Have you ever met someone who seemed really nice and normal, then after a few drinks and casual conversation, you realize you might end up murdering them in a dark alley later that night? Me neither. But I did have an interesting experience last Friday when I went out for a few post-work bevvy's with a friend, his friend, and his friend's friends from work. Friendly, right? It began that way... After a round or two and get-to-know-you chit chat, when the Cowboy (as he was wearing a cowboy hat, giant belt buckle, etc.) started suggesting shots and giving me those 'I wonder what you'd look like on the back of my horse' eyes, he offhandedly made a comment I have dreaded hearing for the past five years. "Divorced people are damaged goods...I sure don't want 'em."
Seeing as how I wasn't drunk and still had a filter, I kept my mouth shut and slowly sipped my wine, weighing options in my mind for the most appropriate response. I settled on pretending I didn't hear him, and instead had a very enjoyable conversation about life, love and the mistakes we make along the way, with a 50-ish man who slightly reminded me of Santa, until he got up for a smoke break.
Because I was engaged at 18, married at 19 and divorced at 20, I cut myself some slack. No one knows what they're doing at that age, but everyone thinks they do. I had good intentions, but I was young and stubborn (and stupid). I have done my best to learn about myself through that experience, who I am and what I really want out of my relationships.
I say all of this, and yet at the back of my mind there has always been fear. Fear that I will meet someone someday who doesn't just say "wow...that's weird...but...ok" and moves on. Fear that I will be very fond of someone and this piece of my past will change the way they look at me, will make me not good enough, will label me damaged. I usually get the whole divorcee thing out of the way early when I meet people, friends or otherwise, because it's easier to explain it on the second or third date than a year into a relationship. But before I divulge, I am always tempted to just leave it and say nothing. However, I know that silence would make me a prisoner of my fear. So I talk.
Back to Friday night - some time had passed, and as I sat there wondering if I should switch to the gin, I turned to find the Cowboy sitting beside me, saying not to worry, he had already ordered me another drink. We chatted for a while about all sorts of things, such as the US job market, his dog, my future plans, the healthcare system, his issues with feminists ("women shouldn't be allowed to be doctors or lawyers" is a direct quote). I was becoming less and less of a fan and it was getting harder and harder for me to be polite and not throw my drink at him. He was, of course, oblivious.
And then it happened. He turned to me and quietly said "so, would you consider seeing me again sometime?" I looked at him, smiled sweetly and replied "well, I don't think you would want to see me again. See, I'm divorced. And I guess that would make me...damaged goods, right?" First he thought I was lying, but soon realized I wasn't, which launched a whole new conversation, which eventually led to his failed relationships ("women just cost me money!" "if feminism hadn't happened, I'd be happily married right now"). I was well into the gin at this point and was pretty much shouting at him about how he is probably bad at communicating. My friend wisely decided it was time to leave, and as we walked out the door I couldn't help myself from venting - how could it be humanly possible to spout that much nonsense in such a short period of time?? I escaped to a dark, dirty dance floor to get pushed around, stepped on and spilled on by people who didn't care if I was a woman, a man or a bottle of hot sauce.
As I later reflected on this night, I realized something very important. I don't need to be afraid of someone not liking me because I'm divorced. The kind of person who thinks that way, I will want nothing to do with. Our past is a part of who we are, yes. But it is not what defines us, and it will only hold us back if we let it. So I will continue to have personal conversations with strangers, and I will continue to share my experiences. In putting myself out there, I sometimes make a meaningful connection and am fortunate enough to gain insight into someone else's life. Then sometimes I just want to slap a bitch. C'est la vie.
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