An addendum on the toothbrush

First off, I just want to say that I have the most fantastic readers, family, and friends. This little essay has brought me so much joy, I don't really know how to explain how blessed and happy I feel. I forwarded it to friends, who forwarded it to other friends, and people got in touch with me that I haven't spoken to in years, just to extend their congratulations. I'm floored.

Resoundingly, the first question everyone has asked me has had to do with the toothbrush. Yes, the toothbrush really happened. In fact, it was what allowed me to finally finish the story. I had been tossing the idea of "dating while blogging" around in my head for weeks, because I kept self-censoring out of fear of saying the wrong thing, saying too much, etc. And I had felt like this before. But while the topic seemed to have legs, I couldn't think of how the story would end. For the time being, it was like, Dating While Blogging: It's Weird.

Then he gave me the toothbrush. A small gesture, but one I thought was symbolically significant, and the story practically wrote itself the next day. It actually started in my head as an awkward reference to Say Anything: I gave him my blog, he gave me a toothbrush.

It turned out, though, that the toothbrush came to epitomize the exact fear I had been writing about.

A few days after I finished the essay, I let him read it. He got kind of quiet, and didn't have much reaction, other than that, "It's great." I went to bed uncomfortable, like something was off. A few days later, he told me he got freaked out reading about the toothbrush, that he worried I thought it meant more than it did, something akin to moving in together or pre-engagement. I was horrified and embarrassed, although also relieved to find out that was why he'd been so weird. At least it hadn't been my writing!

So we talked about it and I assured him I didn't take it to mean more than it was - an extra in the two-pack he'd bought on sale at Ralph's. But in my head, I thought, this was exactly what I had been afraid of. I had orchestrated a textbook example of the self-fulfilling prophecy.

The difference between where I am in my life now, though, compared to the 30 years before that, is that this time I listened to his concerns and didn't take it to mean, OMG, he hates me he wants to break up he thinks I am needy and awful and I'd better get out of here rightthisverysecond. I never really wrote about it, but that was pretty much what happened with John in New York two years ago. (Scott, in the story.) Only instead of me running away - because where would I go? - I kicked John out of my hotel room in the middle of the night and refused to talk about anything ever again. And people wonder why I am still single.

Admittedly, I probably did take the toothbrush to mean more than it did - that he was making space for me in his life. And by making it the punchline of my essay, I magnified that significance not only to him, but to a potential audience of 750,000 readers. Yeah, no pressure there.

So therein lies the irony and the exact point behind the article. Do I self-censor, to ensure that he is, and by proxy, I am, comfortable? Or do I throw comfort on its ass and honor the story that wants to come out? Writing about him, about guys in general, makes me uncomfortable, insecure. But when you have a blog that is solely about your life, how do you NOT write about someone who is a part of it?

I'm still trying to figure out the answer.