It could be soap opera fodder, I tell you!
Lately, there have been a string of first dates and almost starts. I was starting to lose faith. Now, before I hear stories about how picky I am - and I'm not - I will say that I've dated a plethora of types by now. Here are just a few of the outlines:
The Mustang Driver was the latest, and the most recent non-start. He was sweet, Christian, had his life together and wasn't arrogant about it. He drove a fire engine red Mustang, held a solid job... and he thought I was cute. That doesn't happen often. I thought he was great, but felt like a little something was missing that I just couldn't put my finger on. However, I totally wanted to give this one a shot. Until he told me that although he was attracted to me, he just didn't feel the "love connection." Oh come on! How can you be attracted to someone and not feel connected? I would have thought those two walked hand in hand. Fortunately, we decided to maintain a friendship connection, which is nice because I don't have a lot of guy-friends in the city, and he's something that I would be great friends with. Alas, alack...
Before Mr. Mustang there was The Writer. We exchanged awesome emails, were both from the Ottawa Valley, so I figured he'd at least 'get' me... nope. I don't think he cracked a smile for the entire time we were on a date. And that date lasted a miserable (or thankfully only lasted!) 40 minutes - I practically chugged my beer and feined fatigue. I laugh and giggle and carry on almost constantly - I knew he wouldn't keep up.
I had taken a hiatus between The Writer and The Wanna-Be Spy. He was a government drone with aspirations of working for CSIS. I had known him for maybe over a year and we had a few starts and stops. He was similar to Mr. Mustang in that I was giving him a shot because he was a pretty great guy, until it became clear he wasn't thinking long term. In fact, I don't think he was thinking beyond a couple hours. And I wasn't interested in being a Bond-Girl to Agent 0069.
Then there was The Fast Mover. I seriously think he had our kids named after an hour into our first date. A little creepy. He was an owner in a small business that did on-site tech support. He was interesting, but overly verbose. We had sat at a Starbucks for three hours one night and most of the conversation was one sided. I wanted to give him a chance, but when he suggested going for a drive and listening to each other's music throughout, the thought of being stuck in a car with him and his penchant to chat to himself was more than I could bare.
But my favourite, and most awful date was with The Arrogant Frenchman. He peppered me with questions about my life - asking about my farming background and the kind of teaching that I do - but gave mostly one word answers to anything I attempted to draw out about his own life. He laughed at the fact that I grew up on a farm and liked it, and then he wrinkled his nose at my current job and said it was "weird and depressing." At that point, I made an exaggerated yawn, looked at my bare wrist and declared it was time for me to leave. He then insisted that I tell him I enjoyed my date... I just couldn't.
The reason that I'm writing about all of this now is that I had a conversation with someone last night about dating. A Paulo Coelho quote came to mind: "When you want something, the whole Universe conspires to help you realise your desires." It's from my favourite novel: The Alchemist. It has made me think about all the times that I don't get my hopes up, that I say to friends: "oh, it's no big deal," or I guard my heart too carefully and come off as 'standoffish.' Perhaps I should be like the character in the book and play a more active role in chasing my dream? Perhaps finding love isn't even my dream right now? Maybe the first step in all of this is figuring out what my dream really is after all.