Moving from Bear to Bull Market

After what seemed like an eternity, the fog has finally lifted.

My last entry (written some six weeks ago) I recognize now as a desperate attempt to convince myself that I was coming out of my funk. Oh, how I was mistaken. Things got worse before they got better. But I’m proud to say that I’ve escaped the blues relatively unscathed. And honestly, I feel like I’m starting to catch my stride again.

Now that I’m closer to 40 than I am to 20, I feel a definite change. I’m moving a little slower. My hair is coming out in clumps. And I just don’t have the energy that I used to have. But, I’m reminded of an old cowboy joke that kind of sums up my attitude toward the aging process:

Two bulls (one young, one old) were sitting atop a hill overlooking a prairie that was dotted with cows. The young bull looks over at the old bull and says, “What do you say we run down there and fuck one of those cows?”

The old bull paused, thought for a minute, and said, “Nah. Let’s just walk down there and fuck ’em all.”

This is not to say that I’m out to fuck every woman on four… er, TWO legs. Simply, it means that my recklessness and bravado have been replaced with a cool head that comes from years of experience. You don’t have to move faster to get what you want. Slow and steady wins the race.

My cast of characters has slowed to a trickle. Saturday afternoon, I attended a birthday party for an old friend of mine. She’d turned 30. There were times when these occasions meant renting a bus or a limo and running naked through the streets of Kansas City. But this party was decidedly different.

The children at this party outnumbered the adults, two-to-one. There were toys underfoot at every turn. Little girls jumped on my back and tugged at my arms. Babies screamed. Cell phones were replaced with baby monitors. Women talked about pregnancy and playdates and teaching little Bryan how to use the potty.

Mark and I were the only two non-hitched, non-fathers at the soiree. I realized that I have fallen woefully behind on The Great Life Plan. The wolfpack has dwindled and divided, and it’s become more and more difficult to get the guys together for a night of carousing.

I can see that this is taking its toll on Mark. His self-confidence seems to be shattered these days. He’s got friends trying to match him up constantly (which, to me, is rock-bottom), and none of the leads have been even close to satisfactory. He wants out of the game.

These feelings tend to come and go, and I’m trying to convince him that I am indeed back in the saddle and ready to stir up some of the old magic. But it ain’t easy. I see the look of terror every time I meet a new woman. Like I’m going to drop off the face of the earth once again, and leave him scrounging for nuggets of a social life. Mark is a good man to have in your corner, but he’s not much of a self starter. He’s got a few of his own things going on, but I know that our Saturday nights on the hunt are the highlight of his week. I’m sure he’ll be back to his old self eventually.

Because I am the eternal optimist, I have a different approach. I realize the fact that I’m not 24. And I’m fine with that. I don’t have to run down the hill anymore. My phone is ringing off the hook on the weekends, but—surprise surprise—it’s not all wolves anymore.

After the birthday party, Mark and I ran off to our usual haunt. We met up with a batch of girls on a bachelorette party. In attendance was Stef—a girl from my distant past. One that got away before she and I could ever really test the waters.

Her situation changed at some point last year, and she moved back to Kansas City. We’d been talking a little, and not much else. And now she’d made the effort to drag the party to the other side of town to meet up with us.

As the night wore on, we managed to get cozy with one another. My hands felt comfortable at her waist. And she was reaching for me as we’d move through the crowd.

Somewhere around 2, Mark made his exit (he works weekends, and has to be at the job at 6 a.m.). And Stef made the boldest move known to mankind. She informed the girls (one of whom was her sister) that she was leaving with me.

We spent the rest of the night on the deck at my house, drinking and smoking cigarettes. Tiki torches lit up the front of the house like it was on fire. The radio played through the window. And we had a fantastic time. We went to bed just as the sky was starting to soften.

One year ago at this time, I’d just purchased an engagement ring. I was preparing to close up the bachelor manifesto once and for all. Riding off into the sunset. Since then, all that has changed. I realize now that I dodged a pretty big bullet. I missed a few warning signs that we were not meant to be together. The months that followed seemed like a slow death. But really, they were a second chance at life.

I recognize this now. And I realize that I haven’t necessarily gotten too old for the game. I’m just playing by a different set of rules. Not better. Not worse. Just different. There are plenty of females still in the pasture.

Why rush?