The Greatest Love Story Ever Told
The time has finally arrived for me to tell you about my new boyfriend.
I can’t bear to write an email about business this week because I’ve written so many promo emails this month. Fourteen, if you want to know. Bets you’re pooped out on hearing me talk about “tuning into your own wisdom” and “the marketing industrial complex that was designed to separate you from your discernment.”
OMG, SO TEDIOUS TARZAN CAN WE GET BACK TO TALKING ABOUT SEX AND DRUGS, PLEASE?!
With pleasure, FIRSTNAME.
Let’s talk about love.
I’ve been single for more than three years. It’s been incredible. And I’m not just saying that because it sounds good. I taught myself to ski and go on mini-breaks alone and became a NATIONAL MEDALIST. I’ve been ATVing in the Azores and rappelling down waterfalls. I’ve taken myself out to fancy dinners in foreign countries without the armour of a book or my iphone.
Here at home I manage a lot all without a partner—a big house with a grassy yard, a public-facing business that requires me to be on a lot of the time, two sweet boys under ten, plus years of support payments to my ex-husband who more than earned them in his years as a stay-at-home parent. All those things give me enormous pride.
While I love being single, I’ve also ached for partnership, to have that person who sees me like no one else does, the human version of a soft hoodie on a cool Fall day, a grown-up to be on the journey with me, to be that single set of footprints in the moments when I need carrying.
One problem is I have a 48-hour window of tolerance for dating apps. I tried them all, even The League (← I truly hope you don’t know what I’m talking about. Unless you’re looking to date someone in finance, in which case, here’s my affiliate code.)
Dating apps were unlikely to produce a mate for Tarzan.
Another problem was I had to get rid of the sort-of-but-not-actually boyfriend with whom I had a four-year situationship that started as a consensually polyamorous love affair but eventually devolved into “secret girlfriend” territory. Our relationship was conducted exclusively on random Wednesdays when he had no prior engagements with the more important people in his life. It ended in the Spring but I’m still mad at myself for thinking a yacht and a ski lodge and a mansion with a tennis court could ever make up for the fact that my too-rich boyfriend was ashamed to be spending time with me.
Yikes, that escalated quickly This was supposed to be a love story.
Actually it’s better, it’s a hope story. Or maybe all love stories are hope stories.
I met someone at my brother’s funeral — he would want me to clarify that it was the rehearsal and that he is not some creepy opportunist who picks up women at funerals. He’s a gentleman. He always pays for dinner and makes sure there’s gas in my tank. He’s self-reflective and will say things like, “I thought about that thing you said yesterday and I want to apologize for how I reacted.” He has ten years of sobriety and when he told me that I threw my arms around him and sobbed into his shoulder I missed my brother so much. “It’s good to cry,” he told me. “I cry all the time.” Then he showed me a picture of a sunrise that he took on his phone. Not even a good one. The man just really likes sunrises.
I wish I could tell you his backstory but he’s private and I want to do a better job of honouring privacy than I did in previous relationships. Not everyone wants their life splashed on the internet. But I can tell you that one of the best parts of our relationship is laying on my blue velour couch under a wool blanket listening to him tell me stories about his life. He is unlike anyone I’ve ever known, a book I don’t want to put down.
We’re in the falling-in-love part of the relationship. The just-discovering-each-other part. The what-will-they-do-next part. The deliciously sleep-deprived and riding high on pheromones part. It’s a trip.
Yesterday I had dinner with his family to celebrate his birthday. I brought my guitar and sang Closer To Fine after dessert, the slow and reflective Brandi Carlile version, which is kind of the perfect song for someone in recovery celebrating their birthday. Everybody at the table was crying. My guy could not believe it. Personally, I thought it was super weird that he fell for me without having heard me sing because normally singing is how I make people fall in love with me. I’m kind of a mermaid like that.
That’s as much as I can tell you right now.
I am excited to see where this goes, and that’s a wonderful feeling. These few months with him have been a healing balm since losing my brother. It feels like Quentin sent him to me, which is why I like telling people that I met my guy at his funeral.
One of my life mottos is, “I’m always looking for my next great love story.”
Love stories aren’t just about lovers. This year I fell in love with skiing. I read Johann Hari’s entire library. I discovered song circles. I let my team drive the bus while I laid around for two months crying for my brother, who was one of my life’s great loves.
I want my whole life to be the greatest love story ever told. All of it is a love story, even business.
Today I’m just happy to be living the story.
XOT
Tarzan Kalryzian [she/they]
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