Dating era unlocked, operating on pure vibes

Warning: If you don't want to know anything about my recently revived sex life—and what it's taught me about shame—you might want to skip this one.

Dear Tinys,

Not all that long ago, I met someone. I wasn't trying to meet anyone and I wasn't expecting to meet anyone. I guess that's kind of the best way, no?

Valle de Bravo, where I've been living for the last couple of months, is a small town about two hours from Mexico City. It's lush and green and mountainous and beautiful. The city center is cobbled and kind of gorgeous too, as a lot of little Mexican towns are. When I say it's a small town though, I really mean it. From what I can gather, as far as places to hang out at night, there's pretty much one bar people rely on. You'll find people of all ages there. It's chill. I've also started to make friends with the bartenders.

I haven't really been much of a go-to-the-bar-much type for the past few years. But here in Valle, it's a place where there's community. They have game nights and karaoke and live music. People gather there and I love it.

The first night I went, I met a lot of guys. It was a little jarring to me that so many of them wanted to talk to me. Not because I don't know why they would, I do. But I'd just forgotten how to be single in pretty much every aspect of it. So then when it was happening, me being single with these guys wanting my attention, it made me feel weird. A decade of being loyal in a relationship will do that I suppose.

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If you ask me, sex is not some kind of gift or trading token. I think this idea of making a guy wait to have sex just for the sake of it, like he has to "earn" it or something, is related to a very tragic element of the patriarchy that shames women for our sexuality. As if we aren't sexual beings; as if we don't enjoy sex (and the whole process that goes with it, too). I'm also not saying it's wrong to wait if that's what you want. But viewing sex as some kind of prize feels unhealthy, unethical, and fundamentally wrong to me.

This is relevant because I'm single for the first time in a decade. On top of that, the last couple of years in my relationship were lacking in a lot of intimacy, physical intimacy included. I guess I thought I just wasn't a very sexual person anymore. Not the case. I am, I think, in a normal way for a 40-year-old woman. It was just that relationship and so much that had gone wrong (not to mention, me being the only one putting in real effort for a long time).

Anyway, it's like I'm being reintroduced to my sexual self after being so disconnected from her for a longgggg while. And getting lots of attention from these cute mountain men? I'm an Aries, as it were—I love attention. I love all this attention from them. I'm the forest feeling the warm sun after a lengthy and difficult winter.

Am I interested in being in anything close to a serious relationship right now? Or any formal relationship at all? Probably not. But casual connections, in which I mean there's a real vibe (a real connection), and we simply enjoy that for what it is, whatever it is, sound like a good way for me to be single right now.

So, to be the most real with you, it's been happening. That bar has unlocked the new world I'm in of casual connections. I'm not going to go into details. That's for my close friends only. But speaking of that, I was actually a little hesitant to tell them (let alone all of you, right now). Why? Now I'm getting to the point I've been coming to all along.

Shame. In layers, shame.

The first layer is the fucking patriarchy, which is probably not a surprise. Women having casual sex still comes with a lot of judgment, from both men and women. It's society-wide, with not all that many exceptions. I don't think I need to dive full-force into the politics and philosophies of all that; we all know what it is and that it's still very present.

Maybe it's even worse that the judgment is often hidden or disguised as concern. As if women having casual sex is automatically problematic behavior. As if it is necessarily setting ourselves up to get hurt. As if there's something wrong with us for enjoying sex the way men do. As if it should make us embarrassed, or yeah, ashamed.

The second layer is related to age. It occurred to me that being 40 might lead to more judgment about having casual sex than someone in their 20s. That a 40-year-old (re: woman) should be more serious and discerning about sexual partners. That meeting a guy at a bar and going home with him is something that only younger people should do, or that it's only acceptable when you're younger.

But that's exactly how it's happened. It starts with a look, then a conversation, then longer looks. Then he touches my arm, my face, and we bring our beers outside to the low-lit cobbled street, and as was inevitable from the first time we met each other's eyes, we kiss. There's a vibe—a connection. And then, you know what happens next.

So why have I been hesitant about telling my friends about all of this? It occurred to me they might judge me for precisely what I mentioned. That I should be doing it differently. Getting to know a person better first. Going on a real date first. That they'd think I was too old to be going home with a guy I met at a bar. It's only acceptable when you're younger. It's only acceptable when you're younger. It's only acceptable when you're younger.

The brain is so weird. I'm not friends with the kind of people who would judge me, especially not for this. We're like-minded. I'm also not the kind of person who would judge them for doing whatever they want. So what the hell with the shame then? Society can really get in my head, I guess. It can get into all of our heads. And it's not even a little bit uncommon that we're harder on ourselves than we'd ever be on our friends who we love.

Here's something very precise I realized about shame as I was feeling it. Even though I've been actively learning and practicing this act of sitting with all the sadness and anger and guilt of my breakup for months, shame feels different to me. Unlike with those other dark emotions, there was a strong urge to push it down, to pretend it didn't exist, to try to get rid of it—-which does not work at all, by the way.

But therapy isn't for nothing, and my therapist is the GOAT, so I didn't do that. Not this time. A past me would have.

This time I let it be. I sat with it. And enough time sitting with it made me realize that this shame was coming from an external place. It wasn't about how I think or feel about myself, but a fear about what people would think of me. If you know me, you know I don't live like that. I don't make decisions based on other people's potential judgments. I also don't hide who I am. It's not always so straightforward though, as you can see. Sometimes it includes a battle with shame.

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Aside from telling my friends all the fun details (yeah, they really are fun, because it's been exceptionally fun), I've also started to share with them that I was having these feelings of shame too. Best decision ever.

Shame ends when we share it, which is a really beautiful thing. In this case, it quickly went away—because the story in my head that certain friends of mine were going to judge me was false. No judgment. Of course no judgment. Not only no judgment, but encouragement.

Yeah, I've been living in the depths of sadness and grief all year, and longer, because my relationship had been pretty bad for a while, even before we broke up. It makes sense that anyone who loves me is going to be happy to see me emerging on the other side. Having actual fun. Not taking life so, so, so seriously all the time. Feeling this amazing lightness again.

It's not just the sex or even the attention that is giving way to this lightness, not at all. It's feeling the chemistry, the connection with new people. It's exciting and surprising and fucking fun.

And the story in my mind, that society and you guys reading this were going to judge me for meeting someone at a bar and going home with him? I guess I don't know if you are judging me or not. Even if you are, that's kind of a yikes for you, no? As for me, I have no regrets about what's gone down or will go down. Casual connection has been pretty fun so far, including the inevitable drama that comes with it. And until I'm ready for something else or until it isn't what I want anymore, well, here we are.

Honestly, this is not something I had thought about or thought I would be ready for when I moved here, but time and some profound effort on my part have moved me to a new stage of this journey. Um, hello new stage. I welcome you with the fieriest fire in me.

And shame is such a trip, such a dark walk into where it seems no one wants to go or even look. No matter that this new stage of life I’ve suddenly found myself in, of connecting in various ways with new people, has been making me feel genuinely light—and that this exact lightness is what I've been actively, verbally looking forward to. Shame tried to sneak in and ruin it, fueled by societal trash I will never subscribe to. Society will trick us into being unhappy, if we let it. 0/10 recommend that.

I wanted to share this here because shame is a truly hard emotion. Hard to feel. Hard to admit. Hard to talk about. We're taught to ignore it and push it down, so that's what we tend to do without thinking about it. We're taught this by our very culture and then the ego too. It doesn't have to be so hard though. The relief I feel after getting this out is no small thing.

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I'll end on some chisme instead of shame. It fits better with the mood. In this realm of casual connections, I want you to know that I don't vibe with just anyone. I'm pretty particular, but more than anything, it's a feeling. It doesn't have to be magical per se, but occasionally, it is.

It had been so long since I felt it (operatively: had been so long). I think that's why I feel as light as I do these weeks. It's like my body forgot it could happen again. Sure my brain knew, but it's not the same. In this case, the vibe was off-the-charts vibing, and I live for that magic.

You see, I want a lot,
Maybe I want it all:
the darkness of each endless fall,
the shimmering light of each ascent.

—Rainer Maria Rilke

And now that my body remembers, my shoulders are relaxed, I dance down the mountain, my soul is in an air balloon floating into the orangest cotton clouds of a summer evening sky. Thinking about Omar, it still makes me a little sad, but I'm not there anymore, and for the first time since it ended, I actually don't want to go back.