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My brother Ron sat down beside me, gently poked me, and whispered, “Check out the good-looking girl who just walked in with Jim and Emma.” I looked up from my notes and spotted a tall blonde in a sleek ruby-red summer dress. Her wavy gold hair glided across her sun-drenched cheeks as she gracefully turned to shake someone’s hand.
In a smoked-filled room of gray suits and dull dresses, she radiated a confident, sexy aura of femininity.“I bet Paul flirts with her,” Ron quipped under his breath.
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So, I sat on a lounge chair, pulled off my shirt with my toes, and jumped into the pool. In my early 20s, a young lady stood me up and left me standing in a restaurant parking lot for over an hour.And, there was the woman who fell asleep on my couch while I cooked her dinner. Through the line, Jim’s voice brought my thoughts back.“Get out of your head and into your heart,” he said.Just removing my shirt at a pool and pretending to be confident was not going to do it.Healing meant stripping myself of something else, of my deeply held belief that no woman could love me – a man without arms. We met at Borders and talked about the happenings of our week. On Saturday night, Christine answered the door wearing a stunning short black dress.
“Be authentic; tell her that you want to see her.”Jim helped me to see that I had developed a deep wound of rejection.