Nothing a few palm trees can't solve

In San Francisco for a long weekend. After being bombarded by 3.5' of snow in Boston over the past week, I could barely stay awake and all I wanted to do was eat. As in, eat anything I could get my hands on but particularly baked goods. In order to avoid having to buy a whole new wardrobe to accomodate my new eating habits, I decided a change of scenery was in order.

For me, San Francisco is a city of revelations. Each time I come here, I grow stronger and more sure of myself. When I visited late last August, I cried all the time and in embarassing situations. There was no containing the grief--I cried on my friend's couch, in the bathroom at a party, in the bathroom at a restaurant I had eaten at with Glenn, on the street, in the dressing room at thrift shops, on BART. I tried to go back on the Pill and descended into a hormonally-induced comatose state. I was so raw inside that I could barely stand to be out in the world. My friends started to lose patience with the crying, and I got tired of being sad all the time, particularly in a place where the hill walks, the hiking and the stellar yoga were so amazing.

It was during that visit that I started to realize how Glenn and I had grown apart over the past year. I looked at my friends and saw how wonderful their marriage was, and knew that Glenn and I never could have had that. He just wasn't willing to do the work necessary to keep a healthy relationship on an even keel. I saw people walking their children around Noe Valley and realized that I did want children but that I hadn't wanted them with Glenn. Somewhere inside me, I'd known that he was an overgrown, 35-year old child himself, and I didn't want to raise two kids at once.

I started to eat again.

I came back last October and spent 10 days housesitting for friends who were in China adopting a baby girl. I was alone for most of the trip and that solitude in a somewhat unfamiliar place forced me to do some introspection that I'd been avoiding. I went for long walks around the city. I did yoga every day. I cried whenever I needed to, but it wasn't constant. I also went on four or five dates with B, a guy I'd met at a wedding in August. He was everything that Glenn wasn't--stable, mature, financially and professionally established, ready to settle down. He took me out to amazing dinners and made me laugh. He kissed me and made me feel beautiful again. We went hiking, to a concert in Golden Gate Park, on a long walk around Potrero Hill. He showed me that better men do exist.

This trip, I am realizing that my heart is healing. My body is healthy and fit again. My priorities are crystallizing. B isn't quite as perfect as he seemed. Even though it's so tempting to put up with his erratic behavior so I don't have to sleep alone for a few days, I'm realizing that I have to learn to stand up for myself. And I deserve better than someone who clearly can't see that I'm freaking amazing. I deserve someone who adores me, or at least knows that he could adore me after getting to know me better. I REALLY deserve someone who doesn't fall asleep in the middle of sex (no lie). I am so tired of feeling like I have to convince men that I'm worth adoring. As Renee Zellweger said in "Jerry Maguire," most men run a distant second to a hot bath and a good book. I'm still waiting for one who proves her wrong.

Isn't this the part of the movie when the quiet but underrated romantic interest appears, the childhood friend who always loved me but was too shy to speak up?

It's such a triumph to be in California and not have ANY urge to contact Glenn. He may only be 500 miles south but he could be on the moon for all I care.