"You should be kissed, and often, and by someone who knows how." That's what Rhett Butler rakishly told Scarlett in Gone With the Wind. And, frankly my dear, I feel the same way.
I read that it takes half the number of years spent in a relationship to recover from it. Since I was married for 16 years, that would mean waiting another four years, but if I have to wait that long, I may well explode - or resort to Tinder.
This winter, on a beach in Aruba, I felt my first glimmer that I was ready for romance. My epiphany didn't come in the arms of a stranger. It came from observing myself in the moonlight mooning over my dog's photos on my iPhone!
I was in the Caribbean for a week keeping my widowed father company. I spend a remarkable amount of time with my father and whole family as we run a Vermont family inn in Manchester, Vermont.
My sister and I share an incredible home which abounds with family and friends.
Our two brothers turned our childhood home into an organic farm and live there with their families, friends and a rotating crew of idealistic young farmers.
Our father lives above his Museum of the Creative Process in the heart of Manchester Village, Vermont. We all live within a three mile radius of the Wilburton Inn which is our family core. Our cup runneth over daily with an ever changing tide of couples, artists, foodies, yogis, dog-lovers, scholars, brides and grooms and multi-generational families. With such glorious company, who could possibly be lonely for a boyfriend?
But two weeks ago I had a revelation. I threw my father an 80th birthday party and 30th anniversary celebration of being family innkeepers. This epic five-day blow-out was the Vermont version of an Indian wedding. All four siblings (plus a former Broadway star of Les Miserables) performed a musical about our father's theory that I wrote 26 years ago for my Brown University thesis.
We led a weekend workshop called Healing Ourselves and Healing our World. Guests took their Creativity for Self Discover testing and shared their insights. Dad led the group through his sculpture trail retracing the history of religions.
The guest list of 100 included editors of Psychology Today and Yankee Magazine as well as the town baker and three rabbis. My father is so inspired by his ideas that he didn't skip a beat, but I was so utterly exhausted I spent a full week in bed to recover.
As I rested, I realized that my father is thriving. Our inn is thriving. My child is thriving. And I am thriving too. I spent these past four years creating a brand new life. I not only divorced my husband, but also my 25 year identity as a songwriter and New Yorker.
When I ran the NYC marathon in 2001, I learned to conserve my energy. Instead of high-fiving all the cheering supporters along the 26-mile path, I realized that the only way to reach my goal was to ignore the well-wishers and instead look straight ahead.
I understand that I haven’t allowed myself to be distracted by dating because I had a bigger goal before me, a marathon of shifting identities, righting the course of our 65-room inn, creating a home for myself and my son in Vermont and reconnecting with the small town I abandoned 30 years ago. All my dating energy was spent learning how to be an innkeeper, hostess, wedding planner, decorator and Vermonter.
Four years ago, I sold the diamond in my engagement ring and replaced it with an emerald. It was a symbol to herald my new life in the green mountains. Now I truly feel married to Vermont. Just two weeks after my father's celebration, my sister and I welcomed 125 guests in our home for a lawn party and concert to honor an opera singer once owned our house. Among the crowd was a tap dancing Irish reverend, a movie star who has made our small town his home, and a colorful community of musicians, artists, neighbors and friends.
My sister and I just bought the falling down mansion next door because we heard a developer planned to buy it and knock down the house along with the maple tree we love outside our window. I feel like that maple. Grounded, Rooted. Expansive. Strong.
I emerged from my week of rest transformed.
I felt like Sleeping Beauty who woke herself up with her own magical kiss. I stepped out of my room like a butterfly emerging from the chrysalis, ready to spread her wings.
At last I am ready to be kissed by a man, not just embraced by a community. Perhaps he will be as suave and cosmopolitan as Rhett Butler. More likely he will wear flannel and drive a truck with a dog hanging out the window beside him.
Either way, I am grateful for how I spent the past four years. I greet the future with a smile - and an open datebook to be filled with new adventures.
