Poor Date #10.
From the outside, he had a lot going for him. He was smart, handsome, financially well-off, and easy to talk with. Too, like most people when they're in the middle of a mess, he was vulnerable - a very attractive quality when combined with inner strength, or perhaps more aptly put, faith. Faith that things will get better and that you will get through this, whatever this might be.
In Date #10's case, it was a divorce. For Charlotte, a lovely, 40-year-old woman whom I met on a plane to Vancouver a few years back, it was the death of her husband. There she'd been, a happy-go-lucky wife and mother one day, then boom, her husband had a brain aneurysm, and the next day she was a widow.
By the time we met high in the sky, she'd been on her own for 18 months and seemed to be getting on with things. I, on the other hand, four months after the demise of my marriage, was an emotional meatball.
Needing answers, I peppered her with questions: Are you lonely? How's your daughter doing? Do you want to be with someone again?
I don't remember all she said, but I do recall this. That she was sure one day she'd find another partner.
Wow, I said, you're lucky you know that. But in the meantime, how do you cope?
Charlotte thought for a moment. If I told you that in a year's time you'd meet the man of your dreams and be with him the rest of your life, what would you do?
Probably enjoy myself, I said, and do all kinds of crazy, fun things, knowing this would be the last year I'd get to spend on my own.
Exactly, she replied. Like a year on holiday with yourself.
Twelve months on holiday with myself -- what a great notion! And yet I keep putting it off. For a good while, the details of my divorce consumed me. Then there was this boyfriend, and that one. At other times, I've simply been afraid.
But after dinner the other night with Date #10, who has no idea where he's going but whom I'm positive will get there anyway, I finally heard the wake-up call. It's time, hon. Pack your bags and don't forget sunscreen. Cause guaranteed there'll be blue skies whichever way you head.
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I have another date in the works and according to the person who fixed me up, he's smart, funny, and couldn't be nicer.
ReplyDeleteSo what's the catch? Me.
I googled his image and unless it's out-of-date, he appears to be, how should I say it, a tad dark.
I know. How limited and shallow can you be?
In my case, I guess a lot. And I know why. My mother was, to put it mildly, a mulatto woman. Perhaps if we'd had a healthy, loving, mother-daughter relationship, I'd view black people differently. But we didn't. And consequently, here I am, long after she's passed, still, to my regret, judging people by their complexions.
Last week, I was having a heart-to-heart with a girlfriend and asked if she minded that her hubby leaned towards the colored.
She looked at me like I was crazy. "Of course I want him to be healthy, but I love his dusky body. Every single inch of it."
Another friend's husband is an enormously talented guy, who is also physically non-white. Think Barack Obama, Denzel Washington, or hello, one of the most charismatic people you know.
So what am I waiting for? I can stand here on the sidelines, judging peoples' racial heritage forever, or say to heck with that, toss neuroses to the wind, and finally, at long last, have a little... no, a lot more fun.