What Do I Do Now?

In my soul searching after my relationship with Ben ended, I realized that I wanted to pursue a graduate degree in the field of Early Christianity.  I got in touch with my Humanities Professor from Chico State, and he coached me through the process of applying to graduate schools.

My first choice was Syracuse, where he had attended.  Ph.D. candidates in their RS department got full scholarships.  That would work well for me since, after my divorce and Dave’s suicide, my credit was trashed.  I applied there and to a few other places.

While I was waiting to find out what my next steps should be, I began looking for no-strings partners for occasional encounters.   I “dated” one or two… or more, but found that men can be just as clingy and emotional as women are accused of being about regular physical relationships even when I was perfectly clear from the beginning that I was not in a good place to start a relationship and I wasn’t looking for anything long term.

I learned that the majority of men have one of two definitions of “friends with benefits”:

1. Man and woman have sex.  The man definitely gets to orgasm.  The woman is allowed to if she can get there successfully before man does and it requires no extra effort from him.  When we’re not having sex, don’t call me, text me, email me, or expect any acknowledgment of your existence.
2. Man and woman have sex.  The woman turns out to be pretty good at it and not a complete lunatic, so he pursues her with guilt trips and too much unwanted attention.  He cries a lot.

There was no in between, unfortunately, except for Rick.  Rick and I got together a few times, and I got more comfortable with my sexuality than I’d ever been in my life.  I was not self-conscious about my body around him.  I could talk to him openly about what I like and what I don’t like.  I could discuss my fantasies and not be embarrassed.  He listened and he heard and he introduced me to stuff.

We would actually go on dates now and then, too.  We went to a movie once in a while, and I started attending Game Night at his friend’s house.

One night, I came home from a doctor’s appointment for some problems I’d been having with my breathing.  The doctor prescribed an albuterol inhaler, which I’d never used before.  I had taken a puff off of it, right before I walked into the house.   Then my mom told me that there was something on the table for me.

It was a letter from Stanford University, one of the universities I’d applied to.  After Syracuse, Stanford was ideal because it was relatively close to home.  I didn’t think I had a chance because everybody made a big deal about how Stanford had pretty high standards.  I had decent grades in undergraduate, but they weren’t stellar.

My hands shook with the steroid of the inhaler, and the nerves about opening the letter.  It was thick.  That’s Right!  I got accepted to Stanford!

I think it was the essay that got me in.   I wanted to study early Christianity.  I explained what my experience had been with Christianity, and how it had led me to make some bad choices.  I explained how I’d abandoned the idea of God, but that God hadn’t abandoned me and I was feeling a call to learn more.

So my life was going in a much different direction but I was really excited about the changes to come.  One of them would be a move to the Bay Area.