Lions and Tigers and Thighs, Oh My

Ever since I got back from Hawaii, my legs and I have seen the light. These burritos ‘o mine are now wearing running shorts. It’s somewhat liberating to make visible something I had intentionally kept invisible in the past. To let myself be seen. As is.

When I had it – at least I thought I had it at some point – I should have flaunted it. I took my young, firm skin for granted. But I was much more shy back then. Now? Yes, I’m still an introvert at heart, but I don’t look too bad for my age, so part of me wants to flaunt whatever it is I have left while gravity is still my friend. I have ab muscles. I don’t know where they came from, and they might look a little like a wrinkly four-pack of King’s Hawaiian rolls during the rising process, but they’re there. I believe that they’re a product of my intense overthinking. After all, something good should come of overworking my brain in circles. Problem is, I might look good for 48 – we Asians hold together well – but not so good for 38. Get my drift?

[I can’t believe I just outed my real age. Oh, what the hell. I will display my age proudly. I just won’t display photos of it here on my blog. I may be crazy, but I’m not insane. Yet.]

See, I live in a small, coastal town. It doesn’t get warm enough to wear shorts very often, so people don’t see a lot of skin around here. Hawaii? No problem. Young skin, aging skin – what does it matter? Everyone looks like bronzed demi-gods over there. But here? People pull on their t-shirts, light wash jeans, sneakers, and their Patagonia jackets to go out on the town. They might even wear that outfit to the beach.

The sun is out and it is unusually warm. I am tempted to go for a run wearing less clothing than I ever have before. I want to feel free to do this. If I didn’t have to wear my glasses, I would absolutely wear sunglasses. That way, I could feel anonymous. I might mistake a fire hydrant for a dog, but if it makes me more brave, I will trade clear vision for shades. I’m sure I’ll be able to determine whether or not that object coming towards me is a car, right? Maybe I need a sacrificial running buddy.

Suddenly, I’m not so concerned about my thighs anymore.


The Dating Jitterbug: The Final Lesson?

After almost a week of not hearing from WG after our coffee date, I decided to take the lead (I’m having deja vu) and made one more good faith effort.  So I called him and left a message saying that I was going to the farmer’s market on Sunday and would he be interested in going?  He called back the next day.  This was his message:

“…yes, Sunday would be pretty good, I think.  I’m not sure…someone’s moving into the house for a few days and they’re coming on Sunday, but I’m not sure when.  Plus, I’m working on Sunday, but a little later.  And I’m transporting a friend to and from [more talking, details not important] and all of that happens on Saturday night, which probably won’t be an obstacle.  To make a long story short, Sunday might be tight for me.  If I can do it, I would love to do it.  And if not, [mumbling – sounds like: ‘I can shoot your way some time.’].  Anyways, I’ll call you real soon and we can discuss it further…thank you…bye.”

Hm.  Nervous rambling?  Perhaps.  Not that into me, but not quite sure how to tell me?  Could be.  I thought I asked a simple question, yet his answer turned into a big corn maze – I tried to follow him, but eventually, got lost.  A friend of mine said, “Seems like he wanted to see you, but didn’t know how to do that AND keep all of his other obligations.  I think he still wants to go out with you.”  Girlfriends are troublingly good at coming up with complex explanations for male behavior.

After consulting with my friend, I called him back.  This action, by the way, was not endorsed by my friend.  She told me not to call him, but I went rogue.  I left a message suggesting we go out another time when his schedule was more free, and that it would be fun to go out before I went out of town in a few weeks.

There’s attraction – that spark that sets off the whole thing – and then the rest is up to you to figure out.  And I’m figuring it out, despite the confusion.  I just didn’t think I would meet a guy who is, quite possibly, more scared of dating than I am.  But I don’t want to speculate on what he means, is thinking, or what he’s going through.  That would be a fruitless exercise in guessing what his truth might be.  Unless he tells me, I’ll never really know.  I left that message because I wanted to give him my truth.  What he does with it is up to him.

Whatever happens, it’s all a learning experience.  At least dating isn’t such a foreign concept now.  Not that it’s simple, but at least I can see the possibilities…