The Newest Normal

Having not dated since my break-up I'll admit to being woefully out of practice. Having not dated locally since . . . well, shit, since before my oldest (30) was even conceived, I'll admit to being just . . . whoa.

But now I'm dating. Not dating as in seeing a few people to see how they fit. No, I'm dating one woman and discovering how we fit.  The indeterminate "US" from a couple of posts (and few weeks) ago has grown into a definite relationship as so declared on FB.

A good fit, yes. A good match, again, yes. Still, dating . . .

Dating can be, is . . . challenging. Even when one is ripe to the idea of opening heart, mind, body, and life to another, for another, there are . . . logistics; schedules, finances, families, and jobs just to name a few. Then there is all the newness, the first times, the discoveries . . . all of which can be, is . . . fun, exciting. It is, can be . . . daunting.

It is very, very easy to become accustomed to having good time, to become conditioned to expect it every time out, to fall into a routine and then become soundly disappointed with the routine is broken even for a very good reason, a very worthy cause.

And in our brief stint dating we've had both, the good times and the disappointments. The good times however, have outdistanced the disappointments. And while we are determined to maintain that ratio, there are those challenges, those logistics.

Still . .  I am up for the challenge, the earlier "whoa" not-with-standing, for we are a good fit.

We are dating one another exclusively. And this is my newest normal.

Whoa.







 

Distraction

Were I committed to participating in the A-Z April Blogging Challenge today's letter could be "D". And further, were I committed to participating in the A-Z April Blogging Challenge by letter "D" word, subject designation:  Distraction. 


You remember back in grade school when you were crushing on someone and you could barely keep your mind on your spelling words, cursive writing practice, or multiplication tables? All you could think about was that smile, those eyes, having lunch together, and passing one another on the way home from school?


Distraction 


And what about some time later when all you could do with any consistency is write their name over and over on your notebook? Using different color pens? Adding stickers? Making {Art} out their name by adding wings, curlicues, faces, or plants?

Distraction 


Now grown up, mature, with some life under your belt and a full menu of items clamoring for your attention and yet, you want to talk with her every minute of every day despite your respective busy schedules. You work to memorize her phone number so you don't waste a fraction of a second  scrolling your address book. (Assigning her number to a speed dial button seems...off, somehow).

Distraction

As one nifty day leads to another and then yet another, as you begin to adjust your life to encompass the thoughts, emotions, and being of another, as you begin to think of yourselves as an "US" you likely find your mind flitting from this idea to that, your body going through the motions of task completion but your mind clearly engaged elsewhere.  You likely find yourself in a Den of Distraction. Or, that could just be me.

But let me state for the record that being distracted by that smile, those eyes, the thought of having lunch (or whatever and then some) together . . .

desirable. delectable. dandy. 

There is an "US"

We met several weeks ago as many folks do, on-line. We were both on a meeting-to-dating site that made no more but no fewer promises than any of the others toward success at "finding a match." (Why do I feel compelled to break into song, matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match, find me a find, catch me a catch)? And we were both out there awhile before our respective profiles brushed against one another.

She wrote me. I wrote back. She responded. And then so did I.  We spoke via telephone and soon agreed to meet face-to-face.

We met in a cafe. Had a lunch that bled into the dinner set-up where we said our good-byes. But in the meantime, we talked. And talked. And talked. Such a good time we had, so much discovery.

That get together has led to others and even  hand-holding.  Ahhhhh . . .

She recently shared: <i>Somehow, I managed to find – managed to be found by – someone who shares my understanding of the world and the nature of reality . . .  

Which could have easily been my share. 

Still, as often as we have spoken, as grand a time we've had with one another, as close as we are becoming, we are both cautious and dare I say, somewhat fearful. This is new, is precious, is fragile in its beginnings. 

And it is everything. Again.   

Thus, despite her thinking me beautiful and me thinking the same about her, despite all we've shared and the eagerness we have for more, despite the discoveries made and the euphoria of the prospect of future discoveries, we are careful at naming this . . . confluence of events, except to mutually assert  that she and I are most assuredly, most gleefully, an US!