let me teach you how not to fly off the handle

Oh wait, I have no idea. Sorry.










Ok, ok, ok, since I teased you in here with that headline, let me at least offer you something that has to do with flying off the handle.

I was born in December of 1976 in New York City... oh, wait, nobody has time for my life story!

A brief semi-hypothetical situation then: this girl (we'll call her Kate so you have no idea if it's me or not) and this guy (we'll call him Frank, because that's just the way we roll around here) have had a couple of dates, and luckily have both felt that ever-elusive spark. Hurray! They have a third date planned for the weekend, and at last count, both were excited about it. Just over an hour before the date, however, Kate gets a message from Frank saying that he has to cancel, but that he'll call on Sunday to explain why.

And Kate flies off the handle. For about as long as it takes to shower.

Now, Old Kate would have taken to bed with a big box of raisins and a sense of worthlessness, waiting for someone to come along and rescue her. Luckily, New Kate has learned a thing or two about herself, and knows better than to engage in any kind of crap-o behavior previously associated with rapid-handle-departures, and spends a lovely evening with two very supportive friends and their very adorable child.

Saturday night, while a bummer, turns out not to be a total disaster, despite the fact that cancelling is an issue Kate already has major problems with in relation to a certain German... (but that's an entirely different handle).

Cut to the next day: Kate never receives the call that she was, well, I won't say promised, but that she was certainly expecting. Kate's mother sagaciously points out that because not calling when she said she would is something Kate would never do, she finds it hard to understand. A feeling of internal twistedness akin to sour stomach, a nostalgia for that little spark (now departing on track 3) and an early bedtime ensue. Old Kate at this point, would have cried her eyes dry and wailed "why meeeeeeeee?" into the darkest corners of the universe. (or at least the darkest corners of her closet.)

Finally, by late Monday afternoon, Frank drops the bomb that Kate already knows is coming: he has decided to pursue Another Kate. (Go with the metaphor -- we know that nobody could actually replace Kate.) (except maybe Kate Who Gets Her New Job Now Please...)

And Kate settles quietly back on her handle. Frank's email is sweet, filled with agony and self-flagellation for not having handled things the right way, and Kate can tell this was not an easy situation for him. She puts herself in his shoes, and can even see why he told her the way he did, even though she wishes he had done it in a way that showed her the respect she deserves.

I hear you all asking: so why the drama if this was only their third date? Valid question, friends. But you know what it's like to be out there meeting folks, and wanting to throw yourself in front of a semi more often than not, so when you meet someone you click with... well, that's a treat. And to feel that being taken from you, well, it sucks. (Add to that Kate's issues with cancellation and lack of respect, and bingo! We have runway clearance!) The beauty of this situation, though, is that Old Kate would have flown all the way to the moon, while New Kate ended somewhere around Little India. (Try the curry! Tastes like armpit!)

So how did Old Kate turn into New Kate? One step at a time, I guess. Partly it's finally believing some of the things I already know [let's face it, you knew this was me from the moment I took to bed with a box of raisins], and trusting myself that nothing can be taken from me if it was truly meant to be mine. Yeah, it's a little hooey-gooey. (she flexes her arms and looks at you menacingly) What's your point?

The other difference is that this time, I separated the issues into more bite-sized chunks. On one hand, there's the fact he's seeing someone else. Maybe it's all the years of acting, but that doesn't really hurt. It sucks, but it sucks about as much as not getting a part... albeit one you'd be really right for. On the other hand, there's feeling disrespected by him and the way he handled the situation. That, for me, was the trigger. When I finally started claiming my own worth (yeah, ok, his emailed explanation helped a lot), it was a lot easier to be forgiving (of both him and me), and a lot harder to unglue my butt from the handle.

Helpful story? Probably not. But if you're looking for advice, don't you think should look somewhere other than "kate's guide to just about nothing"?

oh, and p.s. I've conveniently made it sound like I thought all of this through by myself. We call that "dramatic license." (See also "big fat lie") Thanks to those of you who helped me out. You know who you are, and you rock!