Not the right one?

First of all, an aside to a wicked reader: This post isn’t to you or about you. I honor your judgment and love you as a friend.

I’m just a lonely cyclist looking for love. Funny the label I choose for myself. Cyclist. People I meet at parties or bars invariably ask, “So, what do you do?” And I’ll be in a quandary how best to reply. Galavant? Ne’er-do-well? Vagabond? I usually say “semi-retired,” which is in itself a grudging admission I won’t quite be able to bridge the gap to simply “retired.” At some point, I must re-enter the rat-race. Hopefully, on terms palatable to my delicate psyche. if I had my druthers, I’d answer “cyclist.” Because that’s who I am and what I do. I ride my bike. Problem is, that answer causes consternation and leads to more questions seeking an explanation, which I suppose isn’t a bad way to fuel conversation at a bar or party.

Truth be told, I don’t cycle enough. I let real life get in the way. Obligations. And TV. Stationary inertia. Errands. Driving. General time wasting. And kindness. i.e. I find myself so busy helping others, I don’t leave enough time for myself. No matter where I am, or who I am with, I need to be more selfish and carve out seat time. Invariably, riding leaves me feeling more invigorated and clear-headed. Yeah, I need to true to who I am, and ride more, even if it’s riding alone.

Looking for love led me back to California and an old friend this fall. I fell for her and spent a winter with her five years ago before becoming discouraged and returning to Minnesota. Occasional fruitless rendezvous over the years only perpetuated my discouragement. But did I give up too easily? In an apparent vacuum, she recently concluded she wanted me, and invited me back into her life. I get it that need isn’t necessarily love, and as before, chemistry is suspect. I wonder if I may not be the right one for her.

I came back to Minnesota for the holidays because my daughter who went to California with me got homesick and wanted to spend Christmas with her Mom. After the holidays, I intend to return to California and continue to help my friend who needs me. When I’m not riding my bike, I will simply love her unconditionally and strive to improve and become her “one.” If it doesn’t work out, I will chalk up the whole endeavor as helping a friend, which is always good karma.

Angel recently left a series of heart-wrenching voicemails on my phone begging for a get-together. Sex is always a strong temptation, but I finally took her call and turned her down for two reasons. Her being a train-wreck who is bad for me wasn’t one of them. But the fact she crossed the line when she went after my daughter can never be undone; I can forgive, but never forget. The other reason is loyalty to my California dream girl, despite no commitments being made.

Here is what I’m figuring out about dating: it’s like roulette strategy. One could hedge their bets by spreading their chips around, fostering this prospect or that. Hell, I admit being guilty of that kind of thinking even in some of my old blog posts, speculating aloud about various women in my life. My preferred strategy is to put all my chips on one square and commit 100% to that woman. California it is. No other prospects, no backup plan.

I sure hope my daughter elects to go back to California with me and go to beauty school there. She is old enough to stay in Minnesota and start life on her own. But I would miss her, and probably travel back and forth more frequently to help her.


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