I'm still wonder-struck.
The story of how I met her - call her G - is not entirely free of irony. As I've posted elsewhere on the forum, I've had a love-hate, approach-avoidance relationship with OKCupid. I've gone through two different accounts on the site: started one, then deleted it; started another, then deleted it.
I decided a dating site is not really the best place to meet people; the set-up and the expectations of the whole thing seem off
, somehow. I made a lot of noise about this on the forum a few weeks ago, and annoyed a few people with it.
Well, damn me for a fool, but I met G on OKCupid, and my exchange with her was the one thing I held on to when I deleted my second account.
Now, in my own defense, I was drawn to her, in part, because her profile was so direct and honest, and she began it with the disclaimer that her life is very full, and she's not really interested in a new romantic relationship. She was there out of curiosity, nothing more.
I wrote to her with no expectation of anything at all.
Well, we've been corresponding by email for a couple of months now, and I guess we both liked what we were reading. She comes across as intelligent and thoughtful . . . which is all but irresistible to me! She's also been poly (and openly bi/queer) for a while, and understands things about relationships that, for me, are still matters of conjecture.
We met for coffee a couple of weeks ago, and the spark was struck. We met for lunch last week . . . and talked for three hours. Fortunately, her work schedule that day was relaxed enough that there weren't repercussions back at the office. It was a non-teaching day for me, and I made up for lost time over the weekend.
We immediately set up our date for last night. She drove to my house, and we walked to a nearby sushi restaurant. We were seated in the back room, which we had pretty much to ourselves for the evening, ate sushi . . . and talked for three hours.
Then we walked around for a while in the unaccustomed cold (real winter weather, in Georgia!), then came back to my house for a cup of tea and more talk. My wife and daughters were caught up watching something in the other room, so we had some privacy.
I'm usually open about the fact that my besetting vice is cowardice, especially when it comes to making myself vulnerable, letting someone else see my deepest feelings and failings. I tend to use words as a defense, talking away from my discomfort, changing the subject . . . and I'm very, very good at generating words.
In the past, when I've found myself wanting to tell someone or show someone how I feel about them, it seemed to me I was standing on a precipice, or on the edge of a too-cold swimming pool. I would want to jump in, but I would be afraid of what might happen next, afraid of the irrevocability of it.
Once I jump, I can't unjump.
I would resolve to jump in, be ready to jump in, then hesitate, and think again, and wait, then resolve again . . . and end up standing there, contemplating the edge.
Back in college, I let potential relationships slip away, because I would not take that fearful leap. There are some I still regret, to this day.
I've taken the leap a few times, often with much talk. When I was dating the woman who is now my wife, it took me about an hour to explain what I meant when I said I was in love with her.
(I know, I know.)
Anyway, to make a long story short, sitting and talking with G last night, I jumped . . .
and it wasn't such a terrible precipice after all, because she was right there with me, meeting affection with affection.
And so we launch a little ship on love's storm-tossed seas.
We're both inclined to let our relationship develop slowly. The thing is to spend time together, so we can come to understand and trust one another.
Did we hold hands? Did we kiss? Was there a warm and prolonged good-night hug?
I'm not the kind that tells.