I Was Born Talking to Men in Bars

I see a woman chatting with a man at the bar. All seems well with the world until he starts getting closer to her, and a little touchy. It’s obvious he’s hoping to take her home.

She’s not interested.

She needs rescuing.

I’ve met her several times so I walk over to talk to them. It doesn’t discourage him. He’s making even more advances. I get between the two of them and he eventually gets the message.

Crisis avoided.

“You saved me,” she says.

“You know you shouldn’t talk to a guy at the bar, right?” says the bartender.

“I’m the youngest of an Irish Catholic family,” I say. “I was born talking to people in a bar.”

I never met a stranger.

It’s the way I was raised…

An Irish bar with some Guinness, songs springing from lips, a few far fetched tales, and a sprinkling of good old Irish Catholic drama on top.

It’s in my genetic code.

Not to mention, I come from a long line of first responders. A bunch of cops and firefighters who also taught me the word stranger doesn’t exist. They’re willing to risk their lives for them.

So you might say it’s a double whammy.

My master blueprint made me destined to respond to romantic emergencies.

My family never met a soul not worth saving.

Likewise, I’ve never met a heart not worth saving.

I run into the woman at the bar from time to time. It usually begins the same way. She drags me over to whomever she’s with and says, “This is Colleen, she saved me.”

The romantic first responder.

Give me a few minutes, and you’ll catapult from stranger to friend. I have zero hesitation.

No cautious instincts.

I see a flash of someone’s heart, and I believe in them.

Something happened recently that made me feel sucker punched. It caught me off guard. I could’ve sworn I knew someone that I don’t really yet know. Like I’ve said, that’s just who I am.

My DNA gets me into trouble.

The never met a stranger thing can be a problem for me.

But it made me realize something.

Sometimes I’m the one who needs rescuing. It’s my heart that needs saving. It’s my heart that needs protecting.

I’ve been through a lot these past years.

My divorce wasn’t the norm. It was overly long and abusive. Despite that I’ve never really lost my optimism for all things good. I want to believe in good things and good people.

I’ve always been a rose-colored glasses, cup is half full, sugar and spice and everything nice kinda girl. I’ve always loved rainbows and butterflies.

It places me into a distinct dilemma.

The struggle between optimism and judgment.

I meet someone and I need to recognize my own predisposition to believe in them. When in reality it is something that can take time. It is something that needs to be earned.

I need to feel safe with the people that I allow into my life.

Men or women.

No surprises.

Unless they’re the good kind, and in that case I love them.

That’s the aftermath of a long, abusive, and traumatic divorce. For the better part of six years I lived with fear and unpredictability. I can’t withstand any type of bad surprises or unpredictability because of that.

I never needed to feel safe before.

But especially after these recent events, I’ve realized feeling safe isn’t one of the top three things I need when I finally meet a man. It’s the number one thing I need.

I need to feel safe with a man.

But back to that optimism versus judgment thing.

When I was recently caught off guard, I thought I was upset with a man. But in reality, maybe the real person I’m upset with is me and my own stupidity.

Because I love my genetic code.

I will always love a stranger.

But trust that takes time.

And my judgment needs to start superceding my optimism.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.