Stop reaching for a rebound

Whatever the reason, whether it's them, whether it's you, whether it's timing or circumstances out of your control, when you can't have the one you want, the one you really want, the one you know deep down was put on this earth for you and you alone, the standard for what you'll allow to come after them is inextricably tied - and unavoidably lowered due - to the still-fresh memory of the one from which you were forced to walk away.

Put simply, you rebound.

And while this sort of relationship can work and has worked, for the most part, the allure of having something new and of being seen with something new, regardless of its inadequacy, will rapidly lose its lustre and thrust you head and heart first into one of those I'll-never-find-something-better phases.

That's presently where I am.

But it's not exactly what you may be thinking.

My heart is broken, yes, and I have been trying to move on with limited success due to both my unwillingness to accept the so-not-my-choice departure of "the one" and because of the string of vastly inferior replacements with which I've attempted (and patently failed) to fill this gaping void.

But you've got to understand, this one was special. Really special. I mean, how often does one find a perfect condition circa-1956 gold lamé cocktail dress with waist-cinch, pleated pencil skirt, and a gathered front and back deep v-neck plunge?

But the dress is gone. It's done. And I need to move on with the mindset that I'm no longer looking for another version of my perfect dress but rather opening my mind - and heart - to the possibility of falling for something completely different.

Maybe next time it'll be a silk burgundy sheath with cap-sleeves and a drop-waist. Maybe a backless gunmetal column gown. Who knows?

All I do know is that after having received in the mail yesterday my fifth nope-not-good-enough gold lamé vintage cocktail dress (very similar to this), I'm through looking for the perfect replica of the perfect past dress. In fact, I'm gonna stop looking altogether. Two episodes ago on Tell Me You Love Me, therapist May told recently single sex-addict Jamie that only when she stops actively trying to replace her former fiancé will she stop reaching for unhealthy, unsuccessful rebounds.

And they say you don't learn anything on TV...

Here below, exactly 13 months ago this Friday, my last evening with "the one." I can barely stand to look at it. Or my hair.