Geography Lesson

My friend, Sharone, called me the other day for moral support. I must confess that Sharone is clearly one of my most sophisticated, pulled together friends. Well, at least on the surface - deep down she is as crazy as the rest of us. On top of it all, no one notices her craziness because she is tall, blond, gorgeous and has legs to die for. The thing I love about Sharone is that she, like me, learns best from experience. We need to take a beating before we realize that we are in pain. We tend to take the longest path to our final destination, but we never forget where we have been. Best of all, each journey is a lesson that stays with us; no matter how hard the struggle or how severe the casualties, the journey becomes a part of our map. Over time we begin to see the paths on our map like wounds on our skin. We have come to love ourselves for the scars that we have - we are good at reminding each other of just that.

Moral support: Sharone calls me from a professional conference to tell me there is an international business conference at the same hotel and she has spotted a tall, dark stranger. I quickly ask, "Is he European?" Sharone and I have weaknesses for European men. She informed me that he was in fact European, but worse, he was Italian.

I received another phone call later in the day from Sharone informing me that she had made contact and there were potential plans to meet him. I wanted to be kept abreast of all developments. She agreed.

I hadn't heard from her in a few days. I was worried. What had happened to Sharone? What had happened with the Italian stranger?

The last day of the conference I received a call from Sharone while she was on frantic route to the airport. She had indeed met the stranger and exchanged flirtatious conversation. He was smitten, she was coy. He propositioned her, she declined. He whisked her into the men's room, she lost her name tag. She was excited, frightened, and astounded by her adventure. As she recounted the tale, I couldn't help but picture her standing outside the Men's room wondering how she was going to get inside to retrieve her name tag.

Over the next few weeks she began to beat herself up about the encounter. I attempted to encourage self compassion. The last I heard of this man was when she sent me a picture of him. The following email string ensued:

Sharone: Now tell me honestly...wouldn't you lower your standards and enter a men's bathroom (if you were a lady) for this...ugh. (note the wedding ring in the first pic, the woman's hair on his shoulder in the second...surely I must win the prize for being tacky and slutty this time).
I could only share this with you love.

Darwin: first, entering a bathroom for sex is not lowering my standards. second, he is a delicious man. third, losing your name tag was a minor casualty for that adventure. :)

Sharone: ...and this is why I love you.