Is there a lesson in loneliness?

I haven't been with many men. There. I said it. Think what you want. I dated a lot in high school. Goes with the "head cheerleader" territory I suppose. Not that I was one of those slut cheerleaders--even though my sweater had the word "head" stitched on it. But since then? Not so much. Perhaps I peaked too soon? Captain of the rival basketball team, Mr. Moreau and Mr. Mission is hard to top. (Again, think what you want.) I can count on one hand the number of times I've been in love. Although, I guess if you can count on more than one hand the number of times you've been in love, it probably wasn't really love now was it?

I don't think the low sperm count is due to the fact that I don't relate to men well. At least I hope not. I have had so many good male friends--still do. I'd like to think it's just logistics. I don't meet many datable men--or put myself in places to meet potential mates. I was a contract TV producer for a number of years so no break room flirting. And I kinda made it a rule not to date the audio guy. So maybe it's a numbers game? The more you meet, the more you marry? I've never been married. Got asked once in the backseat of a taxi cab (not by the driver) but I think he was joking. Or gay, because it came with conditions--separate bedrooms.

Remember when your Mom used to say, don't worry "There's someone for everyone!"??? It may have been that way when she was raised--but that just isn't true anymore. I have a scientific explanation for this shift in balance. There's not someone for everyone--because when "they" used to say that--you'd mate for life. Find a guy and get married. Once. Someone (guy) for everyone (girl). Now, with divorce being about as easy as changing your hair style, that's not the case. Everyone's on their 2nd and 3rd marriage--so--someone HAS my someone! It's all outta whack. Just not enough 1st time magic to go around if we're all gonna get 2-3 husbands or wives? Hence the large amount of baggage--or what I call leftovers. Make sense? (It does to me)

And that is absolutely why my interaction with men has pretty much slowed down, just not enough to go around. (insert laugh track)  At least that's what I tell myself when I'm sitting at home alone on a Friday night. Like last night. Whoever said "It's better to have loved and lost" isn't eating entire bags of popcorn by themselves. Don't get me wrong--I'm thankful for the lovely men I have had in my life the past X years. (sorry, some things are just too embarrassing even for a blog.) I just wish one of them woulda stuck.

Reader's Digest Version: Number one we'll just call "A Tall Drink of Water"...not because he looked like George Clooney but because he was tall. And I am not. I think this was the first man I really fell in love with. Only--because of that fact--I figured eating Chinese food together, going to the movies and having sex--meant he loved me too. I mean, there was a lot of it. (You think I'm gonna tell you which?) That involvement--I hesitate to call it a relationship--went on and off for a long time. I hate to think I wasted my child bearing years on bad chow mein waiting for a ring in a fortune cookie, but when you're in love...sadly the friendship didn't last either. Something to do with me accosting him at a fundraiser at the local convent. I'm pretty sure Sister John Marie was on my side that day, as Tall Drink came walking by hand in hand with another woman--just days after we played egg roll on his couch.

The next significant dude, wasn't really significant relationship-wise, but he was significant in my ability to move forward. A random email led to a fun frolic with an old high school football stud. We didn't see each other much because he lived out of town, but when we did, it was amazing. I don't know if it was because he knew me before all the self doubt and heartbreak that comes with being a grown-up--but he made me feel so good about myself--no, he made me feel like I could be that girl who used to cheer for him on the sidelines again--fearless, in charge and completely worthy of a football stud. (And yes, the sweater with the word "Head" stitched on it, made a middle-age appearance. In this case, how could it not?)

I think that little affair put me in the right place to fall in love again. And by place, I mean confident place. This time with Mr. PP--aka: the Wilco Boy. And that turned out to be a blessed event--for 2.5 years. Double that and we're home again. Wondering why I spend so much time alone. I've learned so many valuable lessons from all the relationships I've had--still learning them from my last. But the one I can't seem to digest is--what's the lesson in being alone? Is it to teach you how to be comfortable with yourself? To like yourself? To be more independent? I kinda thought I was. I know countless women and men who say they envy me. That they never get time to themselves. "You're lucky you don't have to answer to anybody." And some of that--I agree with. But I am getting tired of it.

So what's the answer? Why do I have such trouble meeting men? Or keeping the ones I pick? Someone told me once--"Your picker is just off."  Maybe. And that's what we'll talk about next. Father's Day is once again upon us. And I'd like to know if you ended up with a guy just like dear old dad? For now--I gotta go through my closet. I'm thinking of having the word "Head" stitched on a few things...my sweaters, coats, yoga pants...

What Are Your Summer Plans?

Ugh. I actually had to edit a newsletter piece titled that today. I feel like I'm suddenly the editor of the Smoke Signal. That was our high school newspaper. Remember those little polls? "What Are Your Summer Plans?" Some picture of a dude and his quote "Rad! I'm gonna work at B & R and like grow my hair out!" I was told these types of articles are an important part of internal communications at my "McDonald's" job. Really? We still need that? Compare your plans to my non-plans?

That's how I felt as I read about some guy's plans to camp, hike, kayak etc. -- I got nothin'. Nothin' Planned. For my Summer. I've never had one of those jobs that you just take two weeks off in the summer and go on vacation. I've never had one of those families forcing me to do that either. I guess, if you don't have kids--you don't feel that pressure to "do something" during their off time? You probably feel that pressure, huh?

In my last relationship, I got a whiff of that summer vay-cay world. He had two kids. So one summer we all went to their mountain cabin. I was pretty darn proud of myself on that one. Not for playing mommy dearest, but because there's no flushing toilet. Yep. It's an out house. In the middle of nowhere. Not the sexiest of vacations having to hear your boyfriend tell you "don't use too much paper!" Every time you go. Besides why did it matter? It doesn't flush?!! He was a gentleman of mountain-men though. Offered to take me to pee in the middle of the night. (Is that love?) But go-it-alone Lynnie grabbed a stick outside and ran for it. I refused to let him stand outside the OH and listen--I'd rather risk a bladder infection.

I'm not sure his kids thought I was how they wanted to spend their summer vacation, however. I needed to sit down on a long hike--and they complained about my "old ladyness." But then I think I won them over when I made baked apples in a tiny propane stove. Teenage boys only forgive if food is involved. I'll always have fond memories of that trip--Lynn's first official "summer vacation" trip...fond memories except for the last day there. A Sunday. He woke up early and said he was going to go to church. A church two hours away. What? I remember saying "Really? This is God's country--isn't this church enough?" I mean really. Would you rip your kids away from fishing and hiking--to go to church?

Once again, Go-it-alone Lynnie decided to do just that. Go it alone. I told them to go--"I'll pray on a kayak." They went and four hours later returned with coffee for me. I didn't care once it passed, but I think that event changed our relationship forever. For the worse. He felt I wasn't respectful of his religion, because I didn't go. (We were the same religion) I felt he wasn't open enough to change. In hindsight, I wish we had used that as an opportunity to discuss and learn from it--instead of blogging about it alone three years later. In the moment--thanks to the coffee and my ego, I guess, thought it was just a spat. Not a life-turner. If I knew then...I probably would have just shut my mouth and gone to church. If he knew then...maybe he wouldn't have judged me for not wanting to go.

That was the last real Summer vacation I took. I don't count hurling my body down level 5 white water rapids the following summer--a vacation. That was an effort to expunge the memories of the aforementioned REAL summer vacation playing "mom" to his "dad."

So maybe it's time to make some summer plans. I don't have a lot of extra McDonald's cash--so it'll have to be a cheap one. My sister moved to Vancouver this year--I could go see her? I had a blast the last time I did. When she moved there it was the Winter Olympics--so I went. I joked on Facebook and to people I knew--that "I was going to meet the Italian ski team." Our last night there, my sister and I were having a hot toddy in a bar in Whistler, when I struck up a conversation with a good looking man sitting behind me. He said he was from Italy. I had to ask, just joking: "You don't happen to be on the Italian ski team do you?"  Patrick replied "why else would I'd wear this crazy blue satin ski jacket?" He held up the one like the jacket we just saw on a gold medalist--it said "Italia." I met the Italian ski team. Now THAT'S how you end a vacation. I'm betting this guy would have skipped out on church--maybe even Jesus himself, to kayak with me.

Vacations are important breathers from life--where you explore, learn valuable lessons, learn about yourself, and learn to let go and pee in the woods. Take them. So... What Are Your Summer Plans?

Five rolls of Paper Towels

Grocery shopping is the bane of my existence. Really. I'd rather go to the dentist. I don't like it unless the firemen are shopping. And lately, to add to my hatred of the weekly event--I've been over-buying. Do you do that? You "think" you need something--only you don't? And when you get home you're faced with a cabinet full? And the item you overbuy changes. Like right now-- It's rolls of paper towels. I now have five rolls in my closet. Five. No un-BP spill could possibly require five rolls. Last time, it was tofu. I had 4 containers of tofu in my fridge. For a while, it was way too many cans of stewed tomatoes. Why is it you don't overbuy the stuff you really run out of--like tampons? Never seem to be buying those over and over?

Maybe if I was a mom--I'd enjoy the act of grocery shopping more. Knowing I'm providing food for my loved ones. It must be a wonderful thing to have a purpose like that. Giving your life for someone everyday, in everything you do, a reason to go grocery shopping. What's your purpose in life? Are you a mother? A father? I've been thinking about this a lot lately. What is my purpose? Why was I put on this planet? I struggle with it a little--because I'm not married and I don't have kids. My purpose can NOT be to be a TV producer. Especially during the talk show days. Kinda hard to find a purpose for producing such wonderful, inspiring content as "Dump that Prison Lover" and "I Gave My Sister a Black Eye". (although hopefully somewhere it was helping someone.)

I'm a daughter. But that happened by default. Don't get me wrong--I make it my purpose to try and make my mom happy. But lately--it just feels like I bring them grief with my frustration over my life. (and I suppose, lack of purpose.) Doctors have a reason for being--to help save lives. I think that's why I felt a little more driven when I was volunteering for Heart to Heart--a non-profit that sends medical teams to Russia to save dying children. I didn't do much for them--not like those surgeons--but it felt a little like I was helping.

I'm a good friend? Does that count? Yes, it counts. But it's not something to write on my tombstone. Here lies Lynn--she was a good friend. That's just something I want you all to know, when you're gathered around the casket--I don't want to have to remind you literally from the grave. We all want a reason to be. Right? A reason to be counted. More than a job title. At 48--I'm sad to say, I haven't felt like I've had one. I thought maybe, when I met Mr.PP--my purpose was to make him happy--mend the ickyness he and his kids had to suffer following a painful divorce. But turns out--as you've read--even new stainless steel appliances doesn't add up to a purpose. (Just a reason to clean.)

But something kinda clicked this week. Something that may be showing itself as my purpose in life. And it's nothing new. I just didn't realize how powerful it is. Last week--my young student assistant asked if I'd give her a job recommendation. I was happy to. I spoke honestly to her potential new boss and rattled off her talents over the phone. While I didn't want to lose her--I did want her to move on and find her purpose. She got offered the job the very next day. "I don't know what you said to him" she wrote me. It felt good. Even though she's the one that got the job.

Earlier this week a former co-worker who just started a big new job--called in a panic needing a little reassurance. Her boss wasn't available--so she called me. She knew the answer to her question--she just needed to hear someone--like her old boss (me) tell her. She yelled "That's what I needed to hear!" I smiled. I was so happy to help her. And so glad she called.

And finally, this week, a friend called with some exciting news--she was being considered for a big internship with a major hospital. She asked if she could use my name as a reference. Of course I told her yes! She wouldn't risk this huge opportunity with just anyone, would she? I thought about all these people. Friends. Co-workers. I've helped them or taught them in some way, shape or form. Nothing major--but small, significant contributions. And I began to noodle on it more. Maybe my purpose in life--is to be a mentor? To be a teacher? To be a cheerleader! (there's a reason I kept my uniforms!) I love to help people find jobs. I like to help them succeed at work. I never do it for any reason, really. Just because I like to.

My yoga teacher this weekend talked about how the "world is your teacher. Your life is your teacher. Learn from it." God knows I've been a diligent student the past couple years. Trying to take the hard knocks--and learn from them. Teachers and mentors are everywhere. You don't have to have a degree or be a parent to own that as your purpose. I think I just naturally love to guide people. So why is it so darn hard to guide myself? One of those aforementioned co-workers recently told me something along the lines of "you need to take your own advice." And she's right. But I've always known I'm a better cheerleader for everyone else--just not myself. So who is my cheerleader? And do I need one?

Years ago, I was producing a show for MSNBC. I remember the day our new production assistant Anita started. She got assigned the desk by mine. She was just out of college and REALLY excited to be working in television. I thought--maybe a little TOO excited. I told other co-workers..."if she doesn't stop talking about Melrose Place, I'm going to kill myself." She stopped. And proved herself to be one talented young person. When the time came for her to move on--she asked for some guidance pursuing jobs in L.A. I may have put the key in the hole--but she opened the door and walked through it. Now Anita is in a place where she can hire me. And she has. But she always reminds me how "you are my mentor Lynn." So I guess I've had a purpose-- without really knowing it.

My purpose may not be to resolve world hunger, or even be a wife or a mom--(not yet anyway!)--but I think I can say my purpose 3/4 of the way through--is to help you to S-U-C-C-E-S-S! (you have to stomp your feet and clap in between for maximum cheer effect). I like helping. Now I just gotta put the pleated skirt on and help myself a little bit more.

We'll start by taking stock and making a grocery list next Sunday. So I don't end up with six rolls of Bounty.