I'm afraid of drifting.

There's this meditation exercise where you picture yourself holding a balloon and floating up with it — out of your chair, your living room, your apartment — then gently floating along over your city. You picture this and become Calm and Peaceful.

I don't know if it's the height thing (I'm afraid of them), the relaxing thing (I'm not good at it), or merely the fact that the inside of my head is a ridiculous place, but I just couldn't do it.

I got out of the apartment okay, but once I got to the power lines, I worried. If I fell, I'd get hurt. This is your imagination, I reminded myself. You won't fall. It's pretend. I floated higher.

Then I thought about how I was up very high with only a balloon, and, really, how high can a balloon go before it pops? 

SHUT UP, I told my brain. But it wouldn't. Finally, I strapped on an imaginary parachute. I am now safe. I have a parachute. I can float about without fear of falling. I am Calm and Peaceful. But...

A balloon string — wouldn't that be cutting into my hand about now?

I replaced the string with a comfy leather strap.

Wouldn't my shoulder start to pull? What if it dislocates?

Eventually, I ended up in a deck chair, supported so it couldn't tip backwards, with a hot air balloon type contraption and a safety rail before I gave up and watched a couple of Frasier reruns. So much for meditation.

Floating is frightening. Heights are frightening. Hanging there, unsupported, nothing there to catch me — it's scary enough that I can't even do it in my head.

There's a metaphor in here somewhere, I'm pretty sure.  

This was a busy whirl of a week with travel, flirtation, airport fantasies and lots and lots of moms. In 2008 Jennifer Kampmier founded www.IndyBabyExpo.com, after dumping her online dating biz, and falling in love with a baby — her own, of course.

Her baby fair is an extravaganza of merchandise for moms-to-be and new moms with tots. Even though my children are way into high school, Jennifer and I synced up over the whole Mamapalooza and Moms Who Rock phenomenon and decided to team up for Spring 2009 events. So I jetted out to meet her in person.

We connected right away. As we sat on her deck into the wee hours, with the Indiana moon hovering, we spilled our stories of men, marriage, online dating, babies and being women entrepreneurs.

Past midnight and way into drinks our stories came spilling out, and I knew I had found a kindred spirit. For someone in the mothering expo biz, Jenn has made independent choices that I admire and respect.

She's single by choice, and raising her 3-year-old son, Zane, on her own. Long term plans for her mean growing her business and perhaps ultimately moving to far off places so she and Zane could have a chance to experience other cultures.

I met and stayed with her family for the weekend, and got to chat with her delightful parents, who've been married for 36 years.

As self-described flower children in the late 70s, they bought a mobile home and moved their young family around America. Jenn is in her early 30s. I'm 51. Even though, technically, we're different generations, and our choices have led us down different paths, we had both read every single one of the same books on health, wealth, spirit and empowerment.

When our conversation got deep, our philosophies turned to alternative ways of thinking and being.

My birthday is Sunday.  Although I won't say how old I'm going to be, I will say that I'm not quite 30, but it's getting pretty damn close. I know it may sound silly, but the 30 mark is really freaking me out. I want to have accomplished something great by the time I reach that milestone.

Some of you may remember that for my birthday last year, I got to go to family court. What a joy.

The year before that, I had to practically beg my husband to celebrate with me. I recall him saying that he had a lot of work to do, and wasn't sure he could be home. I remember watching him outside, from our kitchen window, pace back and forth on the porch, talking on the phone. I remember when he came back inside and told me that he had "worked it out" so that he could stay with me.

Apparently, "stay with me" meant make me dinner and then leave.

It wasn't until months later that I found out the truth. There was no work, there was no working anything out. Levi was seeing another woman. Levi went to be with another woman...on my birthday.

So, the last bunch of birthdays have been pretty crappy.

I'd almost like to just let this one pass by quietly. Stay home, snuggle in and watch Desperate Housewives. My friends don't want to let that happen.

And the truth is, I don't really want that to happen either.

So, here's to a new year of Faith, literally and figuratively. Here's to better birthdays. Now that I think of it, I really do have a lot to celebrate!

Jake had a thing about giving me jewelry. In his head, this is What Husbands Did. If one had a Wife, one got her Nice Things.

No matter that the wife in questions said, "I don't really like jewelry." No matter that she said, "I don't like to wear jewelry." No matter that she said, "At the very least, please don't ever get me anything gold."

"Happy anniversary," he'd say. "I know you don't like gold. I know you never wear jewelry. But I got this for you anyway."

So, I have this jewelry box, and it's filled with things. Gold things, mostly. Expensive things. Things I never wear. Things I didn't want in the first place. Things I have no use for.

And yet — two years later — I still have them.

Why? Is it because dealing with the process of appraisal and sale will take some effort? Is it because just the idea of yet another errand dealing with this divorce exhausts me?

Or is it that the idea of losing those presents is hard? Because — even though they speak so much to Jake's lack of understanding of me, lack of interest in what I liked and cared about — they were still given out of love.

So much pain is left when a marriage ends that it's hard to look back at what was good and happy without those memories being tainted, somehow, by all the hurt.

This could be grad school tuition, here in this box. This could be a vacation, or a couple of the cross-country plane tickets I'm burning through these days.

What will it take to open it up and take some action?

Debra Messing and Debra Nigro. Isn't it fun when someone has your same name and spells it the same way, too?

Debra Messing will be 'posing' as a divorced wife in the new weekly TV series The Starter Wife. I, on the other hand, will continue posing as myself — the real life divorcee.

If Messing were a real divorcee, she'd have known better than to put her show on Friday nights. Divorcees want to go out on Friday nights and mess around, or something like that.

Friday nights pose a dilemma for divorced women everywhere. Somehow you just feel you are "supposed" to go out.

Friday nights have always seemed like the night all the other singles are out — somewhere. Saturday is still "hypothetically" date night. So given a choice, divorced women will pick Friday as their night out on the town.

Therefore, I assume, in doing their research about when to air The Starter Wife, they must not have had a lot of divorcees in on the decision.

Maybe I should call the producer and at the very least have Debra Messing's character on the series, Molly, join Firstwivesworld.com. This way we can be assured her character will make wiser decisions going forward.

I'm single, I'm writing this on Friday, I am awake, it's a beautiful night and my jeans aren't choking me to death...so forgive me, I'm going out to mess around somewhere. Debra Messing — I love you, but I will see you on Tivo.

Then we can compare notes to see who had more fun!

Until then...I will rely on the First Wives World Social Network "Starter Wife Group" — who did not find qualified babysitters — to keep me updated.

We were on our third date when S put down his knife and fork, looked at me seriously and told me there was something we had to discuss.

Uh oh. This doesn't sound promising.

Tentatively he asked: "How do you feel about ski lodges?"

Ski lodges? Well, I'm not a skier — no mountains in the Midwest where I grew up — but what's not to like about ski lodges? I like fires, cozy chairs to curl up in and read books, drink hot rum toddies. So sure, I told him. I like them.

Visibly relieved, he went back to his dinner.

Two months into our relationship, he asked me what I thought about sailing. Again, not something I had much experience with. Blue skies, bluer waters, warm breezes, fancy drinks with little umbrellas in them; again, what‘s not to like? So yes, I told him, I like sailing.

He smiled. "Would you and the girls like to join me for a week sailing in the British Virgin Isles next spring?"

Oh dear Lord, I think I love this man.

In my 15 years of marriage, we didn't travel much. Starting our own business and having kids one-two-three were contributing factors, but the reality was that Ex didn't like going outside his comfort level.

He liked to eat the same meals at the same restaurants, go to the same resorts. The one time we went to Japan on a business junket, he wouldn't even venture out of the hotel during free time. So visiting my folks in South Carolina was about the extent of our vacation experiences, where Ex would immediately set up a temporary office so he could work.

Before Levi I was never capable of having "emotionless, no strings attached, sex." Being somewhat of a hopeless romantic, I couldn't even fathom such a thing. I wanted love, I wanted passion, I wanted romance. Everything else just seemed dull.

After Levi though, I completely understood. I didn't want a relationship. I didn't want to hear about anybody's problems. I didn't want to go out to dinner. But I did, sometimes, want to have sex. So, no strings attached sex became my "thing." Being new to that game I quickly discovered a few things.

1. There is no such thing as "no strings attached sex." Sure everyone talks a good game, men especially. But when you actually start playing you realize that emotions creep up (obviously varying) no matter what the situation. We are human, we have emotions. Damn.

2. These "relationships" are actually harder to manage because in between having sex all you're talking about is how great it is that you're not getting attached, how awesome it is that you're not in a relationship, how not jealous you are, etc. When actually, you are in denial, or at least one of you is.

3. As a result of all of that, these relationships oftentimes have messier break-ups than traditional relationships. Why? Because neither party was being completely honest and that is bound to hurt someone's feelings.

I just found this out again. And this time, it was my feelings that got hurt.

Found myself engaging with a man that I had already known for a bit who is also going through a divorce. We found ourselves talking about the divorce process at a party one night. Shortly thereafter we found ourselves having a "casual fling."

What's hardest about being the one who was left: There's a lot of fear left over. Fear of risk. Fear of hurt. Fear of being left again.

Over everything, coloring everything, is that fear of ending up back in that place — the place that comes before the leaving. That place where you love, where you want, where you're willing to try and he isn't. That place where you're simply waiting — on the side, in the back — hoping for a smile, a word, some time. Hoping he'll remember that you're the one he chose. Hoping that he'll choose you again.

There's nothing worse than wanting someone who doesn't want you back.

So when the person you're with now, the person you've come to love — despite trying not to, despite fighting it — dithers, wavers, backs off, it's that worst feeling all over again.

It's not fair, really. It's not as though the other party isn't entitled to his own fears. It's not as though it's something that can't be worked through. It's not as though this isn't a normal part of a figuring out a relationship.

But even knowing all that, even knowing that you shouldn't look for parallels, shouldn't panic, shouldn't run and hide, nothing, nothing, nothing makes you feel as terrified and unhappy and wishing to god you had never let yourself love someone else as thinking — even for a day, even for an hour — that someone else, someone again, doesn't think you're enough.  Doesn't want you enough.

And maybe that's lot of pressure to put on someone new. Maybe it's a lot of pressure on yourself — to constantly try not to fear, not to worry, not to expect the worst.

But all you want is to be wanted. All you want is someone who wakes up, sees you, and thinks that's the most wonderful thing in the world. That seems like so much to ask. It also seems like so little.