Earlier this week, I found myself on another in a series of coffee-dates, attempting to make new friends--even, perhaps, find a special person to connect to. This fellow and I had corresponded on my favorite dating site for folks in my age-range: don'tbedesperate.com.
He was a fascinating man; there was a draw to him that is difficult to explain. You just know it when you feel it. But, as we talked on, I had "an ah-hah moment." I felt, a strong feeling, deep within myself, that this man was simply not available. I felt a sense that either he could not connect to another in an intimate relationship or he was still unfinished about a relationship that he thought was over. Another thing, I found interesting: I had the feeling he and I were talking in some strange kind of code. I've never had this sense before with anyone, so I found it pretty odd. And it wasn't only that he was speaking in this code; I was speaking it too.
So, then, instead of doing what I most often do--which is to dismiss my "inner knowing" and just forge ahead, telling myself that "once we really get to know one another--this will all change"--I stopped. I breathed. I listened. And, instead of brushing off the quiet, calm sense I had about this, the sense I felt deep within; I told him what I was thinking. He listened, but didn't really listen. Instead, he asked if we could continue the afternoon, by taking a walk; then, perhaps going dancing. I told him: "I am looking for a person who is available for a relationship, though even if you were available, I can't know that this person is you....But, I'm getting a strong feeling you're really not available."
He then assured me that he was. And instead of believing his words, above my intuition (which is something I most often did as a younger woman), I stayed with my intuition. I had seen a subtle look come across his face, when talking about someone he had recently dated. We talked about our childhoods and his was one with unavailable parents. I told him about mine too--and about my father who was always working, but when he was there was charming and loving.
I said: I am looking for a friend, and possibly a partner. And I told him that I had an experience about a year or more ago, with a man who I saw for a couple of months--He told me he was "addicted to romance"; but he said he thought he had that beat now. I should have taken his words for the warning they were, and ended things; but I didn't. Ultimately, this man was not available. He had actually warned me he wasn't. But, I thought: "Oh, I can fix that! He just hasn't really met the right woman yet!" (Of course, I was thinking that I was the right woman.)
In a short while my coffee-date said: "I have been a player." And I knew that his playing was not a temporary condition, like a cold. It was who he was. I couldn't do much about that. My job was not to fix him, but rather to look at myself: What in me has been attracted to such a person? More than once? Why have I silenced my own "inner voice" in the past, to do the dance that always disappoints?
It's nice to know though, that after something difficult happens--a pain, a disappointment--that I really can do things differently. It is the surprise gift inside every painful lesson, I think---That within every painful moment is a lesson to help us grow. Will it help me find the right mate? Beats me! But, even if it doesn't find me a mate, this gift inside the pain comes with an undeniable joy--the feeling that my pain is not meaningless. It has a purpose. On my coffee-date with this unavailable man, I made a choice: to go with my "inner knowing," above this man's assurances that he was cured--(or that I was cured!) I wasn't putting a man's assurances above my own "inner knowing." And, goshdarnit, I really like myself this way!
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