I have been on five dates in the past two years.  I think it is fair to say - dating is my least favorite activity.  I don't find it exciting or adventurous or an opportunity to expand my network.  It's not that I don't love meeting strange men in coffee bars - I simply hate getting ready to meet them. All of the effort - the pruning, the coloring, the squeezing into shoes I don't normally wear.  Seems like a complete waste of time, especially when it results in a punch line I tell at the after-date conference call with my sister. However, I do want to be in a relationship and apparently dating is a prerequisite -so I hold my nose and go. 

Date #1.  In the first ten minutes the guy referred to me as Cindy and apologized because Cindy is his wife's name - his current wife's name.  Date over. 

Date #2: I met a man on one of those dating apps, whose profile picture looked ok enough to swipe right.  We texted, he asked me out, I said yes.  I arrived at the restaurant early, found a seat facing the door and waited for him to arrive.  When I saw a 65 year old man hobble towards me with a - I can't believe she showed up look - my heart sank.  His profile picture was clearly taken 20 years ago. He looked like my Pops - God rest his soul.  Turns out there is a name for this - I had been catfished.   

Date #3 & #5.  Same guy - 18 months apart.  Again - stupid dating app.  The first time we went out for coffee, I introduced myself and then did-not-speak again until I said goodbye an hour later.  In between I made a lot of mmmm noises, nodding my head, trying interject a thought or an idea or an opinion.  Half way in I realized I really didn't need to be there at all.  The second time we went out - again, peer pressured into using that stupid dating app - I didn't recognize him or his name until I had this strange de'ja vu feeling like the Groundhog Day movie.  He didn't recognize me either, which was equally embarrassing. 

Date #4.  This guy practically spit out his coffee (spiked with Bailey's) when I mentioned to him that I don't drink alcohol.  Ever, he asked.  Ever, I clarified. He then informed me that he was just looking for someone to party with, chugged his coffee and left.  I totally get it, man.  

People tell me when I stop looking, I will find him.  Pa-leeze.  I'm not sure that is a legitimate strategy.  I think single people are always looking - some are just better at pretending.  My friends would say I'm single because I don't go to the jazz clubs (I don't care for jazz) or go to sporting events (I regularly attend my son's sporting events) or put on make-up before I leave the house (I'm lucky to put clothes on before I leave the house) or because I haven't learned how to enjoy my own company (I do like me, I really do like me!).  One day I will be fortunate enough to meet him or better yet, one day, he will be fortunate enough to meet me - until then - honestly, I am fine being single.  Wink. Wink. 

I did everything wrong when I was young.  Cue the violins.  I cussed too young, drank too young, smoked too young, had sex way too young. I didn't know to care about grades, I didn't care for my skin, my body, my integrity.  I stole from my friends, lied to my parents, I once lied to a priest - for heavens sake.  I did everything wrong when I was young - and when I say young I mean until I was 26 - which some would call - not young.

And then I woke up from that dark fog and did everything - not mood or mind altered - which made life vibrant and loud and super intense.  But life kept coming and I reacted like I was swatting balls in a batting cage - with the voice of God in one ear and the sirens of my past in the other and I made some questionable decisions around employment, relationships, finances.  I didn't know any of this mattered or counted or was being recorded for later scrutiny.  What is the statute of limitations on being young and naive and often times dumb and a little bit ridiculous?

And now what?  I am worried that my gray hair has an agenda, challenging the idea of who I am going to be when I grow up - fearing that I have already grown up and missed the entire episode.  I don't want to fast forward and I certainly do not want to rewind but I would like to pause - pause please - because now what seems to be the question of the moment.  Now what - because I never asked that of myself before.  I asked it of you or her or them - now what are you going to do for me?  I never paused long enough to plan ahead or think it through or dream past the next pay check - constantly reacting to life instead of living my life.  And now what?  

My children ask this question and I am in awe of them.  How do they know to ask?  Does this question skip a generation?  It hopped, skipped and jumped over mine.  So together we ask - now what - and the possibilities are stunning and impossible and a little bit exciting.  I can't redo or relive or do-over - and yes I would take back a lot of it if I could.  But today, I can ask - now what - breathe deeply and keep writing until more is revealed.  Because more is coming; different is coming; life keeps coming - and so, I trudge forward - one blog at a time.