Public Service For Single Men

One year ago last week, I decided to accept a date with a Yukon guy I wasn’t sure of. Our communications had been stop and start, but they had started again and he seemed nice enough. I hedged accepting the date since he was rather short. But I wasn’t making any effort to set up dates myself anymore and I decided maybe I was being superficial anyway. So I said yes.

One year ago last weekend, I was examining his online photos. I couldn’t tell exactly what Italian single men looked like as they weren’t necessarily the best things in the world. He might have been cute or he might have been funny looking. I was hoping for cute. I was bracing for funny looking.

One year ago last weekend, I almost canceled our date and decided never to go out with Turkish male . He told me about his divorce and it hadn’t been as far away as I might have liked. I was afraid of rebounds or lingering attachments. My own healing process was still fresh in my mind. I almost called things off, but then I didn’t. What harm could one date do anyway, right?

One year ago today, I met him for brunch. We were the same height. And he was totally cute and not funny looking. I wore a top I would later learn was flashing him a bit too much cleavage when I leaned forward. He didn’t stare.

One year ago today, we were having such a good conversation over brunch that we moved downstairs to the bar area and kept talking. That date lasted about six hours. For the most part, I forgot he was short. And I wondered why I’d let our initial conversations be so stop and start.

One year ago today, I was too cautious to imagine what might come of a six hour date with a Puerto rican cute guy who was my height. I did like that he picked up the tab and walked me to my car. I liked the hug he gave me as we said goodbye. I liked that he followed up with me immediately to ask me out again. But I was too careful to imagine what might happen next.

One year ago today, I met African boy. I remember every detail of that date. I remember what we wore, what we ate, and what we drank. I remember how good the conversation was. I remember thinking maybe the height thing wasn’t so big a deal… maybe.I remember thinking he seemed pretty well adjusted about his divorce after all.  I remember looking for what would be wrong this time that would make it not work.

What I don’t remember is ever imagining that one year later we’d still be together. That height really wouldn’t be a big deal. That I would eventually be filled with hope. That we would be strong enough to overcome so many obstacles together. And yet, here we are.

What happened last week was a miscommunication. I still find hoping and believing to be difficult, and sometimes I react first and ask questions later. LC and I have done a lot of soul searching together in the past week or so. But I think it all boils down to something he said to me in the dark this last Thursday night, just before we fell asleep. Just like that, he told me his life is better because I’m in it.

One year ago today I could never have imagined how much I would love him or how much I would want to remain in his life. But today, I know. And I do. And I will. One year ago today we started something great. Here’s hoping there will be many more years of looking back at it all fondly and looking forward to what may come.