I went on a date ... and didn't know it
Confused? Me too.
Going on a date was something I had vowed to never do again. I’ve written a post about my reasons why. I still stand by them. With that in mind, how did I end up on one? I really don’t know.
I’m content in my life, in my journey. I’m coming into my own in life as a 'me'. My life is full connecting with family and friends, an interesting career, fun activities. I’m busy discovering who this vibrant, interesting, unique woman is, and my how she inhabits her world in a solo manner making her own decisions, walking her own path. I was part of decision-making for two for so many years that I now need to explore this new world by myself.
And besides, boys have boy germs if you kiss them.
Alright, enough stalling. For all my bravado, how did I find myself on a date? Hell of a question! I don’t know either.
The gentleman I went on a date with is someone I’ve known for my entire married life. He was a friend of My Favourite Husband (MFH) and, through relationship osmosis, became a friend of mine. Because of this, there are years of familiarity, comfort and ease. I’ve exchanged hugs, life history and some confidences. We were never close in that we saw each other often but close enough that I feel safe and secure in his company.
Since MFH died, we’ve connected a bit through text but nothing more than we’ve done over the years. That all changed about a month and a half ago with an invitation to hang out. We had great conversation and a lot of fun. Even though I already knew quite a bit about his life, I learned more intimate details. His story intrigues me and I could feel our friendship growing. We hung out about three times before Christmas; nothing fancy, just shared a meal, good conversation. He’s smart, funny, well travelled. He texted me New Year's Eve and it was nice to be thought of as I was busy ringing in a New Year in Puerto Vallarta surrounded by love, old and new.
When I got back from my pairing, he asked if I wanted to get together for a beer and I agreed. That changed, however, when beer morphed into “doing something,” which grew into options he presented for me to pick from, or options I was welcome to suggest. We went back and forth on it for a bit and settled on a dinner theatre show.
Full disclosure: I still thought we were just hanging out as friends. There was never a romantic indication from him that there was a physical connection. While I do not find him unattractive, I never considered him possible dating material. I don’t consider anyone potential dating material. I don’t date. Yah.
Anyway, the dinner show. It was lovely. Good performance, good conversation, the evening flowed. And after the show, we had a drink together and a bit more conversation. And at some point, he leaned in and kissed me. And I did what any hot-blooded woman would do: I kissed him back lightly, moved back slightly, looked deep into his eyes and said: “What the hell! Are we on a date? Is this a date?"
He was a bit taken aback. He looked slightly confused and stammered out words, trying to make sense of what I was asking and why. And finally he put together a string of words that made sense but all I could focus on was, “Yes, I guess this is a date."
To my credit, I didn’t panic. I didn’t throw my hands in the air and run screaming into the night. I was, I guess, in denial. I wanted to believe it was all just friends hanging out. So my reaction to the admission was a gulp and a less-than-eloquent “OK.” Was it OK? Was I OK? I think so.
Of course, I rehashed the encounter multiple times over the next few days. Was I freaked out? Not freaked out enough? If I pulled my head out of the sand and admitted I went on a date, how did I really feel about it? No, I mean REALLY feel about it?
The word 'date' scares me. A date is a promise, a commitment to another person to enjoy their company and get to know that person even once for a specific period of time. That scares me because I can’t just leave it at that. I jump to the assumption that one date will lead to another.
And that scares me because out of all the things I’ve done, I’ve done them solo. And dating is a tango. It takes two. I’m not sure I want to dance; in fact, I’m pretty positive I don’t want to.
Besides the word 'date' and the time commitment that scare the crap out of me, did I have fun? Yes. Enjoy the company of the man I went with? Yes. Would I see him again if he asked? Yes (and he has). I think the fact he’s not moving at warp speed, takes time to listen to me and treats me respectfully make me curious about him and the possibility of hanging out a bit more.
I still don’t want to date and I refuse to call any get-together a date. But right now I’m OK with tentative steps in a new adventure.
❤️
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