Beaut and I: dunzo.

Like any self-respecting anxious person, I’ve worked myself up about 2 things over which I have zero control:

• What if Beaut ruined it for me: he was by far the most beautiful guy I’ve ever been with, possibly the most attractive guy I’ve ever met. I’ve always believed I couldn’t land myself a hottie. Now that I’ve successfully done so, is this going to take my already legendary pickiness about guys to the next level? Will I always be doomed to crush on ridiculously hot guys, who usually are douchebags, and won’t look twice in my direction? Since Beaut proved to me that a hot guy can be a nice, kind, smart and funny guy, am I doomed to wish for another version of him, which just doesn’t exist? Maybe he was a freak of nature, and I should just accept that hot nice guys are a myth, and even if they do exist, they are all taken or they won’t find me attractive enough? Will I eventually settle? I don’t want to settle.
• What if I never have great sex again?

I confessed these charming insecurities to Coach. (Aside: that is a sign that Coach is a great Coach. His boxers can tell him anything. ANYTHING. I’ve watched him manfully navigate conversations with his female boxers stressing about their PMS and the timing of their periods for weigh-in and the impact of bloating and cravings. He tries very hard to hide his deer-in-the-headlights look, and offer reassuring noises, and only occasionally does he bust out a comment, “I’m just saying, ladies, this is one of the reasons why some boxing coaches won’t coach girls. They can’t handle this kind of talk. I’m not saying that’s right, I’m just saying I can understand why they don’t want to deal with menstrual flows.” At which point, I usually collapse into giggles, and Coach gives me the death stare.)

Coach-the-wise dismissed the great sex as a non-issue. If good sex is very important to me, which it is, it will naturally play a role in who I decide to keep seeing. Meaning, if I meet a good guy but the sex sucks, I’ll probably weed him out – it is therefore a foregone conclusion that I’ll eventually have a satisfying sex life. He also pointed out a slight double standard: any guy who admitted that he stopped seeing a girl because she sucked in the sack would be deemed a grade-A asshole. But, as SATC proved, women who stop seeing guys due to issues between the sheets are seen as empowered feminists who are confident in their sexuality. Can’t say I disagree, but really, I don’t care if I am an asshole or not: I am just relieved that apparently I will end up with a good sex life. One insecurity down, one to go!

Coach, bless him, also told me I could land any hottie I liked, if I just owned up to how attractive I am. To my insecurity that the only reason I kept Beaut interested in me for as long as I did was because of Beaut’s own considerable baggage (aka, I might have thought he was out of my league looks-wise, but he might have thought I was out of his emotional & intelligence league, so perhaps he felt I was as good as he could get?), Coach laughed. He pointed out that no-matter how fucked-up a person is, one can’t fake physical attraction. Beaut was attracted to me. From the get-go. Nothing to do with various leagues, or baggage, or anything. We can therefore conclude that I did, and can, attract hotties. So if that is my concern going forward, I should drop it: it happened once, it can happen again. If I want a hottie, I will get myself a hottie. Coach kindly refrained from calling me a superficial bimbo. Coach-the-diplomatic.

Like always, I left Coach’s office feeling comforted and way less anxious.

This morning, I was thinking over my conversation with Coach, and I had a breakthrough. I realized that I don’t actually want a hottie. What I want is to end up with a catch – a guy where I perpetually wonder “he could have had any girl he wanted at the snap of his fingers, yet he chose me.” So yes, that could be a jaw-droppingly gorgeous guy, or somebody like Coach with a magnetic personality who immediately fills the room with his presence, drawing people into his orbit just by being himself, or some successful personable businessman/artist. What I want is a modern-day Prince Charming falling in love with Cinderella. Part of me is relieved that I am not a superficial bimbo, but most of me is concerned that this is indicative of a pervasive insecurity – that in chasing guys who I inherently believe to be out of my league, I am compensating for my deeply-held belief that I am a nothing-special girl.

Once again, I’ve ensured that my therapist’s retirement fund is going to be well-padded.