A Flick of the Pen

In a prior life, I lived in Egypt. Not that I remember. And not that I was necessarily Egyptian – they were known to have transplants.

I had a husband there, in whatever time period it was, who regularly cheated on me. Denis – that being who he is in this life – told me about his past-life regression experience that led him to this realization. How he would make his way into other women’s beds by impersonating their husbands. Denis was eager to reunite with whomever had been his wife in Egypt. Unbeknownst to both him and me at the time was that he had already located her.

I didn’t realize until later, when I myself was in an altered state of consciousness. A voice from within bitterly said, “I was your wife in Egypt.”

Whoa! I lived in Egypt?! So that’s why I was so fascinated by hieroglyphs when I started learning about ancient Egypt in grade school.

Too bad I couldn’t inform Denis of this revelation, because I had already ended our relationship. Or, situationship, I should say. The worst kind of situationship where an undeserving man reaps all the benefits while the woman is left feeling wronged, even ashamed for wanting more from him than just a roll in the hay.

Let me go back in time – not as far back as ancient Egypt – but to just over 20 years ago. That’s when I first met Denis in this go-round. With his shaggy blonde hair and upbeat demeanor it felt as though he’d just hopped off a surfboard. He did in fact hail from the California coast, but we met in the suburbs of New York, introduced by mutual friends. There was an instant spark. I knew he felt it, and I’m sure he could tell I felt it. Only problem was, I was married at the time. I saw him again a few times over the years, always at our mutual friends’ home. The spark between us never wavered.

Then, twenty-some years later, after I’d gotten divorced, I looked Denis up on LinkedIn. He was still living in California, still single. Was he still blonde? No, he had no hair left. At 52, he looked less like he’d hopped off a surfboard than an AARP advertisement. But I felt compelled to reunite with him. To see if there was still a spark.

We talked for hours on the phone, on many a night through January 2023. We had fascinating conversations and laughed so much. I couldn’t believe how well we clicked. So, I decided to visit him. We planned a one-week Palm Springs vacation. I met up with him, we had a great time, yada, yada, yada, then I returned home.

The next time we spoke on the phone, Denis told me I was too heavy for his liking. “You know I have a fat phobia,” he said, reminding me that he’d been perturbed by his mother’s post-menopausal weight gain.

I got angry and started talking fast and loud, explaining my circumstances: I’d carried twenty-five pounds of weight on my torso while pregnant, given birth to a nine-pound-one-ounce baby, experienced complications giving birth, and…

I stopped myself mid-sentence. I didn’t owe him an explanation. I didn’t have to validate my own life journey. He was a hypocrite and that was all I needed to know.

This is the same guy who had spontaneously decided – on our trip – to pursue yoga and reiki practitioner certification. The same guy who perceived himself as being spiritually advanced. The same guy who had shared a bed with me for a week told me, “I allowed myself to feel frustrated about your weight.”

Excuse me – you allowed yourself? That is some laughably pretentious, faux-progressive phrasing right there. Well, I shall allow myself the privilege of never speaking to you again.

I can’t help but picture this guy in lotus pose, leading a yoga class in a chant: “Ohmmm…you’re too fat…ohmmm.”

I didn’t bother telling him that I actually had a “tummy tuck” surgery scheduled that spring, in order to have my abdominal muscles stitched back together.

Perhaps I never got the chance to act on being wronged in Egypt, but this time, I got to walk away. Denis will spend the rest of this incarnation searching for his former wife, never realizing that he let her slip right through his fingers. Or maybe he will realize what he lost – most importantly, the best conversation he’d had in the seven years he’d been single prior to our reunion.

Forget the past-life intrigue. That’s not a reason to subject yourself to mistreatment. I decided that our karmic connection should be severed. I’m done tolerating situationships.