Flashback nearly a year ago: A guy I was interested in said he wouldn’t date me because I was “too wild.”
At the time, he was probably not too far off. I was not in a good place emotionally, mentally, or physically, and it showed in my lifestyle.
Flashforward to now:
For starters, I’ve heard the girl he is currently dating goes out far more than I do statistically and the stories I’m told about her antics make anything I’m doing these days seem very tame.
But I digress.
I changed jobs in November and rarely go out during the week (in the interest of disclosure, I did have drinks last night with an old friend from high school, but that is the exception, rather than the rule – I was home/in bed by 9).
My days begin at 3:15 AM and end with a trip to the gym. I also write in the afternoons for a magazine and this blog, along with squeezing in a nap, errands, laundry, “The Daily Show” and “The Colbert Report.”
On the weekends, I attend functions that require my sobriety and I work out (along with pulling an occasional shift at Fox). I shop and see friends.
I would ask this guy how do I qualify now as “too wild?” Is it the Benetton faux-fur zebra-print vest I wear in the spring and fall?
It must be that spikey bracelet I snagged at Macy’s last year by accident. Or my itty bitty tattoo celebrating my three years in New Orleans.
No, no, wait – it must be my live Kylie Minogue CD in my car (not ashamed to admit I love this)!
The change in job (to something I love more than anything in the world – radio) altered my lifestyle and my attitude. It’s an on-going process of growing up, I guess. Not one I’m upset with either.
Don’t get me wrong – I still have the “wild” evening every now and then. I’m definitely not boring by any stretch of the imagination.
But, as a wise friend who is pursuing a phD in psych told me, “balance is the key to everything in life.”
I guess if all that makes me “too wild” to take out to dinner or a movie, then so be it. Anyone worth their salt would care about me for me and not judge my level of “wild” (which, when it all comes down to it, turned out to be a lame excuse).