My ex and I went to see a show together recently. We do that. We date, we see each other, and then we each go to our respective homes. We had a great time, too.

While we were at the show, we met a friend of ours — and he had a new girlfriend with him. She couldn't have been more than 20, and he was in his late 30s. More power to him, I say.

The next day, though, my ex and I were discussing how young the girl was and how we felt about people who date younger people. I expressed a little bit of surprise at the difference in ages between our friend and his girlfriend. My ex pointed out there was 10 years' difference between us. Nothing wrong with that.

Then he said, "The problem isn't that people date younger people. The problem is that no one seems to be able to keep a girlfriend. Why is that?"

He was right. Men in our area who divorce do try to find new relationships. None of them stick. They find a woman and a few months later, they're with someone new. They can't seem to find a stable relationship that lasts.

"I admire us, you know," he went on thoughtfully. He said that despite our history, our breakup, and the fact that we don't live together any more, we're mature enough to work at keeping our relationship alive because we love each other.

We talk. We find ways around our differences. We're learning what works and what doesn't. We're each trying to find a way to be a couple, no matter how hard it is sometimes.

Being a couple is work. A relationship isn't a discardable commodity when people have differences. They find solutions if they want to be together. They work out their issues. They talk. They resolve the problems.

There's nothing wrong with playing the field, either. But to me, that just shows someone isn't serious about commitment or hasn't figured out what's important to them.

Sometimes I wonder if I still have feelings for Levi. There, I said it. I suppose this makes me even more human.

Intellectually, I'm sure that I don't. I know that I literally despise what he's done to my son, and I know that I do not have any respect for him, whatsoever, anymore.

But there are moments that I'll reminisce about things he and I did together, and I'll smile. But there are moments where I still miss him. But there are moments when we are SCREAMING at each other, where I'm like, wow. You can't scream at an ex you don't care about, right? You can't scream because you're indifferent, right?

I've had breakups in the past — one big one — and I recall going through these same motions; the pain and devastation, the crying, the name calling and yelling, and then the indifference, which carries you to where you can see each other on the street and stop to say hello.

I recall going through those motions, and I extract comfort from that from time to time in a this-to-shall-pass kind of way. Problem is, these motions went much faster the first time around.

And truthfully, it's really not even me. I mean, I get it that it takes two to tango, but I don't scream at Levi. I try not to engage in arguments with him. I try not to stoop to childish name calling. He, on the other hand, can not control himself. He is incapable of a civil conversation. I cannot understand it.

I have done nothing to warrant this behavior. I have done nothing to deserve his constant verbal abuse. Yet, it happens. Yet, he acts like he hates me.

I am reminded of the boy in grade school that used to pull my hair and make me cry. Later, he told me that he had a crush on me.

No, I don't have feelings for Levi. But maybe he still has them for me?

I wrote about a couple facing a breakup because of an affair, and it seems that affairs are hot topics on divorce sites — um, as they should be.

I don't think having an affair is a "right" thing to do. I think it is a surmountable obstacle and one that couples can overcome. I don't believe that an affair is a henchman's axe dropping down to sever relationships completely. An affair doesn't always mean that someone doesn't love you and wanted to hurt you.

I thought over how I felt about sex and love. I think the two are related, yes. When I love someone, I tend to have sex with that person. The act is enhanced by the feelings I have.

But I can have sex with someone I don't love. There is no hard and fast rule that says you must have sex with people you love or that sex is symbolic of the love you feel. I think that twining the emotion of love into the act of sex is the problem involved in how we feel about affairs.

I think that an affair is surmountable if you treat it for what it is: a physical act that truly doesn't mean anything unless you make it mean something.

People have sex all the time. People have sex with people they don't love (and sometimes even don't know) every day around the world. Having sex is just an action. It doesn't mean that you feel something for the person you're engaging with. You're just...having sex.

I agree that an affair breaches trust and damages confident that you feel toward the other person. I do think that a couple dealing with the issues of an affair have some serious questions to ask themselves about their relationship.

But I don't think that an affair is a deal-breaker. If you're facing the question of divorce because of an affair, I think that you should treat the affair as a symptom of a problem, not a problem in itself.

I found out recently that some friends of mine are breaking up. The woman had an affair — twice.

The first time she cheated on her husband, he accepted her apologies and forgave the breach of promise. The second time was the deal-breaker, and they're in the midst of dividing their belongings and making custody arrangements for their child.

I read once that women are forgiving of an affair. They don't like that it happened, but it seems that women tend to understand the reasons and prefer to hang on to their partner. Men, I read, found an affair a virtual insult and they cast off their spouse more easily.

I could forgive an affair. I'd be hurt and most likely be untrusting for a long, long time. But I could also move past it — I think. I haven't lived that situation and it's hard to say what my reaction might be.

Twice, though? No. If I had a husband and he cheated, I would need to know that the mistake wouldn't happen twice.

I think affairs are simply symptoms that something in the relationship is very wrong. I think an affair means someone just needs someone to provide comfort or affection or...something. A couple facing the issue of an affair needs to treat the illness and mend the wound.

But if that's impossible, then it's time to split up.

I also think there's a level of respect involved in a relationship, even a broken one, that demands people be mature. I know that the attraction to someone else when the fights are raging is pretty easy to slip into, but there's something to be said for being honest.

My ex used to say, "I could understand if you find yourself wanting to be with someone else." After all, he knew there wasn't much love lost between us during the years we spent fighting. "But if you're going to have an affair," he went on, "At least have the respect to let me know before it happens and I'll step out of the way."

There's a lot to be said for lust.

Jake and I were never that sexual a couple. Sex was good, sometimes great. There's definitely something to be said about having one long-term partner, everything being the first for both of you. Learning about sex was never uncomfortable or awkward, there were no early experiences that would need hashing out in therapy later. But we never really had a can't-keep-my-hands-off-you stage.

I thought that this was because we knew each other so well. I thought it was because we had been together so long, that we had just shifted into that comfy, everyday kind of relationship. I thought maybe I just wasn't that interested in sex in general.

Hindsight, of course, says a lot. Ultimately, I just don't think we were that attracted to each other. But we fell in love way, way too young to know that.

Even when our marriage was pretty solid, there was a part of me that would see movies, read books, see other people, and feel cheated. I'd console myself with the things I did have — I had trust, and friendship, and humor, and safety. Surely one can't expect it all, I thought.

Well, why not?

There's a lot to be said for passion. There's a lot to be said for being thrown against a wall, for barely being able to make it through the apartment door, for leaving a party early. It's kind of terrifying that I could very well have lived out my adult life without having experienced that.

It's hard to imagine this stage can possibly last, but then I look at Lindsay and Jesse, who have been married four years and still feel that way. I think back to just a year ago, when I thought the love bit and the lust bit were mutually exclusive. I've been wrong before. And am determined to figure out a way to keep this part.

"She thought about him when she was not with him. Sometimes too much, she worried. What if he turned away from her greed for his love?"

It's comforting to know that's common enough, universal enough, to pop up in a novel.

It's funny how you can be secure, for all intents and purposes, in a relationship but still monitor your own behavior. When you feel so much for someone, you constantly worry: Is it too much? Will this frighten him away? Will this bother him?

When you've spent years in a relationship in which the other party is weary of your affection, you learn to hide it. You learn to hold back. You become reluctant to show things. At the same time, you live in constant anticipation, constant wanting.

The worst feeling in the world is knowing you love someone more than they love you. Feeling you're always trailing after them, hoping for a word, a hug, a gesture. Hating your need, hating the kind of woman you're turning into.

When you're with someone who gives affection freely, that greed doesn't stop.

Adopted feral cats and strays can't be left to monitor their own food intake. Apparently, if you keep their bowl full, they'll eat themselves to death. Since, out on their own, they never knew when they might eat again, when they're presented with food they'll eat it all - never confident they'll eat again any time soon.

I feel like that, a lot of the time.

Mike says my relationship-expectation bar is absurdly low, that I should start taking him more for granted.

I wonder how long that will take?

A friend and I once discussed how many women seem to slide on over to same-sex relationships after a divorce. I think it's true; a divorce can make you question a lot of things about yourself — why not your sexuality?

I also know that women in same-sex relationships tend to struggle more with "bed death," a lack of intimacy between the sheets. That begs the question, were these women really attracted to the opposite sex to begin with?

Possibly. Attraction isn't black and white. Feelings are feelings, and while we may be hard-wired to prefer one gender over the other, women seem to be more open to same-sex relationships than men. Maybe I'm talking out my hat, but bear with me.

Before I go on, though, I want to add my disclaimer. I'm not physically attracted to women — or at least, I prefer men over women. I also have nothing against same-sex relationships; they're legal and widely accepted in Canada, my country.

But I am curious about the women that get divorced and then suddenly go gay. "I'm done with men," some say. Is it really about men? Or is it just about need?

Women seek nurturing. They seek affection. They want tenderness and caring moments in relationship. They also have an easier time providing those same things — how many of you women reading this yearn for closeness? How many of you achieve high levels of closeness with men?

It's not about sex. It's not about who you sleep with. The point is that women need to feel cared for, and sometimes, when their world is rocked, they'll look for that anywhere they can get it.

And if it's from another woman? That may just be the answer. Who better to provide the nurturing love and caring tenderness when we're hurting than another woman?

Is a same-sex relationship after divorce the right answer? I'm not so sure about that. Remember, there's a big difference between sexual attraction and the need for affection.

I spent much of the flight from San Francisco to Vienna analyzing the difference between setting out on this trip and heading to Wales.

Leaving for Wales had a strange feeling to it. I was headed across the world, and there was nothing, really, tying me to home. I felt strangely adrift, without a tether — just this little floating dot. After having been a half of a whole for so long, it was just me. No one was waiting for me to come back. No one needed to know I had landed safely. It wasn't a bad feeling, it was just strange.

I didn't feel that way this time. The floating-in-my-bubble sense was gone completely. Why? Was it because I had already done this, and so knew I could? Or was it because I'm in a relationship, so that tether is back?

I had always chafed at the idea of being back in a relationship. I didn't want the responsibility, the ties, the obligations. I wanted to be free to go where I wanted, to do what I wanted, to not have to answer to anyone.

Surprisingly, that tether wasn't chafing. It didn't feel like an obligation. It wasn't even a strong enough feeling to really register, just an, "Oh, this is different."

Going to Wales was largely an act of defiance. Maybe now I've gotten past that.

My ex and I shared a bittersweet moment recently. He's coming around off his mini mid-life crisis, and we've talked about what our relationship is. A committed couple, yes, but with a strange sense of detachment just underneath the surface.

He's scared of his emotions, so he keeps them distant. Maybe that's why he can be so cruel and so cold at times. It's easier to push what frightens us away than to embrace the potential pain of feeling too much.

I'm at the opposite extreme. Love fully, love hard, and love for the moment. Who knows what might happen tomorrow? Why waste time waiting for things to resolve into something comfortable? Make that comfort happen with a leap of faith.

So when the sunshine lit up his green eyes the other day, I couldn't help the smile that crossed my face, and I opened up to the wash of affection I felt. I put my arms around him and kissed his mouth.

The response lacked... something. What else had I expected?

"Just give me time," he gave an apologetic smile. "I care about you. I have feelings for you. I just need... time."

Time for what? If there are feelings and caring, why can't he acknowledge them? Why can't he sit down and talk about them, and why can't he just accept them?

I know why. He's not a bad man, just a very screwed up one. He has issues with abandonment, issues with expressing emotion, issues with trust, and issues with defining our relationship.

"It's not you," he moved away carefully. "It's me."

Oh, such famous words. "I know," I replied, and drew on my mask of you-didn't-hurt-me that lies and shows the world everything is fine.

Like me, Mike doesn't sleep well. When he's in town, he tends to wake up around four. He works for a while, then comes back to bed just before my alarm goes off.

We were parking the car when he said, "How much does it bother you that I get up in the middle of the night?" My loft doesn't have any walls, but putting a pillow over my head takes care of any noise. "No," he said, "not just the noise. I can tell you don't like it."

And it's true, I don't, although I hadn't really thought about it. Jake used to work all night, and he rarely went to bed or woke up with me. The fact that Mike almost always comes back up makes all the difference, though.

"Well," he said, "I want you to tell me the stuff that you don't like, even if you don't think it's big. Like this, if it turns out to matter, I can, I don't know, try to work on changing my sleep patterns."

This is where I, always impressive and graceful, bolted from the car and took off down the street, saying I was running to the corner store. Instead, I crossed the street to the park, sat on a bench, lit a cigarette, and tried not to cry, completely overwhelmed by this person.

I had always assumed that you learned about a partner's habits as you went, found out about the stuff that bothered you, and decided if you could live with it or not. It never once occurred to me that there were people out there willing to adjust.

In my marriage, those little things that bothered me were scoffed at and called petty often enough to make me shut up about them. I thought that was just how it was. You got over it. You lived with it.

I didn't know that you could be with someone who wanted to know. I didn't know that a relationship could be like this.

Maybe it's all going to turn out okay.