Dear Reader,
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People have a way of coming into our life sometimes when we need them the most. We need the lesson, we need the support, we need the wake up or the shake up. Are they meant to stay, meant to teach us something, or both?​
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This past week I was out for a run and ran past my pandemic boyfriend, who was out on the adjacent golf course. We recognized each other at exactly the same moment and waved.
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That was all. No follow up text, no other acknowledgement. We've both been in committed relationships with other people for years now.
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​But his role in my life was integral at the very time I needed it the most. I think of his presence in my life like that of a shepherd, crossing me through my divorce in the midst of a global pandemic, and out safely the other side.

He and I will always think of each other fondly, even if the relationship wasn’t meant to be THE relationship. It was an important one to both of us.

That’s what I want to talk about today — how many relationships can shape us, leave us changed, even if they aren’t meant to be THE relationship. ​
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When I first began seeing him, I was in the throes of my terrible divorce, my life was chaos and I had vowed that I would never date or love again. Too painful, too risky. But I ran into him at a local event, and we talked as we usually did. I mentioned that I was getting a divorce, and I saw the shock on his face. But a couple of days later, I got a text. “Would it be too forward of me to ask you to dinner sometime, when you feel ready?” ​
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We’d known each other for years. I was active in and on the board of the Chamber of Commerce, and he was the town’s first selectman (mayor). He was safe, known to me. I have a picture of him with my husband, daughter, and me at the ribbon cutting for my first private practice, long before he became my pandemic boyfriend.
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So out to dinner we went. And I had the best time at that dinner I'd ever had with a man. The simplicity of it was like a revelation. He asked questions, and listened, we laughed, shared our common interests. Despite our large age gap, our companionship was strong from the start. We began to see each other.

Shortly after, the pandemic fell over the world, and he and I became each other's safe haven. He said to me often during those days, “I want to be good to you and good for you.”

Those were words I'd never heard before. And they were words I didn't even know I needed to hear. It was just the care and love I needed. He was the corrective mirror to the broken experience I had in my marriage. ​
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He taught me how to clip in and ride on a road bike. We spent the pandemic riding together, and when our relationship ended, my love of cycling continued. I wrote of this in my book, 'Beyond Infidelity', and how that led me to the wonderful partner I’ve been with for the past few years — we met on our bikes.
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So even though my pandemic boyfriend and I were so many good things for and to each other, it still didn’t mean we were meant to stay together. Our lives were on different paths and in different seasons. There were aspects of a relationship I needed that kept coming up against the capacity of ours.
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​We kept going back and forth — should we get a dog, or break up?

Could we move on without returning to each other?

How do you leave someone you love, who is good to you, whom you’re still fond of and care for deeply and always will?
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​The "how" is in having the discernment to know that a good relationship doesn’t need to mean that it’s the right relationship.

That sometimes, we can have a corrective experience with someone (an experience that shows us what is possible) without it being durable. That sometimes, the wisdom to know that someone can be wonderful but not ultimately for us, is to exercise next-level personal evolution.
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I struggled when it ended. I wondered, Did I miss him, or did I miss the closeness? Did I want the relationship back, or did I just want the familiarity? Did I want to make things work, or did I want to not be alone? Ultimately, I decided to bet on being alone over being comfortable. ​
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This wasn’t easy. Being with him felt comfortable, companionate, like home. It was easy, good. But it wasn’t IT.
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But last week, as I ran around the neighborhood and circled back on the next hole, he and his golf group had progressed. I passed them again. This time, I didn’t wave. He knows how to find me, but he won’t reach out. I could do the same, but I won’t either.

It took us a long time to get there, but to learn to live with love in my heart for someone I ultimately wasn't meant to build a life with was an expansive experience in growth and maturity that shaped me.
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We still share this small town, and I hope we always will.

We both moved on, but we left each other better. And sometimes, that’s what love is.
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Until next week,
Lauren