Steph Not Stephanie

Well, I’ve written and deleted about five versions of this post in the past 20 minutes, so I might as well just cut the shit and get right to it: things didn’t work out with JB. We had possibly the most civilized conversation ever that started with the words, ‘I need to talk to you about something,’ and decided to *gasp* remain actual friends.

I haven’t always been so open to that idea. In fact, my old mantra was, ‘I don’t need friends. I have friends.’ I much preferred pretending as if that person ceased to exist, something I’ve been quite vocal about.

My former tendency towards avoidance stemmed from a bit of embarrassment at being caught with my guard down, while wrestling with the feeling of not being enough. Nowadays, I’m working on the enough bit, and I can be happy I’ve had the strength to drop my guard — maybe not at the exact moment the proverbial knife is being twisted, but eventually.

That I’ve been able to be so unguarded with JB is probably why we were able to handle things the way we did. We talked over a pot of tea, then cooked dinner together and watched the Walking Dead. We also made plans to continue kitchen adventures (read: me setting off the smoke detector and him reassuring me that my food is actually good). When I told one of my best friends how the conversation went down and that it was ‘fine and normal,’ she ‘Stephanie Jean‘d’ me and said it was decidedly neither fine nor normal.  Maybe that’s the point, though. From the beginning, JB and I both stated one of the most refreshing things about our time and talks together is neither of us feels the need to walk on eggshells with each other. Present tense intentional, and we intend to keep it that way.

Now before you think I’m doing this whole adult thing right, I need to clarify. I’m not made of stone; there were tears and phone calls as soon as the door closed, but that’s because I tend to cry at most anything (don’t get me started on this) and I’m not heartless. There were feelings and they need to be dealt with, and that’s okay. I’ve just lately been embracing the idea that because something doesn’t work out romantically doesn’t mean it can’t be something else that’s awesome too. Just not everyone, or I’ll end up back here again. Recently (and with more than one person), I’ve found myself pleasantly surprised by how easy the transition from romantic to platonic can be. Maybe that is the adult thing done right?

Perhaps the most surprising news? I have not drowned this in wine. I’m taking a week off drinking (after all the gin and karaoke on my 32nd), and while there are about four bottles of wine in my fridge, they will remain untouched. I have, however, downed about a litre of tea today. I’m classy like that.