A Case of Teeny-Weeny Heartbreak

I met 31-year-old Rob online and things between us started like wildfire.  The first time we chatted he declared me unique, intriguing and his - a charge to romance like those of men I have loved in the past. After 4,000 hits on my profile and not the least bit interest on my part to pursue any leads, Rob was a breath of fresh romance air.   Yes, he was too young (I’m 17 years his senior, even though I posted my age online as 41), but he had the manliness, confidence, and a knowing that all those Wall Street hot shots, entrepreneurs and Manhattan sophisticates lacked but thought they had in droves; their love language consisted of stale humor, crude talk of sexual conquests, and interrogating questions presented like flirtatious conversation.   

The first couple of weeks of texts and emails between us were dizzying and exhilarating.  I felt like I was swinging from tree to tree, with no desire to ever land again.  I researched his hometown in NJ and read all about the love characteristics of his sign, Scorpio, deliciously obsessing about every detail he shared. This time, I decided not to analyze any of it - for fear of regretting not being present at the very moment when all things in love seem to survive questions, doubts, and reality-checks. In the past, I refused to give even the least bit more of myself for fear of rejection and big doses of heartbreak in the future. This time I was in attendance for all of it, and I would not later regret any of it.

Three weeks later, Rob started to show wear and tear: he disappeared, starting playing mind games, and didn’t answer my calls. It was a break- down caused by youth and immaturity in matters of love that I recognized in my own 31-year-old self, the one who wanted guarantees about every the direction of every single relationship possibility.   He questioned my motivations:  “Was I looking for marriage?” he asked. “ No, I never mentioned it,” I said. “You did. But can you ever really know where these things might lead?” I said trying to imply my openness to wherever our connection would take us.  Really, I thought maybe we could be lovers at the very least, even though I never mentioned it to him since he had become so anxious about the whole affair. He mentioned meeting, but never followed through.  He mentioned traveling to Paris and Cuba, and I entertained it all. But already he was caught up in wanting answers, not wasting time, thinking he could dictate what all relationships meant and what they should offer.  Really, he was at a time in his life when he was looking for the trophy but passionate wife, two healthy children, and a partnership at the law firm where he worked in NYC. And all his dreams and dictates about how life would be flawless reminded me of once being young and nieve. Even now I stopped myself from thinking too much about our age difference and our different paths in love (I was divorced with two teenagers and no longer desired more children) because my pull towards him was so strong I followed my heart to whatever the outcome. Yes, I had become complex and now allowed all relationships to become fully-realized organisms with due and expiration dates which I was never to be privy to.

When he disappeared for good, I emailed him a message because I’ve learned to be gracious about endings no matter how short the affair:  “So I guess we’re no longer chatting. Here’s wishing you lots of luck playing ball with all the fish in the big, bad sea.” (My reference to playing ball alluded to his own version of how love should feel).  

Then I mourned his loss for 12 hours: I sat around the house in my pajamas, read his old messages, Googled more information on his sun sign, and ate chocolate ice cream.  My friend said my grief was ridiculous, for a connection that barely lasted 30 days. He said that after he lost the great love of his life  due to divorce after a marriage of over 20 years - all other losses were not to be acknowledged.  But I disagreed with him because all love requires a commitment of feeling and feelings require recognition, celebration and grieving even the demise of teeny- weeny affairs. And so I grieved.