Reasons Why I’m Not Sorry to Celebrate The Road of Romance Not Taken

Woman Faces A Fork in the Road


In the three years that the Warrior Poet and I have been together, there has only been one major pothole in the road of our romance that was disastrous enough to potentially split our bond forever. In hindsight, this heart-wrenching rift only lasted approximately a month. Yet there was tremendous risk that bullish stubbornness—after the shock and hurt of rash words and actions—would have kept us from ever finding our way back to each other. Another path, another person, had appeared on the horizon in the interim and could have been pursued further. If I had, we wouldn’t be entering this next, exciting chapter in our relationship—in my life—that we are now: A new leg of the journey that brings us to a whole new level of abundant lifestyle, focus and commitment to each other. Thus, there are so many reasons why I’m not sorry to celebrate the road of romance not taken.

I watched that other path, that other person, recently enter a riveting, new chapter in a relationship he eventually found after I called things off and chose to give WP an honest, second chance. If I were a decade younger with fewer relationships behind my belt, if there were no WP, perhaps I would have leaped into dating Path Not Taken. Maybe I would have been blind to the red flags of emotional immaturity and insecurity, instead focusing on the fun and playfulness of being two kids hanging around. However, time and experience have made me wiser.

I’d already dated the playmate, confusing an affectionate buddy for a long-term, loving companion. I’d endlessly tread the waters of dating a Peter Pan afraid of making real commitments and “growing up.” I learned the hard way that nothing I would say or do would change transform him from a boy into a man. I’d been the light and guide for the lost bull in a china shop, looking for someone to show him the way back to himself. I was left emotionally (and financially) depleted and feeling lost myself after all that giving with little in return.

Why would I deliberately choose to go through all that again with Path Not Taken when the door re-opened to the emotionally open man whose own life experiences led him along the same path I was on as well? This was the man who loved with both passion and tenderness that I returned in full-force, and who was playmate, best friend, cheerleader, dream-builder and lifelong companion all rolled up into one.

When I shared the recent news of Path Not Taken with my mother the other day, she said, “I’m so glad you made the right choice.”

A Dancing Couple


I too am overjoyed that I followed my heart to a path that left no room for what-ifs or regrets. I feel extremely grateful that I made the best decision for me (and WP), which in turn allowed Path Not Taken to also have the opportunity to find and fully grab hold of someone with whom he was eager to build a life.

The Path Not Taken and his lady share a passion for travel, fitness, style, cars, coffee and desserts. Like him, she is extremely playful and childlike; in photos, she constantly sticks her tongue out or crosses her eyes. She seems to be the perfectly playful partner to inspire him to take the big leaps in life. I find myself both extremely happy and excited for him and the adventures ahead as they move across the country to live in an area I know he’ll really love. Whatever lies on the path ahead for him and his lady, he too must be celebrating the road of romance he found instead.


Icarus Vs. Goliath: Old Love or New Beginnings

Much to my surprise, things were going better than good with the new guy. The past weekend, our first unplanned sleepover had turned into a delicious entire weekend together full of comedy, music, lively intellectual and spiritual conversations, a long bike ride, decadent breakfast buffet and late afternoon at the beach. If I had any doubts that this man 16 years my senior could keep up with me, they were more than silenced by his joie de vivre and seemingly boundless energy—even in the middle of the night. On top of all that, this Renaissance Man turned out to enjoy inventively cooking and sweetly cuddling and had a wicked sense of humor that came out when I least expected it.

With all that goodness, I should’ve had my guard up for interference, which sometimes seems inevitable in my complicated love life. Because I was entirely unprepared for when The European asked me over FaceTime, “So do you want to come up to visit me in Boston again?”

Find out how it all went down over on The Singles Warehouse in my latest post:

I Just Got Pinned

What does a woman do when a man who is one and a half times her weight tells her that he, for the sake of simplicity, wrestles competitively? Well, a sane woman would probably not challenge him to a duel—even jokingly. Unless, she is a former jock who grew up with two older brothers.

And unless, of course, this particular man has piercing blue eyes and that woman has seen photographic evidence of said man’s fitness and wants to experience it for herself.

That’s how I found myself with my back on the floor of the music room pinned between his legs. It was a little hard to concentrate as he told me each sequence of positions for a particular move, particularly when his leg moved between my legs and his arm grazed my chest. Forget the fact that he was focusing on how to flip me over to a position that could easily break my leg with the intent and more force.

I was too distracted by how good it felt to have our bodies, albeit clothed bodies, so close after being politely at a distance over the course of two dates. Ever the gentleman, he had given me simply a hug and flirtatious talk of more at the culmination of the first date.

He called every day of the week until date two, even if it was just for a few minutes on his drive from point A to point B. Oh, did I also mention he lives almost an hour and half away, and he’s driven out here twice to see me?

This particular morning, I was rushing to get my hair nice and fresh as it still smelled like slightly burned popcorn from the other night. I was running late as I tried to eat a late brunch, make some calls for work and send out a creative homework assignment for something I’ll let you in on later. I wasn’t even finished drying my hair under the old-school salon hair dryer and I had yet to take a shower, when he calls to tell me that he is two exits away.


He tells me he will take it slow. Still, I know there is no way he can drive slowly enough for me to be ready before he gets here. So by the time I get out of the hairdryer, my mother is helping me to get rollers out of my hair and telling me that he is in the driveway shoveling my car out of more than a foot of snow, which has accumulated over several snowstorms. While more than a foot had already melted, he had expressed serious concerns about the wellbeing of my vehicle the first date, so he has taken it upon himself to help remedy the situation. Is the guy really for real?

I hop into the shower. I change my mind on an outfit. Decide to crank it up a notch. Look at myself from different angles in the mirror, change undershirts. Decide it doesn’t look right today. Change back to the original outfit. Pop in my contacts. Brush my teeth. Fix my do. Grab my computer—there’s work to be done even in our afternoon together. Run downstairs and he and my mom are chatting easily in the living room, while watching television.

There’s no rush to end the conversation. He doesn’t look relieved, like I have rescued him from “tortuous, awkward talk with parent.” They continue chatting, and I listen until we decide what we’re doing.

Our plans for the day are unformed, so when the plan—a science museum—doesn’t look like it’s worth the short time before closing, we decide to walk the city. We talk. We share stories. We sip our drinks.

Did I tell you that the moment we got in the car, he told me how beautiful my hair looked? How it was so full of body and sexy. Yeah, it was so worth being late.

When we got back to my house, he asked me to play him my music. I am ashamed to say that working like a maniac, it has literally been many months since I have picked up the guitar and seriously played. So yes, I forgot lyrics and chord changes here and there, but he didn’t seem to mind. He asked if he could record me on his iPhone, and even though I don’t want him to capture the flubs, I let him because he says he loves my voice.

Then I give him the neck massage I offered him when he was complaining about pain there earlier. Mmm. Muscular boy who smells so good. Somehow that leads to the living room and flipping each other over in play practice of the mixed martial art of jiu-jitsu.

There was something immensely satisfying when I flipped him, even though I knew he was letting me. Because I also knew the monkey in me had the natural ability to block some of his moves when he least expected it.

I sort of knew I would love it.  But I’m not crazy enough to really get into it until I am at a more stable health status.

This time, I get a kiss good night. It’s chaste enough with my mother in the next room. But there is enough sparkle there that I know PG would turn PG13 or higher if we had the house to ourselves.

This time, I am happy to take things slow. See where things might go. He is showing me that it’s worth finding out where this might possibly lead.