except one. They are not Lorena.

I won’t meet Lorena again.

Ever.

F. Scott Fitzgerald wrote about one true love, “I love her and that’s the beginning and end of everything.”

If so, ending this journey alone is my destiny.

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