As I typed the word “musings”, it made me think of a guy I dated a few years back. He was funny, accomplished, intelligent, and handsome. Not drop-dead gorgeous, but neither am I and that’s not what I was looking for anyway. House talks about being with someone at your same “integer” in the looks department, and I guess we were compatible there.
How we met is typical of the times. He commented on a photo I posted on a dating site. In it, I was eating snow from Universal Studios Hollywood’s Grinchmas-themed set up. He’s big in Disney and Universal blogging, podcast, and history buff circles, and he’s published a few books on theme parks. Therefore, he did not hesitate to point out the error in my ways with the snow, and we kind of hit it off. I’m a huge Walt Disney World lover from my youth, so he brought me back to a simpler, happier time in my life: childhood. That was sustainable for a time.
As things go, I discovered that constant talk and obscure history about a place that I adored took some of the mystery and fun out of what I held dear. Too much knowledge being foisted upon you about happy memories can taint your view. And let’s face it: I have enough angst-filled memories to last a lifetime. I didn’t need any precious ones tainted by external forces. Ya feel me?
He was a great guy in all other aspects, though. Well, that’s not true. But, perhaps I was being too picky. We had great fun when we spent time together. But small things started adding up. Add on top of those little things the huge realization that he wanted casual sex and I wanted a relationship? It was obvious this wasn’t going to work. He was also recently divorced (like the ink wasn’t dry, yet) and I was apparently the first “interest” he had after that break-up. I seriously wasn’t up for being the “transitional GF” (or whatever it’s called in today’s world).
I was honest with him about the mismatch in relationship goals when I broke it off. We’ve stayed in touch a little. I remember one of the first things he said when we met up for lunch once was “I would have thought you’d be married by now”. Seriously? It was only a few months since we last spoke. He had apparently translated “relationship” into “marriage”. Why do men do that? Ugh!
Anyway, back to “musings”. When we parted company, he rambled on about unexplored potential and how I was his Muse. That struck me in a peculiar way, so I looked up the definition to be sure.
A person, or an imaginary being or force that gives someone ideas and helps them to write, paint, or make music.
When I looked closer at why I was so taken aback by that comment, when I should have been flattered, I remembered that in one of our earlier conversations he mentioned his next writing endeavor should be about dating. Oh, hell no. I am so not down for that.
As it turns out, he’s now somewhere roaming the country in an RV, making money off of appearances, podcasts, and blogs, I think. He’s dropped off of Facebook, which was the only connection we had. It’s odd for someone that was once all about social media to do that, so I am mildly concerned, given the Pandemic and all. But to my knowledge, he hasn’t included me or our brief “relationship” in any new book(s) about dating, or otherwise.
So, I have to take a couple of things on faith, here:
- He’s alive
- He’s social distancing like a pro
- He’s sticking to writing about what he knows: history and adventure
- He’s happy (see all of the above)
And if he’s reading this (tags might peak his interest), I want him to know thoughts of him do bring me a smile and I wish nothing but the best for him. And for this post, at least, he is my muse.
He should drop me a line.