My BFF (Best Former Fiance) and advice from other old beaus

"It is one of the blessings of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."
-- Ralph Waldo Emerson

“You know what this is like,” said my friend Brandon. “This is like at the end of the Big Lebowski when...”

I cut him off.

“Are you about to compare me to The Dude?”

“Yeah, I’m going to compare you to The Dude.”

I recommend seeing yourself through the eyes of an ex-boyfriend at least once. It’s one of those fascinating, hideous things – like slowing down at the scene of a crash or smelling a gallon of milk that went bad last week.

For example, the bloated, stoned Jeff Bridges is not exactly what I imagined when I fantasized about my former loves fantasizing about me. I pictured them thinking of me 20 pounds lighter, my boobs two sizes larger, experiencing a great hair day, tendrils of curls blowing about my face as I slowly drift out of site – wearing something so fabulous I could never afford it.

For reasons that indicate the universe is indeed a mysterious place – I find myself these days having regular conversations with three former beaus – Sam, my very first serious boyfriend, Jack, a man who could never commit until I was gone, and Brandon, a former fiancé that, despite some irreconcilable differences that made our break up a very wise decision, remains the gold standard in humanity.

It’s with my best former fiancé (my BFF!) that I am sitting in a Ruby Tuesday having lunch. Brandon likes the all you can eat fries. Between bites he rattles off the different online dating sites he wants me to be on – he’s increasingly interested in me dating, ever since his recent engagement to a woman who seems, frankly, perfect for him.

“You got to get out there Kells.”

Yes, I know. And I would be. Except out there is so much like being in the middle of the sea, casting about in the waves, clinging to one of those doughnut-shaped life preservers. If you’re a stickler for detail – you can imagine the word Titanic printed across it. I do.

“But you have to remember, men are very superficial. You have to clean yourself up a bit.”

WHAT THE GODDAMN WHAT?

It’s not that Brandon didn’t have a point. I woke up late for lunch and hey, because it’s just Brandon, my hair was still wet from my shower, I didn’t bother with make-up, and I decided to wear the same tank top I’d slept in because, hey, how dirty could it be? It was not my finest hour, I know. But still. Ow, motherfucker.

Later, I relayed the above conversation to my friend Jack.  Jack could never decide if he loved me until I had enough and jammed. Since then, he’s loved me desperately.  He seemed to be listening patiently, and I waited for him to tell me that Brandon is crazy – that men actually prefer a scruffy-looking woman. I mean – think of the self-confidence I’m rocking.

“You’re the kind of woman who would shorten a man’s life,” Jack said.

“WHAT!” I shouted.

In the ten years since our relationship ended, Jack has tried to convince me I broke his heart. But he is the one who broke up with me. He is the one who said, “I want time to meet more women on the Internet.”  He added that part, “on the Internet.” We remain friends because, despite everything, we can still tell each other everything. He tells me about the (often married) women he’s dating and I tell him to knock that shit off.  

“I’m really glad we’re friends again,” wrote my friend Sam, just today.

He re-emerged this summer after a 20-year absence. He was my first, real, high school boyfriend and he broke up with me for a 23-year-old woman who he later married. So, yeah, that smarted. But now that I’ve seen how things played out – and I see the kind of life he wanted, the kind of life he chose, I know we were never meant to be. That’s the beauty of time.

But what I most like about Sam – that I don’t remember from way back when – is his candor. When I was on an emotional roller coaster ride with a thrice-divorced narcissist my girlfriends told me to “give it time” or “just wait, he’ll come around.” Not Sam. When I sent him an 11-page dissertation detailing my ups and downs with the guy -- everything from first hello to last text message Sam said, “Guy sounds crazy. Don’t date the insane.”

You have to admire advice so captivatingly simple.  

When I was young I thought the heart was like a bunker without windows, with only room for one, plus me. I thought it was a secluded place – and maybe because, back then, it was.

Now I think of my heart more like a dinner table – a big, rustic butcher block with wildflowers in the middle. There is room for everyone – but still space left for the one special person at my elbow.