My Crush

I’m sitting in this space of discomfort.

Those early, early moments of dating when you’ve met someone who piques your interest and there is this moment where you think…

This could be something.

I have not sat in this space for a very long time. It’s been three years since I dated anyone seriously.

While the last three years have not been devoid of dating, they have lacked that startup energy, that spark, that moment where you look across the table and have a moment where you feel like you could get used to looking at this person.

Up until now I’ve felt like the universe has followed me around as a big hand, ready to flick any potential suitors away.

They realize they’re not ready.

An ex shows back up.

Job loss happens.

A family emergency.

I get sick, they get sick, my daughter gets sick and I can’t help but feel that this, whatever this is, shouldn’t go any further.

But now.

I’m here.

Several dates in, and looking forward to planning more.

Liking the person across the table. Liking who I am with him. Liking how he sees me.

And that last part might be the part I didn’t expect.

Because I have become very comfortable being self-contained.

I know how to do my life.

I know how to make plans and solve problems and take care of things. I know how to keep moving when something doesn’t work out.

I know how to be alone.

There is a particular kind of freedom that comes from knowing you can be okay on your own.

But there is also something vulnerable about realizing you don’t have to need someone to still want them.

I like him.

I want to see him again.

I care what he thinks.

I would be disappointed if this ended.

And none of those things mean I’ve lost myself.

That feels important.

Because I have spent a lot of time trying to get ahead of uncertainty.

If I can read the signs correctly, understand the tone, notice the shift, say the right thing, do the right thing, maybe I can figure out what is happening before it actually happens.

I can manufacture connection.

I can exit before someone else decides to.

I can overthink my way toward certainty.

I can try to get the answer before there is an answer.

But creating ‘certainty’ doesn’t make it safe. I know what that kind of certainty feels and looks like.

And I don’t want to do that here.

I want to sit here.

In this space of the unknown and enjoy these early developing feelings.

The spark of curiosity.

That little bit of nerves that shows up because there is something here I’d be disappointed to lose.

Maybe those nerves aren’t something I need to get rid of.

Maybe they are part of the pleasure.

They mean I care.

They mean something matters.

And I have absolutely zero control over what happens next.

Perhaps there is a lot of life that exists outside of our control, but we force it into a box, into line.

We create a map and a direction with a big red arrow that says THIS WAY because that makes us feel safe and in control.

I know I do this.

Planning has been one of the ways I make uncertainty feel less uncertain.

But we’re not, really.

Most of life is happening in the mystery.

I don’t know what is going on in my crush’s head.

I can speculate.

I can analyze.

I can ask my friends.

I can have conversations with myself that go on for an embarrassing amount of time.

Or I can let go and enjoy the process of getting to know him.

I can let him reveal himself.

I can watch what he does.

I can listen.

I can allow something to unfold without trying to pull it toward the outcome I want.

There is something strangely vulnerable about letting another person reveal what they are going to do without prompting them toward the answer you hope they will give.

I have spent enough time in relationships where uncertainty was familiar because the person was unavailable.

There was a cushion in that.

If someone cannot fully meet you, there is always a little distance between you and the possibility of being truly known.

This feels different.

Not because I know where it’s going.

Because I don’t.

And maybe that is exactly why it feels different.

I don’t know what tomorrow brings.

I can worry about it.

Plan for it.

Try to prepare myself for every possible version of it.

But doesn’t that take away from today?

The tiny moments happening now?

The conversation.

The laughter.

The look across the table.

The little flutter when my phone lights up.

The feeling of realizing I’m looking forward to seeing someone again.

Tomorrow will take care of itself.

And… maybe I’ll fall in love and elope.

Or maybe I’ll be disappointed.

Or maybe I’ll make a lifelong friend.

Maybe I’ll laugh.

Or cry.

Or do both.

Maybe this becomes a story I tell someday about the beginning of something wonderful.

Maybe it becomes a story about something that was beautiful for a little while.

Maybe it becomes nothing more than a handful of good dates and a reminder that I am still capable of this.

Of being interested.

Of being excited.

Of being seen.

Of letting someone matter.

And isn’t that the fun?

To not know?

To let life unfold one step, one heartbeat, at a time?

No coercion.

No forcing.

No planning every possible outcome.

No manipulating the future into behaving.

Just paying attention.

Being curious.

Letting someone show me who they are.

Letting myself show him who I am.

And trusting that I will know what to do when I get there.

For now, I can just sit here.

A little nervous.

A little hopeful.

Curious.

And completely unaware of what happens next.

Maybe that isn’t discomfort at all.

Maybe this is what being alive feels like when you stop trying to get to the answer before the story is finished.

Always,
Your Trusted Friend ❤︎