Two months. Two glorious months was all we had before our time together was unexpectedly snuffed out by “a situation” from the past.
I’d met [name redacted] on Tinder, of all places. I was vehemently against signing up for the app because, from what I could gather, it was all about late night creeping and Netflix & Chill. And while I don’t knock folks who like to get down like that, I was in the market for actual and factual dating. Still, I pushed through my apprehension–and ignored the guy who offered me meth–to continue swiping.
Then I met him.
We connected over a mutual love of music and movies and nerding out, and decided to meet for coffee on Christmas Eve. For over an hour we talked about our lives, strolled the aisles of a wine shop where he picked out a bottle for me, shared coy glances and generous smiles, and by the time we parted ways, the butterflies were firmly planted in my stomach. The first thing I said when I got in my car was, Wow…Oh my God, he’s soooo DOPE.
And he continued to be dope for the entire two months. We went on dinner dates, saw movies, rung in 2016 dancing (and kissing) the night away, and even took in a concert at the philharmonic a few weeks ago–a first for us both.
Basically, Tinder came through for your girl and I fell hard. Yes, it was only two months, but it was very intense two months where we talked every single day and saw each other multiple times a week.
Through it all the butterflies remained. Every time I saw him, or spoke to him, it was like a new layer of goodness was revealed, and I couldn’t wait to see how our budding relationship would grow.
But as Chinua Achebe wrote, things fall apart, and it all came crashing down with one unexpected phone call about a resurrected ex that wanted to give it another try. And despite my dopeness, and the fact that he “really likes me,” he wanted that old thing back, and I was effectively curved.
Just like that.
The hurt was palpable. I cried, I questioned what happened, I asked Sharon for advice, I read old text messages for clues. I asked myself questions, questions I wanted to ask him, and eventually I got mad.
For a moment, I even thought about channeling my inner Bernadine just so I could replace the hurt with something that made me feel more powerful.
But mostly, though, I was just sad. Sad about our prematurely severed connection, sad we would never grow into the dope couple I knew we could be, sad I wouldn’t see him again and feel the intensity of his attention.
And while sadness and hurt can sometimes turn into some negative, fiery ish, I decided to take another approach: gratitude.
Here’s the thing. If [name redacted] was a fuckboy, I’d have a reason to want to curse him out and burn up all his ish. But he wasn’t. During our brief time together he was nothing but awesome to me, and I told him so.
Instead of getting irate he was choosing someone else over me, I thanked him for treating me so well. I told him how much I enjoyed our time together, told him I loved every text, every date, every moment we spent in each other’s company. And I also told him I appreciated him for allowing me to be vulnerable and treating me with such care and concern. Our convo was legit the most grown up thing I’ve ever done…and I feel better for it.
I won’t lie; it still hurts that we won’t be seeing each other anymore, but I can move forward knowing I had a ball and things ended on a positive note. The next guy who comes along will have a high bar to clear, because [name redacted] set an awesome standard, and I’m super thankful for it.
We all take Ls in life and love, but it’s how we handle them that really counts.