Vol II: #3 The Setup Part 2
(Read The Setup Part 1 by clicking here: LINK)
I took the better part of Monday to draft and edit my first text to Rachel*. Text messaging is a poor medium of communication because it lacks tone, pace, and grace. Yet, here in 2021, it’s become an acceptable form of introduction; therefore, the first message matters. I sent several drafts to my trusted friend Blake. I took his suggestions and eventually landed on a solid introduction. At 4:30 PM Pacific, I pasted my work into a text and pressed send. It was a simple act that carried meaning beyond the act itself. The last girlfriend— the one I loved and wanted- was officially and forever part of my past. Nik is open for business.
The sending of the text was not without anxiety or hesitation. My breath quickened, and I could feel my heart working in my chest. According to my watch, my heart rate spiked around 140 beats per minute, double my resting heart rate. Why was I so nervous? Over a text message? Because I have a history. When I read that history, it’s full of pain and heartache. And there I was, charging up the hill once more, daring to believe I to will find my forever lady.
When I agreed to meet Carrie’s friend, the one I “need(ed) to meet,” I accepted the possibilities. Who knows what can happen or how it will happen? The road to marriage begins with hope, and an open mind is key. On the flippy-flip side, it’s healthy to keep expectations in check. Many people suffer from their own delusions and fantasies when they place them on the backs of would-be lovers. I learned to take each situation and moment on its own merit, to allow a narrative to unfold rather than force it.
My hope with Ms. Rachel was to find a woman interesting enough to meet for coffee. Her reply, early Tuesday morning, did not disappoint. She answered my thoughtful text with one of her own and gave me a picture of what’s important to her. She loves working with kids, reading and is passionate about social justice. Her reply was good enough to satisfy my aforementioned hope. I debated whether or not to ask her out in my next text to her but decided against it. I wanted to send one more text. So, I did.
My text was a solid text in my eyes. I thanked her for a thoughtful reply, opened up about my life experience, and explored some of my interests. That was Tuesday, just before lunch. As of this writing, Rachel has yet to reply— it’s late Friday night. The kids call this experience “ghosting.” It feels like shit. A young Nik would take this rejection as a statement of his worth, but thankfully I’m 40 years old. A passive-aggressive act by an immature woman^ will not knock me off the road I walk. “Is this what this generation of kids do to each other?” I questioned. It’s no wonder they have trust issues.
My first attempt to date since Jane* was a hilarious flop, all this build-up amounted to nothing. I’ll never know what happened to Rachel, and short of a fantastic story, I won’t ask. I told my friend, Carrie, I wanted a strong and courageous woman. Rachel proved to be neither.
(*Names changed for obvious reasons. ^Immaturity always comes before maturity. It’s a stage of life we all must suffer. I do not just Rachel. I’ve walked in her shoes.)
