Today, I’m really excited to have one of my absolute favourite bloggers helping to hold down the fort while I’m away. Hannah Katy‘s blog is in a word, inspiring. In another, breathtaking. Her posts are always full of incredible thought and insight, and writing so beautiful it makes you want to compile all her posts together into a book you can keep forever. She has a passion for helping others and for making the world better, and is one of the best friends anyone could ask for. I know you’ll enjoy her writing as much as I do, and please check out her blog – I guarantee it’ll be top of your Reader. 🙂
I told him about the time I fell for a boy who liked Dave Matthews Band better than breathing. I gave up sleep to study the lyrics of Mr. Matthews and memorized the backs of every one of his albums just so the boy might talk to me.
He told me about having an entire relationship – start to finish – over the internet.
“How do you feel about dating sites?” I asked. “The world’s favourite statistic these days is that 1 out of every 5 relationships begin online.”
“I don’t like them,” he replies. His words master a tone of nonchalance. “I think it takes an element away from meeting someone for the first time. There is no spontaneity to meeting someone through a dating site.”
My ears perk up. Before I ever wanted a career in New York City or a novel for the LA Times to rave over, using their biggest words and most luscious metaphors, I wanted a spontaneous love story. A “Gather round children, I want to tell you how your grandfather and I met…” kind of story. A story that breaks boundaries and shatters sensibility.
“I know exactly what you mean!” I say. “I always think about it, like where I might meet him. I could be in aisle 7 of the grocery store and we bump into one another and we both just know!”
My hands are moving furiously. Passionately. Suddenly I am overwhelmed with this keen need to articulate how absolutely breathtaking it is to me that at any moment I could walk outside and meet someone who wants to give me forever. And then some.
“I don’t have anything against dating sites. I just think I might be too nervous to use one myself,” I tell him. My hands have settled. My speech has calmed to more fluent syllables.
Am I alone in finding it nervy to know that someone could be looking up and down a profile page? Judging. I can feel the beads of sweat already forming as I begin to wonder how this 500-word synopsis can even begin to do justice to the Aspirations that Keep Me Up at Night. The Dimples in My Smile. The Stories of Mine that Wait in the Creases of My Eyelids and the Crook of My Collarbone. I wonder how I can even begin to share online the musings of a little girl who used to connect the dots in her freckles and who fell in love for the first time with an archaic typewriter and the tap tapping that taught her heart to sing.
The path towards finding a soul mate in this busy world seems almost unbelievable sometimes. Who would ever think that one day we could go from being single, one, uno, to the next day meeting the individual who is about to hold in their arms a giant cluster of our childhood dreams, pet peeves, embarrassing moments and dark secrets. And yet they still have room enough to hold us too.
I am holding out for something. For Some Random Coffee Shop. The Check Out Line of a Grocery Store. I have to believe that there is a perfect time and place that exists, and it sits and waits for him and I to arrive. He (whomever he is) and I have the same invitation to the exact same moment. We simply have not chosen to RSVP yet.
“Whenever that moment arrives, I will be ready,” I tell him.
Ready for that unexpected bump, the most intentional of unintentional stares, and the extension of my hand in exchange for a name that just might rewrite my storyline for the better.
Our conversation about “first meetings” sticks with me well into the night. As I do the dishes I am recalling the first meetings of my parents, my grandparents, my next door neighbors and my best friends. I am sorting through my collection of first meetings and arranging them alphabetically in my head as I brush my teeth. And I wonder if I am silly to want a first encounter so badly, to want a first meeting of my own to place into this delectable collection.
I climb into bed, doubts sinking deep into the pillow, and go to turn off my phone.
“1 New Inbox” the screen reads. I go to check the text message.
“Hannah, don’t give up on it. You are going to make some guy in aisle 7 of the grocery story feel very lucky one day.”