C
chevalier
Guest
This is so awkward I don’t even know how to start.
I’ll just give you the facts: a whooping six years ago (I was 27 and she one year younger), on one of those Catholic dating portals I met an interesting person. Fellow somewhat disillusioned law grad, focus on trial law, with a creative side to her, in fact a rather serious amateur painter, where my own father was a pro, which obviously influenced who I am.
The fact she was familiar with something I did (my first and last great exploit in litigation, as time would later show), though she couldn’t connect the name, still had some significance — not even really in an ego-stroking way but more in the sense of a social link, I guess. It was a good feeling.
The ground did not shake, nor was there any tearjerking drama, in fact it was more along the lines of intellectual respect, though not devoid of an emotional touch. Rational, orderly emotional touch, therefore appealing in a spiritual sort of way. The lack of a strong chaotic impulse to act was actually good thing.
Similar to being around a girl that makes an obvious impression on you, makes you feel a sense of connection, activates your radar, but allows you to keep your brain as opposed to turning it into pudding. Or sort of like dating a girl who plays chess with you and you meet at 10 a.m. rather than p.m.
Plus, I liked the way she mentioned meeting up and seeing if we were to each other’s taste and if not then continuing simply as acquaintances — she actually managed to write that sort of thing in a natural way, without sounding awkward, and even in a way that felt good (peace, comfort, respect, that kind of ‘good’).
Heck, it was even comforting how she simply admitted fault and apologized for falling out of touch for a month and simply resumed conversation, though I certainly was made a bit cautious (along with a minor yellow flag that I’d overestimated as orange and still made too much of of anyway, a negligible thing but I was a bad case of romantic PTSD back then, a thoroughly wounded veteran of consistent failure with the ladies and epically hilarious).
It was played cool on both sides, though for some random reason we didn’t meet up and eventually we lost touch, regained it one month after only to lose it again when my overworked brain (I worked seriously sick hours back then) misregistered something and I ended up expecting a reply that had already arrived, or forgetting I hadn’t actually sent the draft of my own reply, something like that. At the stage we were at, it wouldn’t have been proper or natural to keep pressing, so I didn’t.
A year or two later I tried sending her a message and, by accident, also realized my cognitive screwup. The message ended up being unread, there were indications she had simply left the portal and the other one where we’d also talked, with her photos gone but profile not deleted, which usually suggests something a bit less than totally cutting ties with the place (e.g. intention to go off the radar for a longer while but not for good).
I forgot about her, though I had a moment of surprisingly strong emotion when I’d mistaken someone for her in the crowd, someone I’d even briefly talked to but fail to connected with a name and story, especially if it really was someone whose look I’d only known from a photo. Later, I forgot, though with regret.
Fast forward to tonight:
I check out new arrivals but see notification about two new visitors. There can be no mistake, I recognize the wording of the profile (which hadn’t changed at all), and the data match anyway.
And the sheer shock of realizing that she’s 32 now, where I’m 33. First thought that comes: things could have been brought to conclusion six years ago. It would now look like such a totally avoidable loss of time only through sheer stupidity if we even were to get together now. And the six lost years would make themselves felt.
Besides, well, I’m sure she’s no less an interesting and all-round worthy person than she’d been, but I, well, I was dashing handsome young lad back then, with aspirations and everything, eloquence and social graces and all, little of which now remain (several years in a solitary job in front of a computer does that to ya), and kinda plump. I’d struggle to put together a suit and lawyerly white shirt and squeezing myself into it, something utterly unthinkable six years ago, when I’d been the glam, beloved of court clerks and wanted to date by half the firm, or so my female roomie claimed (right after calling my haircut gay, to wit). The comparison made me burst out in sincere laughter that couldn’t stop for a longer while. Actually, still can’t.
Plus, meeting up (if even considered on her part at all) would be so awkward with so much pressure for evaluation and conclusion as generated by such a blast from the past. Awkward is my middle name, so nothing new under the sun, but still. I might as well write: ‘hi, how about we have a couple of vodkas and some uncooked beef tartare by the courthouse?,’ (precisely the meal I had after the last time I went there), wouldn’t make it any more awkward. (And I’ve half a mind to actually say it.)
So… this is so odd. I completely don’t know what to do or what’s going on. It’s like a surprise queen in the middle of a chessboard or a retrial out of nowhere.
Any advice? I’d pour myself a double Scotch to settle the dizziness and start thinking, but I’d promised not to drink for Lent and should be sick in bed with a bad cold anyway.
I’ll just give you the facts: a whooping six years ago (I was 27 and she one year younger), on one of those Catholic dating portals I met an interesting person. Fellow somewhat disillusioned law grad, focus on trial law, with a creative side to her, in fact a rather serious amateur painter, where my own father was a pro, which obviously influenced who I am.
The fact she was familiar with something I did (my first and last great exploit in litigation, as time would later show), though she couldn’t connect the name, still had some significance — not even really in an ego-stroking way but more in the sense of a social link, I guess. It was a good feeling.
The ground did not shake, nor was there any tearjerking drama, in fact it was more along the lines of intellectual respect, though not devoid of an emotional touch. Rational, orderly emotional touch, therefore appealing in a spiritual sort of way. The lack of a strong chaotic impulse to act was actually good thing.
Similar to being around a girl that makes an obvious impression on you, makes you feel a sense of connection, activates your radar, but allows you to keep your brain as opposed to turning it into pudding. Or sort of like dating a girl who plays chess with you and you meet at 10 a.m. rather than p.m.
Plus, I liked the way she mentioned meeting up and seeing if we were to each other’s taste and if not then continuing simply as acquaintances — she actually managed to write that sort of thing in a natural way, without sounding awkward, and even in a way that felt good (peace, comfort, respect, that kind of ‘good’).
Heck, it was even comforting how she simply admitted fault and apologized for falling out of touch for a month and simply resumed conversation, though I certainly was made a bit cautious (along with a minor yellow flag that I’d overestimated as orange and still made too much of of anyway, a negligible thing but I was a bad case of romantic PTSD back then, a thoroughly wounded veteran of consistent failure with the ladies and epically hilarious).
It was played cool on both sides, though for some random reason we didn’t meet up and eventually we lost touch, regained it one month after only to lose it again when my overworked brain (I worked seriously sick hours back then) misregistered something and I ended up expecting a reply that had already arrived, or forgetting I hadn’t actually sent the draft of my own reply, something like that. At the stage we were at, it wouldn’t have been proper or natural to keep pressing, so I didn’t.
A year or two later I tried sending her a message and, by accident, also realized my cognitive screwup. The message ended up being unread, there were indications she had simply left the portal and the other one where we’d also talked, with her photos gone but profile not deleted, which usually suggests something a bit less than totally cutting ties with the place (e.g. intention to go off the radar for a longer while but not for good).
I forgot about her, though I had a moment of surprisingly strong emotion when I’d mistaken someone for her in the crowd, someone I’d even briefly talked to but fail to connected with a name and story, especially if it really was someone whose look I’d only known from a photo. Later, I forgot, though with regret.
Fast forward to tonight:
I check out new arrivals but see notification about two new visitors. There can be no mistake, I recognize the wording of the profile (which hadn’t changed at all), and the data match anyway.
And the sheer shock of realizing that she’s 32 now, where I’m 33. First thought that comes: things could have been brought to conclusion six years ago. It would now look like such a totally avoidable loss of time only through sheer stupidity if we even were to get together now. And the six lost years would make themselves felt.
Besides, well, I’m sure she’s no less an interesting and all-round worthy person than she’d been, but I, well, I was dashing handsome young lad back then, with aspirations and everything, eloquence and social graces and all, little of which now remain (several years in a solitary job in front of a computer does that to ya), and kinda plump. I’d struggle to put together a suit and lawyerly white shirt and squeezing myself into it, something utterly unthinkable six years ago, when I’d been the glam, beloved of court clerks and wanted to date by half the firm, or so my female roomie claimed (right after calling my haircut gay, to wit). The comparison made me burst out in sincere laughter that couldn’t stop for a longer while. Actually, still can’t.
Plus, meeting up (if even considered on her part at all) would be so awkward with so much pressure for evaluation and conclusion as generated by such a blast from the past. Awkward is my middle name, so nothing new under the sun, but still. I might as well write: ‘hi, how about we have a couple of vodkas and some uncooked beef tartare by the courthouse?,’ (precisely the meal I had after the last time I went there), wouldn’t make it any more awkward. (And I’ve half a mind to actually say it.)
So… this is so odd. I completely don’t know what to do or what’s going on. It’s like a surprise queen in the middle of a chessboard or a retrial out of nowhere.
Any advice? I’d pour myself a double Scotch to settle the dizziness and start thinking, but I’d promised not to drink for Lent and should be sick in bed with a bad cold anyway.
Good luck!