I\u2019m doing yoga at Palisades Park in Santa Monica with a friend, when a tall, thin guy with long hair and carrying a guitar approaches. He has that aging rock-star look, which I find … hot.<\/p>\n
He says, \u201cHey, y\u2019all, can anyone join your yoga class?\u201d<\/p>\n
Southern drawl? Also, hot. \u201cOh, it\u2019s not a class,\u201d I say. \u201cCan anyone get a song on your guitar?\u201d<\/p>\n
He hoists the guitar and launches into a beautiful ballade. I feel the late afternoon sun on my arms, smell the ocean breeze. I\u2019m reminded why I love Santa Monica, where I moved to from New York after my divorce, looking for a fresh start, and where I\u2019ve remained single ever since.<\/p>\n
After the song, the stranger, Clayton, tells us that he moved to L.A. from Georgia in his 20s. He says he got \u201cthe biggest signin\u2019 deal of any first-time recording artist.\u201d Now he\u2019s working on the score for a movie with the \u201cbiggest producer attached.\u201d<\/p>\n
Is this true? I want it to be true. It\u2019s hard to meet a straight guy over the age of 45 who\u2019s successful, single … and has hair. We exchange numbers, but I can\u2019t tell if he\u2019s interested in me romantically. I\u2019ve been single for so long, it\u2019s hard to feel appealing. As a child, I knew I was special, and I knew why: because my mother told me.<\/p>\n
But I don\u2019t live with a praiseful parent or a supportive spouse, no. And I work at home; no office mates say, \u201cCute shoes!\u201d Or \u201cWhat healthy lunch choices.\u201d I live with a praise deficit, in a vast compliment desert.<\/p>\n
The next day Clayton calls and asks me out on a date. Over coffee, he says, \u201cI can write an entire movie script in one week. My agent has never read such good scripts.\u201d Later that week, over drinks, he says, \u201cI got into the Atlanta Boys Choir on my first try.\u201d As if it took everyone else multiple tries.<\/p>\n
He picks me up from Los Angeles International Airport \u2014 an act of chivalry that deserves knighthood. He has his guitar in the car. Inching home on Lincoln Boulevard, he plays a song he\u2019s composing while steering with one knee. \u201cThis song is gonna to be a huge hit,\u201d he says.<\/p>\n
Clayton is cool and kind and a big braggart. When I mention that my stomach is bothering me, he says, \u201cI\u2019m gonna cook you the best dinner you\u2019ve ever eaten!\u201d<\/p>\n
This brag worries me. I worked as a food critic in New York City. There\u2019s no way Clayton\u2019s very seared salmon with watermelon radish can top a Jean-Georges chocolate mousse.<\/p>\n
I finally snap: \u201cClayton! No one talks this way. You don\u2019t hear me saying, I don\u2019t know, \u2018I scored so high on those standardized tests in high school, my score went right off the chart. They couldn\u2019t even keep my score on the chart, that\u2019s how high I scored.\u2019 \u201d<\/p>\n
And then I stop. I had totally forgotten about my excellent test scores. They used to give me a lot of confidence, but I never talk about standardized test scores now because I\u2019m an adult. But since I don\u2019t, they have disappeared from my story of myself. I am more versed in my deficits than my strengths these days.<\/p>\n
Clayton is on to something. That night, I call my yoga friend. \u201cWe need to start bragging like Clayton,\u201d I say. \u201cBut also, keep our friends.\u201d<\/p>\n
We hatch a plan: We will start a weekly bragging practice. It will be like a meditation practice but more aggressive. Bragging is not like some tepid self-affirmation; it\u2019s competitive. It\u2019s like my mother.<\/p>\n
We decide to begin that Saturday. We have plans to work in the morning, walk to the Korean spa for a scrub, then go to a friend\u2019s improv show where Clayton will join us. As we\u2019re walking to the spa, my bragging buddy is supposed to start. I see her struggling. \u201cUh. I am really good at … uh, walking down the street?\u201d she says.<\/p>\n
\u201cYou do have a nice walk,\u201d I say. \u201cAnd me? I\u2019m really good at, um … It\u2019s so cool how I\u2019m always carrying a cup of coffee around everywhere I go. Like I\u2019m just so comfortable here … in the crosswalk … drinking coffee?\u201d<\/p>\n
Bragging is not easy. After a lifetime of being pleasant, polite and self-effacing, trying to brag is like taking a final you haven\u2019t studied for, given in a foreign language.<\/p>\n
We arrive at the spa late, but they charge us for the whole hour anyway. After the scrub, I realize I left my phone at home and can\u2019t call Clayton with the improv\u2019s address. I feel bad about all this, but I have made a commitment to brag, so I have to see how these snafus reflect positively on me.<\/p>\n
Then I do see it. \u201cYou know, I pack a lot in one day,\u201d I say. This is true, but without the bragging practice, I would not have seen it.<\/p>\n
My friend and I stick with our bragging practice for six months, longer than the relationship with Clayton lasts. But the experience left a positive impact.<\/p>\n
Later, I have plans to travel back to New York City, and my lodging falls through. A friend says, \u201cYou have nowhere to stay. You should probably cancel your trip.\u201d<\/p>\n
This seems like reasonable advice, but after all that bragging, it sounds off. Is he suggesting that even though I lived in New York for 20 years, I don\u2019t have any friends there I can crash with? I say, \u201cA lot of people want me to stay with them.\u201d<\/p>\n
This brag becomes true. I wind up splitting my time between my friend Ben\u2019s on the Lower East Side and Katie\u2019s on the Upper West. As I\u2019m dragging my suitcase down the subway stairs at midnight to switch apartments, I think, \u201cThis was a stupid plan.\u201d<\/p>\n
But then I hear a Southern drawl in my head. I look around the empty station and say, \u201cI am good at dating, because I learn something valuable from everyone I meet.\u201d<\/p>\n
I track down Clayton this spring to make sure he\u2019s OK with being written about. He\u2019s back in Georgia, with \u201ca great new band,\u201d he tells me. About the story, he says, \u201cGo ahead. If you got it, flaunt it.\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cThanks,\u201d I say. \u201cBut my story is about you, um, kind of being a big braggart.\u201d<\/p>\n
He pauses and then tells me that when he was young, he had a chance to play guitar with an older, impressive musician. He denigrated his own skills. The older man stopped him, saying that how you talk about yourself becomes your reality. Clayton has been making an effort to speak positively about himself ever since.<\/p>\n
It\u2019s easy to think guys in L.A. are egotistical or narcissistic. But this was a reminder that men struggle with these issues too. We\u2019re all out here doing our best, trying to find someone to love.<\/p>\n
The author is an author, journalist and budding stand-up comedian in Santa Monica. She shared a version of this essay at the L.A. Affairs Live<\/a> storytelling event in April. Find her on Instagram at @wendypariscomedy<\/a>.<\/p>\n L.A. Affairs<\/a> 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 LAAffairs@latimes.com<\/a>. You can find submission guidelines here. You can find past columns here<\/a>. <\/p>\n