As I sat in my easy chair, beer bottles strewn across the coffee table in front of me, the question reverberated in my head: “How’s your ex-girlfriend?”

This question, an innocent inquiry from a co-worker, had driven home the finality of the break-up. Up until that point, I had spent my time dreaming up desperate schemes to get her back. All that came of these pathetic fantasies was an awkward, unreturned voice message. I was THAT GUY, the legendary brokenhearted boyfriend whose groveling soliloquy gets played back by his ex-girlfriend to her inner circle over margaritas, to responses of , “You gotta cut that loose, girl!”, or “You need a REAL man!” I hate the inner circle.

Now it was Friday, and I was sunk deeply into that chair, wishing to disappear into its thick folds. After THE QUESTION had been set forth, my co-worker Kenny, the self-proclaimed “expert” on all things romantic, proceeded to hold court around the water cooler.

“Getting over an ex,” he began, “is like losing your pet lab. It’s a loss, for sure, but also an opportunity. Now you can get a new lab, one in the puppy stage. You know, the cuddling and wrestling and licking, know what I mean?” Unfortunately, I knew what Kenny meant, and needed a superhuman does of self-control to keep my clinched fist at my side instead of shoving it down his throat. Now THAT would’ve been great fodder for water cooler discussion! Physical violence also seemed like a viable solution to the tangible bitterness that accompanied the aftermath of the break up.

The event that spurred my recovery was completely unexpected. About two months after THE QUESTION, I was out at a popular local nightspot with a group of friends and saw my ex dancing quite closely with a guy I had known since high school. The worst part about it was, I couldn’t be angry. He was a terrific guy, and someone I hadn’t seen in a while; he probably had no idea that I had even dated Sarah before him. At that moment, I felt a tremendous and surprising sense of peace: Sarah and I had never had the rightness, the free and easy comfort, that she seemed to share with this man. With this realization came the long sigh of relief and the finality of the thought: “I am no longer getting over her; I have moved on.”

Barry, 33 – Manchester

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