Who is he? He is someone I met on the Information Highway through an online dating service. I've written about beginning to sign up and then chickening out on two previous occasions, but this time was different. I had been separated for four years and our divorce was finally complete. I'd gone back to counseling to sort through the why and how of it all, read books and consulted friends and family... I was consciously trying not to make any repeated mistakes.
I finally settled on a site that seemed somewhat more reliable. As an elementary teacher at the time, how else was I going to meet someone? Certainly not at work! The blind dates weren't working, the men I'd met while out and about weren't working either. And frankly, I had made more than a few mistakes along the way which I didn't feel particularly proud of regarding a suitable partner. At this point in time, I fully intended to meet someone (ever heard of the "Power of Intention" people??). The final nail was when my two daughters pulled me aside after the holidays and said it was, "Time to get back on the market." And to "Dress cute because you never know who you might meet, mom." I took that as a sign to get serious about this dating business.
I'd done my homework. I'd come up with a list of "Must-Haves" and "Can't-Stands" to serve as a litmus test of sorts. Now that may sound easy enough, but truly it wasn't. I agonized over the 50 on each list, for a 100 total. I prioritized them, I numbered them, I reflected and marinated on all of the attributes that were really, really important to me. I rearranged them. Finally, I had a list of 10 in each category for 20 total. I decided I would hold them up to my heart and head as I began this new regime of dating with a purpose.
And so it began. I took a picture in front of my computer, just a simple photo of me in a t-shirt and sweater...army green and brown no less (not my most flattering color combo with blue eyes and blonde hair). I completed the exhausting questionnaire and received feedback about my personality as a result. I finally hit, "Make Me A Match." Several emails and a few phone calls followed. The way this particular site works is you read an abbreviated profile about the "Match" and they do likewise. Next questions follow, and so on until you reach, "Open Communication." At this point he called. He had a pleasant voice, made me laugh and we agreed to meet in a neighboring town. The funny thing is his picture was not a piece of the equation up until we'd agreed to meet. I believe he had kept his photo private until that stage in the dating process. To be honest, it was not a flattering photo. But fortunately for both of us, I had entered this dating process with an open mind and decided I would just wait and see what happened.
And so it began. We met for dinner (note: do not EVER do this on a first date; the whys and hows I'll save for a future dating handbook of sorts...surmise it to say the potential for disaster is too great). Surprisingly though, it went so well that we crossed the street and ended up at a Starbucks, of course.
From there we progressed forward at a snail's pace. That is the perfect pace for someone like me. Someone who was scared to share her heart again. Someone who was scared of making mistakes again. And someone who was afraid of making a bad choice, even with a litmus list to use as a guide. At some point, after a walk, a dinner and a date in Berkeley he told me that even though he liked me, he felt the need to go out with other people as I was his first post-divorce date. He wished he'd met me after going out with four or five others (not just coffee dates, but "date" dates). It felt too soon for him. I should have taken those words to heart. He asked if perhaps we could continue going out while he dated others. I thought about it. I said no thank you, I was looking for a long-term relationship ("LTR") that would lead to marriage. I said good night. We had our first, and supposedly, last kiss. It was a good one. We said our good-byes and I went home.
I remember distinctly my oldest daughter was awake and she wanted the debriefing. Now just so you don't think I'm a horrible mother, I did not routinely do this with my kids. In fact, for many years I went on some of my memorable blind dates and they never knew. This time around they were older and it seemed okay for them to learn the ins and outs of dates, choices and decisions and learn along with me.
The short of it was that Morgan thought I'd be nuts to date him while he was dating others. She said if he didn't see how truly wonderful I was, he needed to move on (she's a little biased, as are all three of my kids...it surprises me how great a "catch" they think their ol' mom is...in fact, it touches my heart and causes it to swell when I think of this fact, even now). I felt good about my decision. Until. The. Next. Day.
The next day brought me home mid-work day as my youngest daughter had gone into Ketoacidosis (potentially quite serious for a diabetic). I was home nursing her and working on the computer. As I was doing so I began to look at other "Matches." It was then that I decided if I was at the beginning of platonic dating with others, and he was at the beginning of platonic dating with others, then perhaps we could after all, date one another. I wrote an email to that effect to which he quickly responded with an invitation out to dinner.
Dinner led to more dating and in a matter of mere weeks we were "exclusive." Weeks turned into months and with each conversation our closeness grew. As we peeled another layer of the masks we both wore we grew closer and closer. Honestly, I'd never felt so loved. When I consulted my litmus list I was happily able to figuratively check off all of the "Must-Haves" and found he possessed none of the "Can't-Stands." He was kind and gentle, he was generous and funny. He treated his "Ex" well and was a devoted father. His co-workers loved him. He was a good man who was constantly trying to better himself. We got along well and there was no drama. We enjoyed our moments together without the sacrifice of time away from our children. I jokingly refer to him as a "Highly Evolved Male." All was good. Until it wasn't.
Somewhere the conversation that began in the parking lot months earlier was revisited. He felt the need to date others. So we broke up.
Summer passed and soon we were back in contact and in a mere matter of weeks were dating. Again. I had the best Christmas of my life with him. It was special. He was special. I felt special. And so we continued on our merry way, happily. That is, until he began to have doubts creep up once more in June (summer was historically now becoming my least favorite time of year for relationships!).
About that same time my father's battle with cancer really took over. In all, he had over 80 treatments of radiation and 3 rounds of chemotherapy. Our entire family was spending as much time together as possible: college graduations, birthdays, holidays and a memorable car trip with my dad driving my children and I throughout the town of Berkeley. Dad showed us the house he grew up in, where his paper route was, played kick the can, attended elementary school and most importantly, met my mom. He showed us the park where they were engaged, the church where they were married, their first apartment, and the hospital my mom worked at when my brother was a baby. By August of that summer I had two weeks off and moved into my parents' home to help care for my dad as Hospice became more integral.
During this time period he and I were drawn together once more. His text messages, emails and more gave me encouragement and strength while I leaned on him. He visited my dad mere days before he died and helped me make a DVD to show my dad, and later, play at his memorial. My dad told him, "I thought you were going to be a part of our family. But you need to do what is right for you." He loved that, the part about my dad wanting him to do what was right for him, even though he had so obviously loved his daughter and she, in turned loved him.
After my father died his boyhood friend was in town with his family. He wanted me to meet them. It might seem funny to the outside observer, me going over to his house to meet his boyhood friend and family, even though we weren't dating. It didn't matter. I knew, just knew in my heart of hearts it was just a matter of time before we would be back together again. I was sure of it. His friend & family were just great, and we immediately connected. I remember his friend, Todd, looking at me with his wife. He asked me something to the effect of, "What is it about this guy?" What Todd was trying to say to me, I think, was, "Why do you love him?" I could only answer honestly, I didn't know. I just did.
It all seemed to me that my dad, in his death, had somehow brought us back together. Ever the matchmaker, my dad. So by now, I am sure you can guess where this is headed. We began to date anew. Cautiously. Soon we began with gusto.
During this time period his business, that he had helped create, was going through rough waters. So rough, in fact, it was no longer the source of joy it had been. He was really struggling with what to do. Did they sell? Did they try to persist? What about the employees? There is more to this subject but it is not my story to tell. The short of it is that they sold the company that he had helped create. They had gone from boom to not quite bust, but certainly not what they had once been. They sold to a major company in the City. He began to commute. He hated that. He hated being away from his kids. He was unhappy in the rental house he had occupied for the past number of years. He began to think about making changes.
More time passed. Our kids finally met (only once in the 2-1/2 years we dated I might add, we were being overly cautious in this arena too), we had dinner together in a neutral setting. It went fine but we postponed doing it again. We did spend time with one another's friends and family though. We traveled. We laughed. We continued to grow closer.
And yet.
I still wondered sometimes, did he know, really know, what he wanted? He began to make changes. He quit his job. He looked for a house to buy. He found one. At some point, I could sense something changing. I could not put a finger on it. I began to question him.
Now when narrating a 2-1/2 year relationship, you gloss over it in the retelling. You somehow aren't quite able to capture what made it so special. In telling the story of "us" I have skipped the good parts, the very best parts. Things like the first dance, or the time I had a toothache that ached so badly that I woke up crying. He heated a washcloth and got a heating pad for me. When narrating, I didn't tell about the time I couldn't sleep after my dad died. So what does he do? He tells me a bedtime story over the phone. Sounds like such a small thing to do as I type it. At the time, it got me through a rough patch. There were so many other moments, those are to be saved for other times of reflection. For now, I will say we had many moments both tender and poignant.
I have also neglected to mention the times when he told his story and I told mine. All of it. And that somehow, even though we'd told all of deep, dark secrets, our mistakes and our triumphs, we still loved one another. Or maybe we loved one another in spite of them. In retelling our pasts, we were working through some of the difficulties and somehow it drew us closer. We tried to talk about a future. But that was where we got stuck each time.
I could imagine a future, together. He couldn't. He was still trying to figure out who he was and what he wanted. He used to say I was like Yoda, knowing what I wanted and farther along on life's path.
As we have separated at times, I have told him I visualized the two of us on Angel Island. When we have reached forks in the road he headed off in one direction, and I in another. Still, I could look down at him and see him moving forward. He could see me at times. We could stop and wave, and see progress. But when we looked over and saw one another, it's as if we had to run over and travel together again. We could not seem to separate. We both seemed to find this analogy fitting. Somehow I began to sense we were headed toward another fork in the road, but that it would be different this go around. Finally we met to talk about "us" (and if you're wondering...the answer is yes, it was summer once again).
It seemed we had circled back to the very beginning. He realized he needed to go it alone. We both agreed to give one another time and do a better job of traveling on our own journies, separate. In October I went on a "Road Warrior" trip down the coast of California visiting girlfriends all the way down and back. I felt strong. I wrote him and spoke briefly on the phone and said let's not meet until he got back from his African safari or after the holidays. We ended up meeting at Christmas time.
We exchanged presents for the kids and one another. We talked and I cried and we said good-bye. A week passed and that Christmas was my worst ever (or so I thought, until I remembered one about ten years earlier that was much, much worse...). This year I'd hurt my back, my kids were with their dad, my mom stayed home that day after all, and I was home in my pajamas until 2:00 in the afternoon. I cried some more. I felt weak, pathetic even. For the first time in my life, my heart was broken. I simply could not understand what happened to "us."
A few more months passed. We met again, briefly this past March. We talked about work, our kids, books and more. He asked if I had begun dating. I recounted some of my funnier dating escapades. He looked uncomfortable. Pained. And he squirmed. He then told me he had begun dating someone for a few months. I did not react. I was surprised. He began talking about something else. Meanwhile, in my head, I was thinking about how he had mentioned wanting to figure himself out. He had not, recently, mentioned wanting to date others. But there it was. I was strangely calm (I am always calm in crises or in situations that can cause others to become quite dramatic). I asked if we could go back to the subject of his dating, and how they met. He said friends set him up (of course, I wondered who...?). We exchanged a few more pleasantries and that, was that.
Until the proverbial follow-up emails. He was worried about me, wanting to make sure I was really putting my heart into dating again. He said it would be a crime, if someone like me, with a warm and open heart turned closed as a result of the end of "us." I assured him that no, I was dating with an open heart but I had changed. I was guarded. My heart was guarded. My heart was guarded because of him. And though I had met men, several, in fact, they were not the men for me. I had learned that litmus test or not, that my own inner barometer was a pretty good guide these days.
When I think of the on again, off again nature of our relationship, I think of the often quoted book, "It's Called a Break-up Because It's Broken." This was certainly the case of he and I. We were broken from the very beginning, I just did not see the signs of uncertainty in his eyes, his heart, his words or his actions. Yes, he did give mixed messages. He was present. He was the best listener I have ever met. He was the most loving, kind, gentle man toward me and others. He was giving, to a point. I can see at the point that he was unable to give, was exactly where the problem lay. He was not sure of himself regarding relationships and choosing a life partner. He had more growing up to do, despite being a "Highly Evolved Male." He needed to become a man, and mature a little more in the dating arena. He needed to know himself better before he could give of himself freely. He really and truly needed to go it alone (even if his version of alone meant a new travel partner in tow).
I should have seen that we were doomed from the first time he spoke with hesitancy. My oldest daughter saw it years earlier. I did, but brushed it aside as we grew closer and more fond of one another.
I haven't talked with him in months. The heartache I felt so acutely has subsided and it doesn't appear that the puncture is permanent. I can listen to "our" songs and not get teary-eyed. I can read old emails and not feel the painful pierce or the addictive need to shoot another response to him. He will always be someone who "raised the bar" so to speak. He was and is a good person.
And now. And now I continue to move forward on my path, headed in another direction altogether. I'm alone but not lonely. I am happy. I am hopeful. I begin to wonder who is around the next bend?
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