The List
I’d been divorced twice and had a child out-of-wedlock. I was in no mood for marriage. I did want to date though. I fantasized I’d meet a man who wanted a long-term arrangement, without any formal commitment. This way, I reasoned to myself, I could avoid failure. I could avoid exposing my 8-year-old son to yet another disaster of a relationship. I had it all figured out.
Still, I was picky.
I had “The List” of qualities I wanted in this fictional no-marriage mystery man. The list, back then, was of utmost importance. 18 years later, I can barely picture it. What I remember though, is that I was hoping for someone around 38 (to my 43) and Buddhist: Younger and enlightened. Precisely aimed at potential suitors, The List was the perfect weapon of elimination. Even for casual events, like the U2 concert for which I had two tickets, I shot through the pros and cons of each candidate, my criteria the ammunition. Through the scope of my ego, and my list, none of them was worthy of my company. I went to the concert alone, an unused $200 ticket floating lamely in my purse, dusty and alone.
As U2 belted out, “I Still Haven’t Found What I’m Looking For,” the crowd – on its feet – swayed in the dark. I rocked along, feeling stupidly discerning – too choosy to have a companion to share this amazing experience with. Maybe, I thought, I could evaluate a little less. Maybe I could just have fun.
Two days later, I received a last-minute party invitation. A work colleague reached out, saying he knew I liked to dance and “we need people who will dance” as his band tried out new material in the backyard. “Will there be any single guys there to dance with?” I asked. “Probably not,” he said, “But there will be people who want to dance.” I spent the next 48 hours talking myself into and out of the party, lamenting the idea of being the lone unattached attendee amongst a sea of marrieds, bobbing conspicuously. A friend agreed to go, then backed out at the last minute. If I went, it would be a solo excursion.
That Saturday, I remembered my 4-day-old resolve to “have fun.” I didn’t need to impose my criteria on every opportunity. I could go with an open mind. I decided – with not just a little trepidation – to leave my list at home and simply go to a party.
A few hours later, I stood at the edge of the stage, watching partners dance and enjoying the music, pretending not to feel awkward. A tall, skinny, equally awkward-looking man approached. “Would you like to dance?” he asked. I said yes.
Clumsily chatting as we danced, I learned his name was Tim. He, too, had been invited at the last minute by the one person he knew at the party. He, too, had wondered if there would be any single dance partners available. He, too, had been told that was unlikely. He’d come with a couple of friends, just for fun.
When the song ended, Tim introduced me to his group of friends. I was no longer alone at the party. Over the next few weeks, we all went dancing several times, on “group dates,” as we later called them. One of my friends somewhat snarkily asked about how Tim – the only single guy in the group – ranked against my list, wondering if he was “38 and Buddhist.” I told her no: He was 46 and Republican. And, he was a lot of fun.
On our fourth group date, the others went home early, leaving Tim and I alone at the country bar. As we uneasily tiptoed around our unacknowledged attraction to each other, Tim wondered aloud if we could, perhaps, go out together “unchaperoned,” as he put it. I said yes. A week later, we had dinner. Then, and on the whirlwind of dates that followed, I discovered Tim was more than just fun. He was different from previous men in my life, free of drama and intrigue. He didn’t want or need to be fixed. Had I not been standing alone in the dark at U2 just a few weeks earlier, I’d likely have written him off. I might have seen his stability and availability differently. I may have thought he was boring.
Over time, I came to see he had qualities I hadn’t even thought to load onto the list: honesty, presence, and acceptance. He didn’t want, expect, or ask me to change. He didn’t tell me I was “too much,” as many others had over the years. He wasn’t intimidated by me. He didn’t resent or avoid my son. He celebrated us both. Two years later, on the anniversary of that “married people only” party, I walked down the aisle for the last time, my son at my side.
I’m so glad I lost that list.