We'll call this one "Start With the Shoes, Baby" because that's just what I did. Sometimes all you need to feel glamourous and ready for anything is the perfect pair of heels. You could wear this ensemble almost anywhere after hours--club, bar, the theater, dinner, though probably not dinner with the in-laws. Mixing elements here--conservative and flashy, delicate and structured. I particularly love the black, sequin skirt that would otherwise be super racy. (That's not to say I would wear it under any circumstances. I was blessed with a lot of things, but legs for that thing wasn't one of them. But if you've got them, flaunt them.) Since it's paired with a more conservative suit jacket and traditional white button-up, it becomes a stand-in for a suit skirt--but with enough glimmer and edge, especially with the heels and accessories, to be fun not formal. And of course these are the Manolo Blahniks that Carrie made famous (yes they're pricey, but nothing else is too steep)...though I found out today that the designer has never even seen the show.
So, episode twelve ends season one, and it ends sadly. After Carrie deliberates about why Big won't say, "I love you," or introduce her to his mother, she decides she doesn't want to wait around to find out. She doesn't think she'll ever "get inside" his emotional barrier. Big has been around the Manhattan block (a few times), with a failed marriage and lots of bitter exes to show for it. He wants to take things slow. He wants to be sure. Carrie is in love and wants to know if she's the one--right now. Big can't do it. They say goodbye. Carrie is heart-broken, and Big takes a trip to the Caribbean alone. Poor guy. That is a joke.
Carrie and Big seem like a good match, but things fizzle, they want different things, and they part ways. Man, we've all been there, or at least I have. The relationship seems good, but it just doesn't last. The two people are like planets moving in different directions. Someone once told me that the most important thing in determining whether a relationship will survive is timing. Timing. Not strength of love, not emotional connection, not religion or where you grew up, not what color hair he has or if he looks like your father (I never got that one, but the theory exists). Just plain and simple timing. According to this theory, the only question that matters is: Are you both equally ready to settle down?
But is timing really that important, or is it the person that matters? Or is it both? About a year ago, I started seeing Brad, a guy I had known and dated in high school. After ten years of not seeing each other, we hit it off again. He lived in a different town, but we started talking every other night. We made regular weekend trips to see each other and started thinking about future trips and plans. Things were great. About a month and a half into the relationship, I told him I thought I was falling in love with him. Silence. The next weekend I said it again. Nothing. Each time, I waited with that pitiful, questioning face, expecting him to say something, anything. He didn't. I should have taken this as a sign, but I thought it was just a matter of time before he would tell me that he loved me.
In fact, two weeks later he broke up with me via a drunken phone call. He said he was still shaken from his previous, seven-year relationship and that he wasn't ready for anything serious. He said he also didn't think he was totally in love with me. I spent a week analyzing what went wrong. Was it something I did? That time I mentioned being nervous to meet his mother? The fact that I didn't snowmobile or know much about sports? But he had said he liked all of those things. No, I decided, it was nothing--as in no one thing. It was everything, the whole package. And there was nothing either of us could have done. We were just being ourselves. It was bad timing, and it wasn't right.
Two weeks after Brad and I broke up, I met Hank. The timing couldn't have been worse. He was getting ready to move out-of-state for med school and wasn't looking to start a relationship. I was still depressed about what had happened with Brad. I wanted to be single for a long time, spend time alone, you know, to meditate or something--like that girl in Eat, Pray, Love. I wanted existential clarity. Sure, I wanted to meet someone eventually, but only the right one. I was too tired to deal with anything else. I was going to be very, very picky, and make sure it was right before jumping in--and that wasn't going to be for awhile. I told all of this to a friend who had known Hank since childhood and immediately demanded that I meet him. As luck would have it, Hank was in town just for that night. Under extreme protest, I went. We've been together since. As Hank says, "Maybe timing does matter, unless it's with the right person."
Maybe Carrie and Big were victims of bad timing. On the other hand, maybe something wasn't right. Big wasn't as head-over-heels as Carrie, though he cared for her. Of course, I know the ending to this story, as may most of you. It's Hollywood, after all. There are only a set number of people in the cast. Big has to return--he's called "Mr. Big" for a reason (and it's not for what's down there). But to keep a little suspense, I won't say another word. Just that there's more in store for these two.
Maybe timing does matter. Who knows if Hank and I would have hit it off five years ago or even two. Though it seemed like bad timing when we met, maybe it was perfect. Neither of us wanted to fuck around anymore. But maybe it's the right person, too. Even if the timing is ideal, if the depth of love isn't there (the attraction, the shared interests and goals, the respect, etc), there are no guarantees. Actually, the relationship probably won't last. Timing AND rightness. There has to be both. I have always said that true, committed love is a miracle.
In employment news, I received a phone call the other day with a job offer--from my mother. She is moving her medical practice back to Dillon, my hometown and the place where she and my dad live, and she needs serious help. She has two weeks to get everything to her new office and be ready to see patients. She wondered, since I haven't found a job yet, would be too much of an imposition to ask me to come back and save her? I asked if she was paying me. She said of course. I said she was saving me, too.
Come January 5th, I'm jobless again, but it's nice to have a little silver lining, especially around the holidays (and holiday sales). Meanwhile, I'll be submitting resumes for positions and hoping that the right one comes along. I've found that it (or he) usually does.
Hope you'll be back. I will.
