It’ll happen when you’re not looking…
I certainly wasn’t looking when I met my ex in the old-fashioned way.
Three mad years after my husband died, when my self-destructive tendencies had reached their zenith and I’d started inflicting them on the rest of my family, I booked myself in for a hardcore, eight day, intensive personal and spiritual development retreat with http://www.hoffmaninstitute.co.uk/origins.html.
I wrote a piece about it for http://www.womanandhome.com/ magazine. Here it is: http://elainekingett.co.uk/?page=article-details&article-id=11.
I left the place with more compassion for my parents, a renewed acceptance of myself as a valuable human being and a vow of enforced celibacy for a minimum of two years. And I kept it until I went to a wedding in Penzance.
The previous weekend, I’d returned from a rave in Cornwall and aquaplaned on the motorway, hitting the central reservation. No one was hurt but I remember the small voice of my daughter, sitting in the passenger seat, asking, ‘What’s happening?’ and me replying, in an equally small voice, ‘Aaaaaaaaaaah, ‘ as I gripped the steering wheel with totally straight arms.
But I’d booked my train ticket to go back down and it seemed a shame to waste the money. I spent the whole of the Quaker ceremony, lunch, champagne reception and most of the disco refusing my friend’s entreaties to, ‘ Meet my uncle, he’s single.’ I hadn’t touched a drop. I have witnesses. And I was on antibiotics. The last thing I wanted to do was ‘meet’ someone’s relation who lived in Cornwall and who, I’d clocked, was wearing shorts and walking sandals. But to shut her up, I did. And I fell in love with him at first sight. It lasted five years years.
Am I looking now? I don’t know, I wish some one would look for me. Save me the hassle.
Today I got an email from The Hoffman Process enticing me join a two day Relationship Workshop for Individuals in March. It costs an arm and a leg but then so did the retreat and I’d recommend that to absolutely everyone. http://tinyurl.com/ofvkcx6.
Shall I do it? Oh, I don’t know.
I’ve stopped glancing ’round the room in pubs and bars, stopped eyeing up grandads on Church Street, stopped putting eye makeup on before I take the dog out, stopped wondering if my male neighbours are married, single or gay, stopped loitering with intent in Waitrose and John Lewis. I’ve stopped internet dating but did have a shifty on Tinder. It hasn’t improved.
You tell me.