L.A. Affairs: We had a good connection. Why did he break up with me before Valentine's Day?

Los Angeles Times

07-02-2025

We met at the car wash. Seated in the shade, we struck up a conversation about our Thanksgivings. He asked to meet the next day at Lifeguard Tower 17 to surf. When I showed up, Jon, already in the water, waved and smiled at me. We surfed together, fulfilling a romantic dream. We laughed in between waves.
On our second date, we lunched at a Japanese restaurant, where he asked about my values and dreams. We realized how alike we were. On our third date, we held hands as we walked our rescue dogs in a park.
Two months in, he asked, 'Can I propose to you after six months?'
I said, 'Yes.'
Three months in, he drove me around his ideal neighborhood, asking if I could see myself living there and joking that he, his daughters and I would all watch 'Chopped' together.
I wanted it all: the proposal, the neighborhood, the two daughters, him.
But Jon broke up with me — a day before Valentine's Day — in a rambling voicemail. I was so confused that I emailed him for clarification. He wasn't ready to settle down until his daughters left for college, and he had to overcome his ex-wife's infidelity.
I believed we'd eventually reunite like in a rom-com: We'd paddle through waves and kiss across our surfboards.
Yet on the summer solstice, I spotted his SUV at the beach. My eyes jumped to his white surfboard and an unfamiliar blue board on top of his car. I panicked, wondering whose surfboard lay atop his.
After all, Jon had recently texted me about surfing together again. Hearing from him had appeased my bruised ego.
Spotting the surfboards piqued my curiosity. With the crowd, I remained unseen, trudging toward the water, while trying to catch sight of him and his surf partner. My annual solstice dip didn't produce any elation. Instead, confusion and jealousy had settled in. Leaving, I spotted Jon beside a woman with a tanned body, her bikini top overflowing with D cups above a toned belly. I never saw her face.
With his texts, Jon had buttered me up: how great my cooking is, how nice I am to my dogs, how cute I am. Then he called, and I answered. He wanted to surf, but I wouldn't. I couldn't. I needed more mea culpa. And just like that, he disappeared.
But there he snuggled beside a perfect body — a far cry from my petite, curvy self.
Days later, Stacey, a CrossFit acquaintance, posted a picture standing beside a surfboard with a red stripe down the middle, a board like Jon's.
A few weeks later, she messaged me, admitting she was dating Jon, and saying if he showed up at CrossFit functions, she didn't want me to be surprised. Two days later, I'd be volunteering at an event Stacey was competing in.
She signed off with 'I hope there are no hard feelings.'
I responded: 'Absolutely no hard feelings. Kick some ass in your competition.' And I added a smiley face emoji.
The relief of knowing lasted 20 minutes. I thought I'd obsess less now, instead, a new problem presented itself: Why her and not me?
At the event, Stacey complimented me on how cute I looked. (I worked cleavage, braided pigtails and a trucker hat.) A minor victory for me. When our eyes met, Jon and I nodded at each other from across the competition area.
As I was leaving, he signaled for me to stop. After amicable chitchat, he asked why he never saw me around.
'I was surprised when I saw your car at San Onofre,' I told him. That's a surf spot about 20 miles south of our local spot. When we dated, we never left our ZIP Code.
'Why didn't we see you out there? You should have said hi.'
I must have made a face because he added, 'We're all adults. You should have surfed with us.'
'I'm not going to surf with you two.'
'It's not like we're all kumbaya out there,' Jon said.
About a week later, while walking on the beach, I spotted Jon and Stacey surfing off the lifeguard tower Jon and I surfed at and the same break where we kissed in between sets.
Stacey and Jon had now been together longer than we were, yet I still struggled with their coupledom. She signed him up as her plus-one for the CrossFit holiday party. I didn't go. I stopped going to all CrossFit events. I quit surfing at the beach where we had surfed together and where I first stood up on a board.
But Jon and I weren't a great fit. I had ignored red flags because he was cute, funny and kind, and he loved the ocean too.
But my heart, my brain and my ego would not accept his new relationship. I felt like the epitome of a cliché: wanting what I couldn't have. Although I didn't want him, my self-esteem plummeted when I saw Stacey because I could only think: Why did she win?
I eventually realized I was only punishing myself. I translated Jon and Stacey's successful relationship into a score: She won, I lost; he won, I lost.
When I finally returned to CrossFit's holiday party a year later — solo — Stacey came with a new boyfriend. How did that happen? Two relationships to my none.
Two weeks later, Stacey and I attended a workout, which coincided with her birthday. I asked about her plans. 'My boyfriend's cooking me dinner. Not Jon. My new boyfriend.' Then, she smiled.
Between sets, I mustered up the courage to say, 'Speaking of Jon, I owe you an apology for giving you bad vibes when you were dating him. That was my issue.'
'You never did, but I understood why it would have been hard on you.'
I thanked her and realized I'd forced myself into a competition that neither Stacey nor I needed to be in. Jon was never the prize.
And I didn't need to apologize to her. I needed to forgive myself for the unnecessary pain I added to a difficult situation. I doubted myself so much. I gave them power over me, my workouts and my time on my board, on the waves and in my beloved ocean.
The author teaches creative writing at a local arts high school. She's on Instagram: @littlemighty
L.A. Affairs chronicles the search for romantic love in all its glorious expressions in the L.A. area, and we want to hear your true story. We pay $400 for a published essay. Email [e-mail]. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here.