I want you to meet someone…

When I first moved back to Tennessee, I had the fortune of meeting some cool friends who would invite me out from time to time. We had kids in the same school, but they were married and I was, well, not.

I would go out with these married ladies knowing it was doubtful I would meet someone, but as a single mom mostly doing freelance work out of my home, I wasn’t exactly in a lot of social circles to feed a thriving dating life.

Meeting someone. Meh.

Let’s go ahead and get it out there: “You aren’t going to meet anyone you want to spend your life with at a bar!”

This is a sentiment that well-meaning mothers (myself included) and practical people (me) are quick to offer, and while it is mostly true, it isn’t always true. I know a friend who was leaving a bar and met the love of her life. And I’ve met the guy. He’s awesome! They are very happily married to this day. Rare? Yes. But at the time, going out still seemed like a better choice than Internet dating, at least for me.

In my previous life, it would have been preferable to meet a nice man at church. But I guess after meeting my husband at a Christian university and things not working out with him, I couldn’t exactly claim relationship success just because Jesus was contextually involved. After all, I was attending a large church in Nashville, and I wasn’t meeting anyone there. My ex-husband met a nice girl at church, but that’s another story.

If nothing else, a night out with make-up and heels on for honky-tonkin’ and bar hoppin’ gave me a lot of indications on whom NOT to date.

There were two things I could count on when we went out: that the evening would be entertaining and that we would end up at Steak ‘n’ Shake. That was always the last stop on the party train.

Sometimes when I was out with my married friends, they would say things like, “Are you even open to meeting someone? You have to be open.” One of them would actually make this motion with her hands coming together at her chest and then separating them wide until her arms were on either side of her body. She would repeat the motion for emphasis. “Open.”

I didn’t know if I was open in the way they meant it or not. Open to what: kissing a stranger, a one-night stand? Oh yeah, that’s the way to start a quality relationship when you have a daughter at home. Sometimes I wondered if they were trying to live vicariously through me.

I remember one time we were out, a couple of guys became interested in our group. That night, three or four of us were hanging at a place more restaurant than bar. My friend started talking to one of the guys and kept talking to him for what seemed like a long time. When he left to grab a fresh drink, she rushed over to me.

“Kim, you need to meet this guy. He’s your age. He’s never been married, but he’s ready to settle down. He even wants kids. He’s ready for all of that.”

Wow. She was able to make quite the comprehensive evaluation in that bar conversation. Maybe I should give this guy a chance! This was back when I thought the idea of having another baby would be great. The original life plan had always included 2 to 4 kids.

So there I was, ready to meet a single, age-appropriate guy with less baggage than me who would get me back on track to fulfilling my dreams.

It’s clear when the guy comes back from the bar—let’s call him Rick (since I have no recollection of what his actual name is)—that he was expecting a conversation with me. Sadly, all my cynicism about chivalry and the loss of general dating decency was cemented within moments of Rick opening his mouth.

Surely this was not the same man my friend had been talking to. This man led with sexual questions so inappropriate that I almost felt sorry for him. Why? What changed? Is this what the token single girl in the group gets? Raunchy conversation starters versus true relating? Should I tell him right now I have a young daughter? Too soon?

I tried to see past the words. He didn’t look like what he was saying. He was handsome but not too good looking if you know what I mean. He had kind eyes. Maybe he’d been drinking too much. But I was much too sober for what he was saying and honestly so disgusted that I simply got up and left.

I hadn’t even pulled out of the parking lot before I got a text from my friend.

“What happened? Why did you leave?” Then she sends me Rick’s number. “Call him. He’s really nice.”

I headed home leaving Rick and my hope in dating behind, at least for the night.

“Maybe I’ll meet someone nice at Starbucks.” Oh…about that…(There is unfortunately a related post.)

Too hard, too fast

I thought he was being Tennessee friendly. Though I’m a Southern girl, I had been conditioned by living in Baltimore for a few years. In Baltimore men didn’t just strike up conversations to be friendly very often. Back in Tennessee, I noticed the difference pretty quickly. Here it was normal to get into a nice conversation with someone–male or female–without knowing the person at all.

So, I thought he was being Tennessee friendly. He looked about 50 or so with this edgy musician style that is all too common this close to Nashville. I don’t remember how the conversation got started, but there was the typical back and forth banter at first.

Love while waiting for lattes?

The line was long at Starbucks that day, and I had run out to get some lattes for mom and I. While we waited, I learned that he lived on a big piece of land, was an entrepreneur, was divorced and had a son who was 11. I remember his son’s age because things got pretty weird when I said I had a daughter who was 11. That’s when he laughed and said our kids should “date.”

I tried to hide my confused face at this statement, and I’m sure in the moment I just shrugged it off as one of those accidental comments one makes without thinking. By this time we had ordered and paid, waiting in the queue with a number of people listening for names to be called, anxious for our favorite fall beverages to be placed on the counter for pick up.

He turned the conversation to bragging about his accomplishments and then dropped in an invitation–would I want to get some burgers that night at a local music joint. I remember distinctly that I had plans for that evening, but of course I also wouldn’t have accepted an offer based on five minutes of conversation. I tried to be nice and graciously declined. Somehow he didn’t get the hint.

Unfortunately, our orders came out at the same time. I mumbled something like, “Nice to meet you. Have a great day,” but he was headed for the same exit as me. The parking was in the back, so I just assumed he had parked there–that was until he followed me towards my car.

I honestly wasn’t frightened by this tactic. Though he was acting like a creeper, he wasn’t creepy, and my instincts weren’t telling me to be too on guard. Plus we were in a high traffic area during the day in my small low-crime town. I was more annoyed by his behavior as he kept spouting off about his greatness.

I made it verbally clear that I was leaving, but he decided to tell me where he was headed that afternoon (to a sex shop downtown) and that his offer still stood for getting burgers later if I changed my mind. Then he proceeded to tell me what he was going to buy at the downtown store.

This guy was coming on too hard and too fast. My lattes were cooling, and I was over it.

My door was open, and I was getting in. By this time I was making snide comments in response to his odd, unaware chatter, but it made no difference. He wouldn’t stop talking.

Door shut, key in ignition. He is still going on outside my window as I pull away. Now I am shaking my head and laughing because I cannot fathom how in the last 10 minutes of my life, I have once again experienced this idiotic pattern.

It’s the pattern of too hard, too fast, and I know women do it too, but today I’m writing about men. This is the pattern I experienced time after time when people asked me if I was “open enough to dating.”

If I had a dollar for all the times a friend told me that some stranger was a “nice guy” when she was talking to him, but then when I as the single, unattached girl tried to find the “nice” in that same guy only to find a bunch of perverted thoughts, I would be rich.

Every time this happened, I thought, “I could never take this man home to meet my daughter,” because even if an actual decent relationship blossomed from meeting this person, I would always remember that this is how it started. I’m not prude; I can hang with the best of them, flirting myself to nowhere. And no, this scenario didn’t just happen in bars where alcohol had altered the state of things.

But it was a disappointing time in my life. Because I wasn’t meeting any quality men at church, I was out there with all of the other single women, hoping for something different. Then, I wasn’t 40 yet. I wanted more children and another chance at this life I pictured in my head.

But all I found was too hard, too fast.

Clearing the Air

I wrote my last post in a narrative style because the story of that day, the day that my ex husband Chuck and I unexpectedly filed for divorce, was so bizarre and affecting. The imagery of kissing a man in the rain, a man you once would have done anything for, to say goodbye in essence has been a much-needed salve for my soul. When I think about that day, I’m so eternally grateful to have had it.

It was after lunch by the time we were finished at the courthouse. Chuck is a gregarious guy, and once the scene of the kiss passed, he quickly moved to the next space in time asking me if I wanted to have lunch.

Kissing your soon-to-be ex moments after filing for divorce and then going to the local pub for drinks and bar food might not be everyone’s story, but it is mine. We walked once again, sloshing about in the rain, our awkwardness with each other returning a bit. I don’t remember the name of the place we ended up at, but it was dark and inviting inside and exactly what we both needed.

We had a couple of hours before it would be time to get Emma, so we each ordered an adult beverage to smooth out the strain of the morning as well as some nice greasy fried and breaded food to soak it all up. And there in that cozy bar in downtown Baltimore, we talked like old friends.

The act of filing somehow released both of us to say some important things and to ask some nagging questions. It was so strange and yet so liberating all at once. We loosened up and laughed with each other, enjoying each other’s company for the first time in a very long time.

Before we knew it, it was time to pick up our girl from school, and a deep sadness was in the air as we got up and gathered the still dripping umbrella. Maybe we were both thinking the same thing: why hadn’t we talked like this before now, while there was still a chance?

It’s not that we didn’t try to talk things out. Of course we had major conversations before that day, many filled with tears, harsh words, and difficult, unanswered questions. But we had gotten so far away from the connection that allowed for healthy, open dialogue. Yet somehow that day, the connection made in a dusky dive temporarily fused us together again.

I like to think if Emma’s school pick up hadn’t taken us out of that time that we would have sat there for a lot longer, talking, reminiscing, and enjoying the company of each other. The result would not have been different; our marital relationship was already dead. Chuck had a fiancée by then, and the wedding date had been set.

Our kiss that day was not one of romance or desire. It was a kiss that said so much more, a suspension for a few seconds of everything that was wrong between us and the start of a new chapter in our story.