Poly Nirvana

Love, Life and Rational Polyamory



Sometimes I look around and wonder what on earth I was thinking.

Poly is hard, guys.

Special Man has a new interest. I suppose at this point he might refer to her as a girlfriend, though I’ve not heard him say it out loud.  I know she considers him a boyfriend. And I know I’m supposed to be happy and compersive.

But I’m not, exactly.

Oh I get fleeting touches of it, this elusive compersion. It’s nice to see that someone he likes, likes him back. I like that he is happy.  But mostly what I’m feeling is territorial. I’M supposed to be the girlfriend.

It’s all very decidedly UN-poly of me.  (Commence pouting.)

She’s a great person. No, she’s a fantastic person.  She’s beautiful. She is creative and artistic.  She is strong, energetic, enthusiastic, friendly, funny, and she has a great laugh.  Also she looks wonderful without makeup.  She likes animals.  (SMF loves animals.  I mostly just like a few, and tolerate the rest.)  And I KNOW it’s not supposed to be a competition, but humans are fickle creatures, and I’m a little insecure.

He will debate that he and I first met Mrs. A on the same day, but really, she was my friend first.  SMF and I met Mrs. A and Mr. A for coffee, after they contacted me online, and were interested in  dipping their toes in the kink community.  At that point they were monogamous. So add that to the list of Things That Make Ginger Nervous: people brand spanking new to poly.

I genuinely like and enjoy Mrs. A. She is kind and thoughtful, and I think she’s a wonderful addition to my poly network. I really do.  This too, scares me.  If I’m struggling with this new girl in spite of the fact that she’s considerate and loving and mindful of others, what does that make me?  (Add guilt to the pouting.)

Underlying this new relationship, is the attempted breakup with SMF at the beginning of the summer.  We spent a few months in limbo, trying to let go, but never quite being able to.  Then came a renegotiation and redefining of our relationship.

The pendulum has swung, and though I’m committed to my partner and my people, I’m having a little poly performance anxiety.

(End pout.)

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Everything I need to know about life, I learned from Pinkie Pie…

It doesn’t matter if you know who Pinkie Pie is or not. (But if you do, you are very, very cool.)

~Introduce yourself to people you don’t know yet. Everyone is a potential friend.

~Smile. Smile to make yourself feel better. Smile to make other people smile.

~Be nice to your friends. Be loyal. Be kind.

~Tell lots of silly jokes. Giggle and look adorable when you get to the punchline.

~Use your enthusiasm for good!

~If you don’t have anyone to talk to, talk to yourself. Also, giggle more.

~Apologize when you have hurt someone. Look precious while you do it.

~Sing! Make up silly songs about anything that comes into your head. It’s adorable!

~More giggling!

~Curls are AWESOME!

~Attend parties, plan parties, host parties. Themes are fun!

~Don’t be afraid to be silly. Giggle, skip, sing, laugh, and love, the best you can, with people you care about.

(Oh, and then, more GIGGLING!)



First thing Monday morning, I texted a friend I hadn’t seen for at least a month.

::I had a dream about you last night::

::Is everything ok?::

It wasn’t a particularly long or involved dream. Nothing screamed DANGER to me. In my dream, I was in an airport, which was very light, with high ceilings, and though I knew it was an airport, I began to wonder if there was a hospital hidden amongst the corridors. I was sitting on the floor, my back against a wall and I saw my friend down a long hall. She looked tired. She looked worried. She wasn’t smiling, which is unusual for her.

She wore a bright purple floral shirt. I knew the shirt was important, and I needed to remember it.

I got up from the floor to go find out why she was in this airport (hospital?) but she walked away with some other people and I lost her.

When I woke up, something made me send her a text. No small talk. No hi or hello. Is everything ok? (That’s what friends do.)

My mom died Saturday, she said.

I flashed on the shirt. I have pictures of her mother in that shirt, from a photo shoot we did not long ago. Her lovely mother, with her icy white hair, and her perfect ruby red fingernails was a wonderful woman. I have some amazing pictures of the two of them, prayer beads in hand, chanting together. It was beautiful and I feel so lucky to have photographed them when I did.

I wanted to share because I want to say this: listen to those fleeting feelings, to those thoughts that feel utterly random. Listen and take action. Life is just too short to second guess everything. I don’t know if my subconscious was just telling me to check on my friend, or if it was something else…but it doesn’t matter. I acted, and I was there when my friend needed me.

I don’t want to know how many opportunities like this I may have missed, because I was too busy, or too tired, or I wasn’t listening, or hearing.

Take care of each other, friends.

The end.

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Special Man Friend and his wife came for cards and pizza.  It was the first time CC met my children.

I cleaned my kitchen and sent one of the boys to pick up pizza. I was really nervous.  When I came out to my kids as poly, I was genuinely surprised at the neutrality of their reactions.  The worst I got was, “Huh.  That’s kind of weird.” and the best was, “Hey, the important thing is that you are happy.”

But meeting Special Man’s wife?  I wanted it to happen. I want the big happy poly extended family.  It’s been a long time coming, this first meeting, and truthfully, there was a time I didn’t think it was possible that we would ever make this step.

Life is full of surprises.  We are constantly changing and evolving as human creatures, and I am so grateful for that.

The whole thing was uneventful.  My kids were polite, well mannered, accepting.  My 19 year old had told me in advance that he was supportive but uncomfortable, and wasn’t sure if he would stay and hang out, and I was happy that he was able to tell me that.  He did meet CC, and stayed for a few minutes, but soon retreated.  We ate dinner, and then played a few rounds of cutthroat Uno, and it was easy, and casual, and relaxed.

We are already planning Thanksgiving.  Things feel good.

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My ex-husband lives in a homeless shelter, and there’s nothing I can do about it.  In the six years since I took my children and left, he has deteriorated into a person I hardly recognize.

I started to read something today, about the #WhyIStayed stories trending on the interwebs.  These are the stories of abuse victims, and you can either Google or check out Twitter if you are interested.  I had to stop reading at one point, because some of the words hit so close to where I live.  My secret is that I stayed because I wasn’t strong enough to leave.  And it took me a long time to forgive myself for that.

Today I am strong.  I am independent.  I am also guarded, and slow to trust.  It affects me, every day, and it affects my relationships.  So be it.

Special Man and I are in a new, solid place with each other.  I’ve come out to my children;  my mother. My Meta CC is coming to meet the kids in a couple of days.  We have  pizza and Uno planned.  I am both optimistic, and terrified.  I want it all.  I want my big happy poly family fantasy.

But I’ve been disappointed before.




Everyone wants to feel special. Everyone wants to feel loved and adored and wanted. Everyone wants to feel needed.

Three years ago tonight, I received a text message. “Hi,” it said. “It’s T. Are you still interested in getting together for dinner sometime?”

::Yes.:: I typed back immediately, surprising myself. This was a man who scared me a little (a lot.) This was a man I’d exchanged a few messages with over the previous six months. A man I knew was married and polyamorous. A man I didn’t quite understand. A man I had already backed out of a dinner date with several months before, because somehow I knew.

I knew he was a game changer.

Three years ago, tomorrow, I put on a black and white dress, and drove to the sushi restaurant near my house. He wore a deep red dress shirt. I was so nervous I wanted to throw up.

He wasn’t nervous at all.

Because I said yes, three years ago, my life changed. I am loved, that is true. But more importantly: I am loving. I am more open with my emotions. The tears I swallowed down during an abusive marriage, are allowed to surface, even at weirdest times (Like during sex. Or randomly at dinner.) I smile. I laugh, and I make him laugh. I can tell him when I’m afraid, and he never, evermocks me. He says he loves my beauty: my face without makeup, my pudgy little toes, my unruly breasts. He loves and accepts every piece of me, even the parts that scare me.

He provides me safe space to say this: I am me. And I like me. This has been his gift to me.

(And he likes me too.)



I want to write, but it feels as if I have forgotten how.

I want to sleep, but it feels as if my brain will never be quiet.

I want to cross everything off of my Big To Do List, but there is always something else to be added.

I want to get in my car, and drive to Somewhere Else, which I think secretly means, I want to get in my car, drive to Somewhere Else, and be Someone Else.  (Just for a little while.)

I want to eat another pumpkin chocolate chip cookie, but I already had two, and it puzzles me that I just want to eat all the cookies, regardless.

I want to write.  I haven’t forgotten how.  I just need to begin.



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