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Early twentysomethings. A time where the living was easy and the boys came cheap. You hooked up when it was convenient, likely after too many vodka red bulls, likely after another party with all the same people in scantily clad outfits leaving little to the imagination. And then, you both got out of the scene your culture and mere upbringing brought you out to, you grew up, found yourself and started running in a more apropos circle that represents who you really are. You found your crowd and way of being. Perhaps you had a few serious relationships with live-in partners that ended a few years in as you grew apart. Wash, rinse, repeat. Perhaps you were in a starter marriage of sorts, banged out a kid, but couldn’t make it work. So here you both are, on the new it dating app, and you smirk to yourself as you see their image peering at you (as you play a vivid image of when you peered up at them when they were on top of you shouting your name.) Gotta love the gift of the human memory.

And so, your playful, flirty self – driven by the good-times-had-by-all – makes you click that heart, because why the hell not? It’s not like he’ll click the heart back for you. It’s too obvious. It’s too aggressive. But then he does. And here you are 10 or so years later with an empty conversation window. Record scratch.

Timing is a mother fucker. Always has been and prob always well be. But it has a way of working out, slow though it might be. Once upon a time we recycled and reused former flames for fear of running up our hit list (how’s that for a fairy tale?) But now, who’s counting? How refreshing it is to reconnect with someone who you go way, way, way back with. A strange sense of comfort and content comes with a reunion of sorts. The banter. How you’ve both grown. Both changed for the better (as time allows one to do.)

When we revisit a past lover, we have a great opportunity to show ase who the f we turned into. We no longer have the distraction of bullshit and drama because being a thirtysomething doesn’t allow for such ill-advised behaviours. This makes the reunion of sorts so simple. So easy. So raw. The banter surpasses the superficial that typically happens on a first date. There’s blanks to fill in and the knowingness of being filled in the past by this other. How juicy. Yeah, I went there, DEAL WITH IT.

Stop restricting yourself from potential partners. There are no rules of who’s off limits (for the most part,) in this stage in our lives. Pretty much so long as they’re single, they’re fair fucking game.

– Jen

Photo cred.

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