I’m single. That used to mean something different to me. Being single meant I was “on the prowl.” No girlfriend. No ball and chain. Nothing holding me back. I’d get ready to go out to the bars that night and give myself a pep talk. I might even have followed it with a wink.
Did you just cringe? Yeah. Me too. I hate that guy. That guy was a douche.
Don’t get me wrong. That Guy provided me with a lot of stories. My close friends know about “Yoda” and “F.P.L.” as well as a sad parade of others. They know about jacket-stealing crazies and cyber-hacking lunatics. That Guy was a magnet for trouble. Maybe he knew I’d write one day and was simply trying to provide me with unlimited material.
Thank you, That Guy, but your stories should never be told to the general public. Your shenanigans should never be put into written word.
Regardless, That Guy never lasted long. Empty casual flings led to a longing for “the real deal.” A real, long-term relationship. So, That Guy would step aside for The Other Guy. The Other Guy created online profiles on dating sites. He scoured those sites, reading endless profiles about women who “looooove” football and prefer to spend their days running seven consecutive marathons, attending every country music concert in a tri-state area, and sky-diving into piranha-infested waters because “yolo.” On a disturbing side note, my laptop did not highlight “yolo” as a possible misspelling. None of the women were there for casual hook-ups so, if that’s what you wanted, “swipe left.” When the Other Guy would find a woman who seemed interesting, he would try to have conversations with her, asking her about things she’d written in her profile and offering witty and intelligent banter. He wouldn’t try to maneuver her into a casual hook-up or send unsolicited pictures of his no-no region. Obviously, that worked out well. Number of women met in person from online dating: 0.
Recently, I’ve found myself in uncharted territory. I’m comfortable.
I work. I pick up my daughter from school. I spend time with her that night. I drop her off at school the next day. I do some chores. I exercise. I go to work again. I come home. I play video games. I watch movies or television. Rinse and repeat.
This Guy’s life is far from exciting. But it’s comfortable. There is an odd calm that has come over me. A twilight version of my life—I’m not referring to Team Edward vs. Team Jacob (Team Jacob). When the sun is starting to sink below the horizon and the air cools just a bit, the world for me is filled with something soothing and beautiful. It’s akin to the moment just before two lovers fall asleep in each other’s arms while they quietly talk about nothing. That is This Guy’s life right now.
Some of my friends are worried about me because they never see me out. Others have probably nearly forgotten me completely. Yet others have voiced how disappointed they are in me for “losing my mojo” and no longer having any new outrageous and/or disgusting adult stories to tell (you’re a terrible influence, Lori).
I’ve been That Guy. That Guy is obnoxious and kind of creepy. And I’ve been the Other Guy. The Other Guy gets lonely and craves companionship. But This Guy—This Guy is happy. This Guy is a writer. This Guy gets to sit outside and watch the sunset.