My Guy Went on Vacay With a Famous Musician…

All I Got Was a Lousy Mug!

I can’t believe I’m sitting here, once again, filled with anger and fury… like an ugly monster is about to lurch from my stomach and puke all over me and my computer. When will this torture end?

Take a breath. Stay calm. Reject the hurt of exclusion and focus on the joy of inclusion. Oh, if only life were so easy…

I’ve been dating a really great guy for the past several years. He’s divorced. I’m a widow. For the most part our time together has had an easy, comfortable vibe, which is pretty amazing since our temperaments are vastly different. He’s Mid-west Methodist and I’m East Coast Jew. And while neither of us is very religious, it does factor into our relationship dynamic. He tends to be non-confrontational. My emotions are closer to the surface. I don’t have a problem with raised voices to get a point across. He’s a fan of balanced vocal levels.

Did I mention my guy is an audio engineer? One of his clients is a world famous musician. Let’s call him Pablo.

Pablo and my guy have worked together for decades and have developed a close personal and professional relationship. Also divorced, this 50-something musician is dating a much younger woman. She’s very sweet and obviously adores him. My boyfriend and I are both north of 50.

Overall things are great but, there’s this one gnawing bit of nastiness that rears its ugly head year after year like clockwork. It makes me feel so angry, so rejected, so incredibly lame, I want to crawl into a corner and cry… or run to the top of a mountain and scream my head off… or talk the ears off friends until they want to run screaming up a mountain and shout, “Please shut up already!”

And what is this horrific thing that causes a normally rational human being to resort to Hulk-like behavior?

Pablo’s vacation home.

For all the years my guy and I have been together, he’s been invited to Pablo’s vacation home for a week-long retreat. The first time I was excluded I was told it was a guy’s fishing trip. When my boyfriend came home I found out there were women there and no one went fishing. He had the decency to act upset and said,

“We need to work a little harder so these people get to know how great you are.”

Throughout that year, I made every effort to show up to dinners, parties, movies in his private screening room. I even suggested we go see Pablo in concert. Suffice it to say, I worked really hard to get myself noticed!

One day, my guy and I were sitting at our favorite neighborhood restaurant enjoying a glass of wine. I heard his phone buzz and saw him look down at the screen. His brow furrowed as he handed it to me. My eyes moved in on short captions of a long, rambling text.

“She seems nice but we still don’t know her very well.”

or

“We agonize over the guest list every year.”

I soon started seeing red. My stomach clenched. My brain felt like it was about to explode. It hit me. I wasn’t getting an invite to Pablo’s vacation home. I had a big ‘L for Loser’ stamped on my forehead, probably forever.

“What the heck?”

I knew my guy was in an awkward position. He didn’t want to compromise his relationship with me but also didn’t want to jeopardize his relationship with his hot-shot client. There was a heavy, awkward silence. I was waiting for him to say three little words.

“I’m not going.”

He didn’t. He might have said something remorseful but I couldn’t hear him over the loud ringing in my ears.

My guy has started to refer to this annual jaunt as an important ‘business’ trip since this is his most lucrative client. I think calling it that is a bit of a stretch but when I consulted some musician friends they agreed that there is an element of business and networking involved.

Hey, I get that these are tough times for people in the music business, especially those of a certain age. So I should be happy he still has this creative connection.

But here I sit, punching angrily away at my computer keys while images of spectacular aerial scenery taken from Pablo’s private plane are filling up my phone.

On the one hand, it’s nice my guy is up in the sky having fun. On the other, I’ve spent years becoming the strong, confident woman I consider myself to be. As a strong, confident woman, shouldn’t I say something? As a strong, confident woman shouldn’t I refuse to take this rejection like a mute idiot, dignity be damned?

Upon hearing this tale a wise, patient friend gave me a treasured piece of advice, “You need to learn to suck it up.”

So I guess I will.