I had lunch with Isabel today. We made the appointment over a week ago, mostly because we can never just get up and go together. We have to schedule things or we don’t get to do them. Isabel is volunteer coordinator for a local nonprofit organization, mother to a two-year-old boy, married and just about my age. She graduated two years before I did, so she’s a little bit higher up in the food chain than I am. During work hours, however, we are equally busy, so we schedule lunch together at least once a month.
I like getting together with Isabel. She’s so full of energy, so full of ideas and plans. It’s nice to be around someone who doesn’t focus on the negative stuff. And Isabel always has something going on. She’s fun to be around. I like being friends with her.
I made the mistake, I think, of mentioning to Isabel some time ago that one of my New Year’s resolutions for this year was to meet someone. That is not a statement you make to a friend who is happily married. So her current pet project is to help me meet someone nice. And she’s already lined up candidate number one.
She first approached me via an email that told me that she had a really nice guy she wanted me to meet and was I interested? To which I promptly responded that I wasn’t. Then the funeral happened and the conference happened and I forgot all about it. But Isabel didn’t. Today at lunch she brought up the subject again. And, again, my gut reaction was NOOOOO!!!!!!
When she asked me why not, it was hard to put into words. I tried, but the only words that were coming out of my mouth were something long the lines of the fact that I didn’t want to be set up. What I really wanted to tell her is that I’m too much of a coward to get involved with anyone, to _try_ to get involved with anyone. I don’t want to put myself out there. I don’t want to expose myself to rejection or affection. I don’t want to make room for another person. I don’t want to have to take someone else into consideration. Don’t want to have to start looking at men as an objective instead of just half of the population.
And forget the whole long-term relationship issues that seem to plague TV and magazines. I’m worried about first dates and getting-to-know-yous and all sorts of first times. I’m worried about being too abrasive and maybe not modern enough and too American and too Mexican and too me to be of any use to another human being. I think about the fact that I’m…. well, fat and maybe not quite as pretty as I’d like to believe. That I might not be witty or charming or interesting.
There are all these weird fears that seems that have been festering in all the time I’ve taken away from the dating scene. Fears that have bubbled up and make themselves known as soon as someone reminded me that it’s time to rejoin the land of the living.
And I don’t want to meet someone perfect. I want to date. I want a male friend who will go to the movies with me and occasionally go dancing with me. Someone who will listen every once in a while and maybe soothe me when I’m feeling ruffled. Comfort would be nice. But really, that’s all I’d have time for right now anyway, so I’m not exactly in the market for a husband with my eyes on a family in the near future. I have too many commitments, too many responsibilities. I am the adult in my house, the caregiver, the head of household. And that’s exactly why I need entertainment, amusement, diversions.
So Isabel worked on me for a while, until I saw reason and agreed to meet her friend. I’m not expecting much, maybe just to push myself into meeting someone nice.