I Gave My Number to a Married Man

I was grabbing my morning latté at my go to shop.

That's an incredible necklace he said.

It was. It belonged to my grandmother. It wasn't a necklace I'd ever buy of my own volition, but isn't that how family heirlooms go? The fact that it was so not me made it all the more special. A braided gold chain with a medallion of the same striking material, forming two dancing children (Cherubs I think?) with a small diamond tucked below their feet. Every other bit of jewelry I own and actually wear is all delicate materials and clean lines. Geometric shapes and the occasional bold jewel. A little more sparkly come December, but nothing like this necklace. I always opted to wear it on days I was feeling low or worn out. When I needed to feel my late grandmother, quite literally, closer to my heart.

So naturally, anyone who comments on it makes me all sweet and swoon-y. Clearly dangerously so, but I'll get there. Initially I found the interaction to be incredibly kind and thoughtful. Not too forward (though I'd later learn why), while still genuine and vulnerable.

Thank you so much! I chirped in response, giddily stirring a packet of Sugar in the Raw into my latté. It belonged to my late grandmother.

I don't remember what he said next, only that he'd added half and half to his dark cup during which time I took in how attractive he was. The definition of dapper. A navy blazer paired with a more casual pant. Tortoise rimmed glasses. A perfectly imperfect amount of scruff hugging his jawline. I suggested we exchange numbers. He handed me his business card and the next thing I knew I was emailing him from my desk (so much for feigning interest), suggesting coffee the next day, my internal dialogue running something like Good on you, Clara! What bravery! Way to make the most of your morning! Check, check, CHECK.

The next day I popped out mid-afternoon to meet my necklace crush. I arrived first, grabbing a decaf and parking myself at the communal counter that sat perpendicular to the espresso machine. He arrived shortly thereafter, grabbing a hot tea and a stool opposite me. As my face dipped downward to meet the rim of my cup, my eyes met his right hand. A ring? Was it on the correct hand? I didn't have much time to think about it before he said:

So I assume you saw this? His left pointer finger directed towards his hand.

NO I said, shaking my head furiously. Why are you here? I felt hollow.

How did you not see? he shot back. That didn't answer why he was here.

I didn't think to look...your compliment....I didn't think anyone would make a compliment of this kind if they were.... my words trailed off.

I thought you had and that you wanted to be friends? I think we could be friends. Just because I'm married doesn't mean we can't be friends.

I'd seen this movie before and knew the ending all too well, especially when there was a 10+ age difference between the two parties.

No, we can't I said firmly. And with that I picked up my coffee and left. The minute my flats hit the sidewalk my eyes welled with tears. I felt foolish but violated. Angry at him but equally upset with myself. How had I let this happen? I called my mom and cried.

I was reminded of this interaction a few weeks back when discussing the unpredictable nature of attempting a move in person when it comes dating. Admittedly, I don't know why it struck me. It doesn't hone in on the more traditional fears and concerns of What do I say? What if I get rejected? How do I even do this?!!

I guess I just like the messiness of it all. To be clear, it stung (and stung hard) in the moment, but I have such compassion for that girl. A girl so eager and willing (maybe a little too much so) to put her heart out there. To believe in the goodness of people and take a chance. To fall down and get back up again. And again and again and again.

Perhaps it's the faulty notion or self-induced pressure that if we do attempt something in person, it better be freaking perfect. But how could it ever be? Even when I think back on the in person starts I had that weren't as nausea inducing (some which resulted in relationships, some which didn't), they were MESSY.AT.BEST. Clunky. Often odd. Generally uncomfortable. At times requiring multiple go arounds. Sweet, romantic, and fun, too, but mostly the former. I only got more comfortable taking advantage of in person opportunities when I became more comfortable with the discomfort. With the inevitable awkwardness and fear of What am I doing? Will he think I'm weird? and just got on with my life.

At the beginning of the pandemic, conversations with clients were solely focused on online dating. But now, in certain circumstances, we've started to explore the in person experience again. I mean a masked meet cute? Yes, please!

As a coach it's my job to guide the client to the root of the discomfort, to then see beyond the surface level fear (whatever the circumstance). The conversation isn't "Well here are 10 pick up lines!" Google can tell you that. Don't pay anyone to tell you that. But in all honesty, sometimes I want to reach through the phone, shake them by the shoulders and say "I'm sorry but in what universe did you ever think dating would be anything short of messy and uncomfortable?!" Ok I get it, like every rom com EVER. But still, it's a notion worth considering, no?

So go ahead. Shake yourself. What are you expecting to be easy that, well, shouldn't?