Guest Post: My soulmate story.
We meet again . . . and again . . . and . . .
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I asked my mentor and friend Susan Hansen to write a bit of her soulmate story and she cheerfully agreed. Here it is . . .
When I lived in Paris many years ago, I wanted to be a stand up comédienne. The title of my gig was All Men Are Scumbags . . . but I digress.
Today I told Raven a private story I rarely share (Note from Raven: I’m not telling it here). It’s been a long time since I’ve told anyone this story and afterwards, I was embarrassed. Not because of what Raven would think of me — but the gist was that how I acted in my 40s under the influence of peri-menopause and dealing with my soulmate.
Most of the time, I was out of control (hence the title, All Men Are Scumbags).
Raven thought it was hilarious, of course — then asked me to write a Substack about my ongoing soulmate relationship with Charlie B. — because in her words, People love the soulmate stories.
See the thing is, when you’re in your 40s and beyond, men don’t turn their heads to give you a second chance — or even a once-over anymore. It’s not longer cute to wear short-shorts in public, no matter how lovely your legs are. Except during my forties, I had the pleasure to live with my soulmate Charlie B. My legs were always lovely to him.
All soulmates have serious pasts. Some never meet again for hundreds of years. When they do, they just don’t act normally. They collide. One is helpless when meeting their soulmate — because this soulmate is a part of you. You are intertwined so tightly that sometimes you cannot tell who is who in the extension of body/mind and especially, soul.
Having first met my soulmate at an early age (25), I was very sure this was true love when I met him and he with me. Circumstance had it that we were not ready — either of us — to settle down. We had two blissful years.
The second time we collided was in the Newark airport. I was perimenopausal and he was on Wellbutrin. I missed my flight and we spent the weekend at the Airport Hilton. Another two years were spent together in soulmate bliss — until my perimenopausal craziness and 9/11 caused us to separate again.
I’m writing this to all the humans out there. Fuck the stress of finding “somebody”. Fuck the tired old relationship bullshit. Find your soulmate.
As for my own soulmate relationship with Charlie, there are too many “what ifs” to think about and project upon.
I wait.
