You deserve someone so much better.""You will find someone better so soon that you wont even know.""I told you, he/she wasn't good enough for you.""Oh c'mon! He/she wasn't the ONE for you.""Things will soon be fine. It's just a phase.""He/she will never find anyone better than you. Let him/her rot in hell."Gradually, you realize that all these are STANDARD statements that everybody makes to everyone. Because they don't have anything else to say.But, only your heart knows what you actually want to hear is something else. Entirely different.How you actually want and need to be handled is different. But, you don't say. Because you are scared to lose what's now left with you, and that's completely fine. To be protective of what's left. Because you can't bring back the dead!However, you also realize, that out of all these people there was only one who had the courage to show you a mirror and not be shattered by your wrath.You realize that there was only one set of arms, that were your sanctuary even though you twisted them in an outburst of anger.Not suddenly, but really slowly it settles within you, that it was only one person who knew you inside out and had the bravery to handle you at your worst.Even more slowly it settles you let that person drift away when you wanted them to run back to you and hold onto you.And so you are left with people telling you, "life moves on" and no one telling you, "Let's just pause it here!

I immersed myself in my relationship with my husband, in little ways at first. Dutch would come home from his morning workout and I’d bring him coffee as he stepped out of the shower. He’d slip into a crisp white shirt and dark slacks and run a little goop through his hair, and I’d eye him in the mirror with desire and a sultry smile that he couldn’t miss. He’d head to work and I’d put a love note in his bag—just a line about how proud I was of him. How beautiful he was. How happy I was as his wife.He’d come home and cook dinner and instead of camping out in front of the TV while he fussed in the kitchen, I’d keep him company at the kitchen table and we’d talk about our days, about our future, about whatever came to mind. After dinner, he’d clear the table and I’d do the dishes, making sure to compliment him on the meal. On those weekends when he’d head outside to mow the lawn, I’d bring him an ice-cold beer. And, in those times when Dutch was in the mood and maybe I wasn’t, well, I got in the mood and we had fun.As the weeks passed and I kept discovering little ways to open myself up to him, the most amazing thing happened. I found myself falling madly, deeply, passionately, head-over-heels in love with my husband. I’d loved him as much as I thought I could love anybody before I’d married him, but in treating him like my own personal Superman, I discovered how much of a superhero he actually was. How giving he was. How generous. How kind, caring, and considerate. How passionate. How loving. How genuinely good. And whatever wounds had never fully healed from my childhood finally, at long last, formed scar tissue. It was like being able to take a full breath of air for the first time in my life. It was transformative. And it likely would save our marriage, because, at some point, all that withholding would’ve turned a loving man bitter. On some level I think I’d known that and yet I’d needed my sister to point it out to me and help me change.Sometimes it’s good to have people in your life that know you better than you know yourself.

Now give me some advice about how to take full advantage of this city. I’m always looking to improve my odds.”“Just what I’d expect from a horny actuary.”“I’m serious.”Carlos reflected for a moment on the problem at hand. He actually had never needed or tried to take full advantage of the city in order to meet women, but he thought about all of his friends who regularly did. His face lit up as he thought of some helpful advice: “Get into the arts.”“The arts?”“Yeah.”“But I’m not artistic.”“It doesn’t matter. Many women are into the arts. Theater. Painting. Dance. They love that stuff.”“You want me to get into dance? Earthquakes have better rhythm than me…And can you really picture me in those tights?”“Take an art history class. Learn photography. Get involved in a play or an independent film production. Get artsy, Sammy. I’m telling you, the senoritas dig that stuff.”“Really?”“Yeah. You need to sign up for a bunch of artistic activities. But you can’t let on that it’s all just a pretext to meet women. You have to take a real interest in the subject or they’ll quickly sniff out your game.”“I don’t know…It’s all so foreign to me…I don’t know the first thing about being artistic.”“Heeb, this is the time to expand your horizons. And you’re in the perfect city to do it. New York is all about reinventing yourself. Get out of your comfort zones. Become more of a Renaissance man. That’s much more interesting to women.