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  • Writer's picturecocodensmore

A fresh wind of expectation blows through that place of dormant hopes.

When I date, I usually date younger men. I never saw that one coming, but there are many men in their 30s who are attracted to "mature BBWs". I used to say I draw the line at 29, but then I went and broke that rule. Am I bragging? Maybe. All I can say is, once I gave in to the notion I could be with some of these marvelous young men, I never regretted it for once and I never looked back. Ideally, I'd like to meet someone my own age for something longer term. But in the meantime, as I've said time and again, I'm having the time of my life!

I'm posting this on this very early very dark very rainy PNW morning in celebration of a lovely experience I had with a Tinder match, a 33 year old fellow I've been chatting with for a bit over a year. We met last Tuesday for the first time and it was just as magical as it always is.

It was the the first time I've done anything remotely romantic since my herpes diagnosis nearly three months ago. I was encouraged to realize I am capable of all the same feelings and all the same joy. For many weeks, I didn't think I'd ever feel like my normal self ever again. But hell no! I know now I'm back! Maybe not all the way back because it wasn't an all the way thing. But I can and will continue to have exciting fulfilling connections as I walk out this path to stability. And happiness?

Wow. I rarely use that word, happiness. I seldom dare to think I may arrive at such a place. Yet the possibility it might happen does cross my mind more often these days. Still, the primary goal is extended periods of peace of mind with extended periods of level mood and high function.

I'm getting to well. Finally. I put in the hard work. I have and I did and I do and I will continue to do so. I will always fight for me. My word, have I ever paid my dues. In every aspect of my life, but particularly in aggressively managing the bipolar

As a result of my dogged commitment to advocate on behalf of that mentally ill part of who I am, I've relentlessly fought for my quality of life. I've religiously committed to therapy, developed a militaristic adherence to my psych med regimen, relied on my ever faithful circle of incredibly supportive and endlessly patient friends, and have had the great and completely unexpected opportunity to make writing my primary focus. It is my true calling. It is my true soul.

It's all falling into place. In the lookback, I see I've made tremendous strides. I'm very proud of me.

January 11, 2018

Journal Entry

The youngsters are such fun to interact with. They’re so unencumbered, joyful, expecting all good things. How I wish I could recapture that aspect of young adulthood. Their lives are so much simpler. Their concerns are small. They haven’t yet experienced the disappointment of missed hopes and dreams. All that awaits them, all that lies ahead is opportunity and possibility.

I will often ask, “Why are you interested in being with a woman so much older than you? Why aren’t you out looking for a nice young lady to marry and have kids and a house and a picket fence and all that business?”

“Oh, that’s in the works. I just like older women,” they reply, grinning at me while I stare in disbelief. Then they laugh. Then I laugh.

It’s a passing fancy. Truly, just a passing fancy. But thank God for passing fancies. Because although not sustainable, I have had some lovely freeing experiences with the youngsters this past year.

Youth is a quite marvelous thing. Being around young people renews the spirit. A fresh wind of expectation blows through that place of dormant hopes. And sometimes, things I had written off as never being possible become possible. And sometimes they come to fruition. And those are serendipitous moments indeed.

Life is good. Life is well worth living.

"I’ve rid myself of shame. The life that I live and the freedom that I have and the uninhibited joy that I feel, it’s so drastically different.

I wish that gift for everybody."

-Mary Lambert



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