Distance is more than physical

I was man-browsing one evening on the Facebook Dating platform which is never a good idea because there is no barrier to entry – it’s free.

It connected me with someone who lives in another state nearby – Nevada.

“Hi Claire, how goes your time on the site so far?”

ME: “Hey there. Been here since January. Weird experience. But nice to meet you.”

“Tx. Claire, yes, I know. I don’t think any of us would be dating online. Is distance a killer for you?, were we to get along well? I don’t have a problem with it, were I to find someone special. Your thoughts?”

Distance? I am pretty checked-out on this exchange and am starting to just not care in general so I send back a reply, “No real thoughts.”

The man persisted and I have to admire him for this.“ Okay, you had sent back a like. Did you want to try to get to know each other some?”

He now has my attention and I write back, “Yes, sorry, sometimes I don’t check this site.  Good morning. Any plans for the weekend? Just returned from a month in Mexico and Costa Rica and miss the sun."

All true. It was a rough re-entry after a liberating and enjoyable trip.

He continues to draw me out. “Very nice. I also got back from three weeks in the Bahamas. Maybe we could have a fun chat sometime Claire. I find it difficult to get to know each other a little bit by doing the multi-texting thing. Call me old school…”

Fun chat? 

I reply, “Sure.”

“You free to chat this week? I find if we don’t stay connected then things just tend to go by the wayside.”

He spent his career as a delivery driver and he is clearly committed to delivering the package. He also appears to be a serial dater who is committed to finding someone.

He arranged a video chat, well organized like a good meeting, and has clearly done this before. He didn’t spend more than 30 minutes with me so he was also efficient, abruptly citing that he needed to “call his sister.” Cool.

It was a pleasant and fairly easy conversation though not deep, funny or anything special.  Two video conference calls later he suggests a meet. I’m along for the ride now and, in the immortal words of the legendary band Pink Floyd, comfortably numb.

But the prospect of meeting him snaps me into attention so I look up half way to where he lives and it’s 1.5 hours away. 

Seriously girl. 

Even he asked me why I can’t find someone in my metropolitan area.

I don’t know, you tell me.

I agree to meet and then I rescind. 

ME: "Hey, thanks for the call today and the possible meeting. I feel like driving 90 minutes for coffee is a bit crazy for both of us and maybe we should just chalk this one up to just too far afield as they say. I enjoyed talking with you but just don’t feel enough of a connection to take it forward. You have probably reached the same conclusion. Wishing you all the best on your journey.”

He comes back to attempt another delivery.  

“FYI, no I don’t believe people should let distance factor in if they meet a special person. Especially both being retired. It can actually be quite fun visiting each other. Then you go from there. I didn’t see on any site that it said Mr. or Ms. Wonderful was going to be found right in our backyard.  Best Wishes.”

Of course, a friend is consulted and offers the continual wise advice she’s known for, “Go meet him.  What else do you have to do? He’s right. Could be a perfect arrangement.”

I hastily write back:

“Hey, so after consulting my dating advisor (a friend) who told me I was being stupid and you are right (thanks for calling me out nicely) if you are still interested I’m in for a drive and a cup of coffee.  Here are a few options…. And, if you think I’m crazy now and want to pass I totally understand.”

He suggests a picnic, by a river, at a place an hour-and-a-half from my home. 

This raises a few, mild, and in my view, legitimate concerns.

The man is a stranger. I could easily die next to said river eating a chicken leg, and not in a Mamma Cass sort of way. This is not how I envision my demise and is probably ill advised. 

I suggest coffee.

He presses the picnic idea. I suggest a busy public park, not by a river.

We have coffee and go to the local park where they are weed-whacking so it’s loud and grass is flying everywhere making it hard to hear him and me grateful for the Zyrtec I took that morning.

He delivered on the picnic, and it’s clear this is his signature move. Super nice and I thank him for all the efforts, and yet, I feel like I’m driving the conversation, again. Never really asks me much about myself. Talked about his divorce and how he’s over it, though clearly not over the fact he lost a house he loved and half of his retirement. 

He says he’s grateful and learned so much and has grown. He’s humbled. Told me this several times. I’m trying to figure out how he has been humbled, what humility looked like for him, and what he was humbled by.  It doesn’t become clearer as we talk further.

He never asked me about my work which involved interacting with standing presidents, senators, heads of state, presidents of corporations and the like. Was not interested in hearing much about my kids or marriage or husband’s death even when he told me about his melanoma. 

I find my mind wandering to imagine myself dating my delivery person when I had that office in Oakland with the three-bridge view of downtown San Francisco, Oakland and most of the Bay Area.

What a royal bitch I am. How absolutely haughty and low can I go?

I say none of this of course and feel slightly bad about my ego rising up because I am trying to be open to what the universe presents, but I’m flummoxed by how he got humbled. What was “his high horse?” At least mine is clear and I often, as women do, downplay it.

In addition to his humility, he also told me he’s learned to listen with both ears. But he didn’t pick up on anything I said.  He told me he tore his shoulder; oh, we have that in common. 

Didn’t ask me about my experience.

We are sort of wrapping-up and I’m thinking about traffic and wondering what to do with the man, and then he says, “You know, I think I was born in the wrong decade.  I would have been much happier in my parent’s time; you know the 1950s when life was simple and roles were clear. No cell phones, computers and less complications.”

I just stare at him, thinking are you kidding me? You want to put me back in a kitchen v. the C-suite and Board Room. On diet pills that are speed. On the PTA and in the Card Club playing bridge and drinking a lot of Martinis or Manhattans or whatever I can get my hands on just to get through the day.

Then he launched into a common story for many retired people about how someone younger and cheaper has his job now, (and I don’t disagree the demise of the middle class is real and so is the struggle). This was not my path. It didn’t come easy but I own it because I broke some glass and did some important stuff.

I say, “You and I had very different career experiences.”

He just looked at me with a blank stare, and I now am thinking that fundamentally, the incompatible career experiences will be the deal breaker for both of us (and chemistry). 

He says, “Well, I didn’t pay all those California taxes.”

This is not a competition, dude.

I say, “Yeah, that was good.  I paid more in taxes than most people make in a year.”

We part ways. He gives me a hug, and I send a ‘thank you’ text when I get home. He writes back a few hours later with an acknowledgement and thanks. And that’s it. Never heard from him again, and I never reached out because sometimes things are just too far afield.

Were we both just checking out how the other half lives to see if the elusive and omnipotent ‘chemistry’ is enough to overcome very different lived experiences?

Maybe.

All I know for sure is he was a very nice guy who deserved someone who can deliver for him, like he did for his 35-year career. 

I definitely wasn’t that person.