A Little Wild Never Hurt Nobody

A few months ago, my therapist told me that if I keep repeating the same actions I’ll be stuck in the same rut. Fair enough.

In truth she said I was repeating the same scenarios over and over and that going to therapy doesn’t solve any problems, that you actually have to do something about your patterns for reality to change.

I took this to heart.

It was a rude awakening: she was right.

Even now, re-reading my previous blog post I can safely say that it’s all a bit romanticized, if I truly think back at F, I was not in love, I was happy for a brief moment, that’s all. And I’m looking for longer term happiness, this in and out thing — it turns me off now. Thank God.

So I opted for a little wild because quite frankly I don’t like having a boring life and I don’t necessarily need to only date men who seem right off the bat as if they’d be my husbands.

Right then, in full transparency, I decided that although I terribly miss F, I would follow Alessandro Baricco’a advice and just let go.

Let go of the person, of the dream, let go of the expectation or his return, let go of the hope.

A little wild never hurt anybody — I hope…

Here he was, tall, an insane body, 46, black hair, piercing blue eyes, soft lips and a perfect smile.

Every picture of him was on a motorcycle or on a mountain or covered in motor oil or dirt with his friends and family.

A warm smile, clever and a bit cheeky.

He picked me up in a military green Mercedes G-wagon dressed head to toe in black. Not what you’d expect from an Italian man, but he was after all much more edgy that the type of men I typically go out with.

We headed to a restaurant with no AC and in the middle of the two billion degree Mars-like heat begun we sharing our lives. I let him go first. Aerospacial engineer, MBA, entrepreneur and in sales. Ok.

Extremely well read and cultured.

Prior to this date he had been out with an endless number of pseudo prostituty looking women with half a brain — or so he mentioned — who looked super hot.

He had lived somewhere in a coastal town in Italy where he managed to have sex with everybody. Ok.

He told me an array of some of the most offensive jokes I’d ever heard and genuinely expected me to find them funny. That was kind of funny…

All weirdness aside it was unmissable: he was hot. And confident, and most likely NOT my husband. What a great mix for a wild night.

We got progressively closer despite the unbearable heat. My hand casually brushing against his leg and viceversa. Our legs always pressed against each other to signal interest. I liked him. I liked his deep stare, his witty side smile.

I liked him like you like a vanilla pistachio ice-cream after a hot sunny beach day.

His eyes were penetrating into my thoughts.

I locked my eyes right back into his without so much as a glance away.

As we stepped out of the restaurant after an evening of learning how you build sky scrapers, he pressed his soft lips against mine.

In my mind I thought I was in for an aggressive, possessive, lust-filled kiss; instead it was soft, sweet, even a little romantic although nothing about where we were nor the temperature could validate the romantic feeling.

As we walked across the street to his car we began kissing a little bit more and a little bit more until he opened the car door for me. The back door.

I don’t think this has ever happened to me, however we were so hot we needed some air conditioning and the prospect of feeling attached to him in cold air seemed like a very appealing idea.

One kiss later I climbed on top of him, wanting to feel as close as possible to every inch of his body. The whole situation in the car was built for him to get laid. Tissues, condoms, everything was already planned out. I’m pretty sure it had nothing to do with me.

I felt his perfect abs under his shirt. These are not gym abs, I thought, they are extreme sports abs, more flexible, defined yet casually there. His body felt incredible.

And just like that, in the middle of a street, parked on the side walk, the evening got a little bit wild.

We drove off right after and decided to randomly head towards the highway outside of Milano and proceeded to talk for another three hours about a million interesting things: life stories, books, Philosophy, theories, family, politics…

Are there no more prostitutes around? He enquired.

What do you mean? I asked.

You know usually there are little sandwich shops on the street corners right next to the prostitutes…

He found one. He grabbed us a couple of bottles of water. We kept talking and laughing in our air conditioned car with a fantastic massage coming from our seats.

We drove back to my place but I didn’t invite him up.

I kissed him instead, very passionately.

It all started again.

Let’s make a bet, next time let’s meet in Bergamo, I will take you to taste the best tiramisu of your life.

It’s impossible. The best one, strangely enough, is at an Italian restaurant in london.

I’m writing it down it’s a proper bet.

Deal.

You know, if an asteroid hit earth half an hour from now, this was an amazing evening. I wouldn’t be sad, if this were the last day on earth because it was truly a wonderful evening.

Random, but nice.

He texted when he got home and he’s been texting since.

I had zero expectations and it was quite frankly a bit wild and so much fun. I can’t wait to do it again.

Mental re-wiring

At 39, we begin wondering if our time has passed or if we have lost our power. I’ve been on the receiving end of conversations about me being past my prime or about us women loosing power at a certain age.

Quite frankly I don’t feel fully that way except in small bursts. Of course I feel it at times and of course I wonder if I missed my time to build a family, even as I write this my fearful parts are holding on to each other with an opening of tap sized tears.

If I were fully honest with myself, I had a fantastic time but I’m looking for my person and this time around I must remember to close more than I open, to cut, before it becomes too hard to detach, to look for the right things, to be careful not to end up in something fun but without a future.

I feel like it’s time to aim higher and to remove my mental blockages that often lead me to choosing people who are not aligned to my intensity of energy and sunshine.

Even work wise; it’s time to level up.

What might happen if I held myself accountable to a higher standard of life?

What might happen if I gave myself permission to believe I can have something and someone simply amazing?

This is not to say that M Isn’t, so far he’s lovely but unlikely my future.

It’s time to believe again, fully, to take steps in a direction I feel I belong in, to trust in what life is about to bring, because I can feel it’s coming.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.