The King and I
An hour before our Saturday night date, he called me from outside the courthouse. He’d won the big lawsuit he’d been entangled in for years. He sent me an article about the case. He had to fly immediately to Dubai. Sure, I was bummed, but he promised to pick me up from the airport after my trip next week for our makeup date.
An airport pickup! All was forgiven.
My family, however, was not so forgiving. Shir, CEO of HG, along with my sister/his wife, Marnie, also a coach and Method Expert at HG, and their son Harrison, had started quietly (eh) doing a little research. Marnie called me to try to warn me.
Remember the seat I had you take in the beginning of this blog? You should recline it. But maybe you’ve already guessed it all. Smart-me about your BS, couldn’t (or wouldn’t!) smell my own.
“So, we looked around and the only place that says he’s a fifth generation Rockefeller is his own website,” Marnie said. “Harrison said the website looks homemade. It’s got a bunch of typos,” she continued. I could tell she was trying to let me down easy.
“And what kind of court meets and makes decisions on a Saturday?” I heard Shir chime in the background.
Uh, hello, none.
I wish, by now I could tell you I knew right then and there that I was conned. I didn’t want to believe it. I wanted to keep him. I wouldn’t let go of the banana, no matter how many online dating red flags were waving in my face. By Sunday, crack of dawn, I let it sink in. Even my lower self had no choice but to put up white flag and give in to all the raging neon red flags I’d ignored along the way.
The Lesson
Man, was this tendency to ignore red flags a cavity of mine or what? It was an area in my life where an emergency root canal was most certainly needed. I blocked him. I sat down with my sister and started really having to deal with myself in this area of my life. Not just for me, but for my daughter, and for you.
Yes, dating is hard. Yes, online dating platforms are a minefield of liars, fakers, red flags, and unsolicited dick pics. There are plenty of “fifth-generation Rockefellers” out there, looking for people who will fall for their cons or their lies. But you don’t have to be one of them. And neither do I.
Here’s what I discovered about myself so far:
When it comes to love, I unconsciously think I don’t deserve it. I’m desperate. When I went digging on my sister Lauren’s behest, I saw that every man I ever picked, since the beginning, since I was a teenager, was from desperation.The minute someone pays attention to me, let alone a good looking, wealthy, or young someone flirts with me, I don’t see anything else. And worse, I don’t tell everything. No one likes to think of themselves as desperate, but if you ignore the truth, you’re going to fall for lousy typo-ridden internet Rockefellers every time
What else did I learn? This one’s a doozy.
If I am not telling the whole truth about a man, trying to keep him at any cost versus seeing him for who he is, guess who else is a con? ME. Ouch and whew. No, really. Listen. No one ever said discovering our dark side, our equal criminal, is a yeehaw, yay moment. We don’t want to shine a light on it.
Let alone write a blog about it.
However, if we don’t roll up our sleeves and go digging far and wide, down and deep with a flashlight, and fight hard for our deepest desires, how can we get them?
We can’t.
My dark and shallow side wants to keep me accurate about some of the darkest things about my own unworthiness. But it ALSO doesn’t want to see that the only one out there proving MEH about me is me.
For f*ck’s sake (literally and figuratively) whatever your version of sell out, desperate, and undeserving is, in whatever area of life your big gaping cavities may live, THIS YEAR, you and I have gotta open up, get to the root, and say AH(HA) already and fall in love with ourselves first and foremost.
Coming?