I'm doing 19 things
Singledom is challenging at best. I feel like I’m meeting a constant stream of guys who are really interested in me, but I’m never really interested in them. At times I wonder if something is wrong with me, that I’m cold or something, and some friends even tell me I’m just way too picky and I should settle for someone while I can still attract anyone at all.
Maybe I should go out with a couple of them to see if something might develop? Maybe not everything is about that immediate chemistry?
No. In a long term relationship, years down the road I need to be able to think back on those early moments and remember the quick heartbeat, the fluttering insect inside, and getting to know a person and being thrilled at every discovery. Isn’t that how we know the relationship is worth pursuing? Isn’t that what generations of natural selection has been for? That’s what tells us we’re picking a compatible and worthy mate. So I’m taking the risk that I could get old and ugly before it happens, but I’m following my heart by not forcing it to feign interest. If my heart goes, it goes, and it’ll be worth it. But I’m not settling for anything less than what really beats it. I know myself well enough to know that I’m not alive unless my heart is pressing earnestly against my ribs.
A few weeks ago, through strange and seemingly random circumstances I ended up in email contact with a guy I had a crush on when I was thirteen. Thirteen! He never knew it, of course, because I was too shy to act on it or even to tell anyone at all, nevermind someone in a position for that terribly awkward junior high my-friend-thinks-you’re-cute-so-do-you-like-her-too kind of mediation. He’s single, and the last few days I’ve found myself thinking about him in the middle of the day for no reason, and wondering what fifteen years might have done to him. I’m irritated at myself for allowing those thoughts to creep in when I have no way of knowing unless I meet him. I’m just setting myself up for disappointment, right?
Tonight we met. Or rather, reacquainted as adults. I had a gift certificate for a fancy restaurant, so I invited him to eat with me. We got through those first initial shy moments of sizing each other up, and I tried not to be too nervous even though I felt thirteen inside all over again. We chatted a little, and were seated at the table with menus. I’ve never been so intimidated by a menu in my life. So there I was, a perfectly bilingual Canadian with a French menu that may as well have been in Cantonese.
I raised an eyebrow stupidly, then caught myself and flicked my eyes up to see if he’d witnessed it. Our eyes locked a moment, and then I realised he was stifling his own nervous laughter. unapologetically, he indicated that it was totally over his head. And there was the rescue.
And as my heart fell and splooshed into my stomach in that sensation caused by a roller coaster dropping downhill too quickly, everything else fell into place too. We laughed at ourselves and worked together to pick menu items which sounded relatively normal, and were pleasantly rewarded when the meals turned out to be what we’d hoped. We even shared our plates so that we could both appreciate how good our teamwork turned out to be. He thanked me for dinner, and asked if he could buy me gelati for dessert in return.
We went to this awesome gelati bar with about forty flavours. There were so many it was almost as overwhelming as the restaurant, but we cooperated again and took our time, making suggestions to each other and learning about each others’ likes and dislikes. The server offered us samples, and my date selected one and invited me to share a taste of it from his spoon. It was romantic, but not in a Hollywood way—more like a subtitled rated-G foreign film sort of experience. I was surprised at myself for not being weirded out by that level of comfort, and even offered him the same familiarity when I chose flavours. Maybe that’s the trust that comes from knowing his parents are still living down the street from mine, but I think it’s because none of our flirty banter ever has the heavy sexual overtones and innuendos that seem so common all the time; there’s just no pressure.
Eventually we’d picked out flavours, but neither of us was rushing. We ate and talked, and then went for a walk by the river to continue the dialogue about life, love, loss, and the nature of the universe. It was really cold, and neither of us wanted the date to end, so we went for hot coffee at a high-rise revolving restaurant where we could watch the city go around.
All in all, it was a lovely evening, and easily the best date I’ve ever had in my life. We learned a lot about each other, and talked pretty candidly about what we want out of our own lives, and the mistakes we’ve made in the past that we’ll never make ever again. It was an evening completely devoid of awkwardness and insecurities. We didn’t even kiss at the end and it didn’t bother me, even despite the fact that I’m still as madly attracted to him as I was when I was too young to really appreciate him anyway. I think it leaves more to look forward to in the future. And seeing as our last bit of a conversation was about our mutual interest in each other and our incredible chemistry, there’s a good chance there will be one.
We shared a very nice long hug instead. And despite the stress fractures in my ribs, it wasn’t the tight squeeze of his physical contact that made them twinge—it was my own heart pressing earnestly against them.
