Happening now, my matchmaker daughter is meeting with candidate number one at a slightly charming downtown coffee shop while I sit at a counter on my laptop pretending not to be involved. I am wearing ear plugs but I can hear everything.
I want to turn around and look but it will give the whole thing away so I’m sitting pat, back straight as an arrow in the ground pointing toward heaven. I am over hearing some laughter and chuckling. His voice has a plains twang but kind of a sweetness to it..perhaps shyness that I’m hearing.
She is asking about literature. He says something about learning to read later than most. I freeze briefly and then drop my judgment like a bag of old rocks…it’s not needed here, not now. He changes the subject often back to his twin loves, two dogs who are sitting in his truck staring through the window smiling. They are his street team. He arrived in a huge white work truck. Is that my cup of tea? A work truck? I am thrown back to my dad’s old f-250, cherry red, stick shift like a bus, running the tall tires through mud and up hillsides learning to drive. Truck? Sure, okay.
My coffee has grown cold. All I can think of is how much I love my daughter. Here she is halfway through a pregnancy trying to settle her mother’s dust and help her find what she has in the ever so tender guy she found rummaging the closets and hallways of University. They met in a class which bored them both. It apparently started with some looks, some homework, some false conversations about the work of the class when they both saw the same thing..the joy of a potential family. A couple years later I stood at the front in a navy blue and white polka dot dress in a haze of shock and happiness. Was my girl really going to live with someone else, forever?
This is the rule of all living things. All of us. From bunny rabbits to chickens to trees who intertwine their roots–we want to curl up next to someone and share the joys and sorrows. This is not a cultural demand or overlay as I once thought, this is the condition of being alive, to share life and longing with someone else. Yes I am afraid. I loved her father so valiantly I thought it would kill me. Leaving him, standing in his little home with the sun coming through his blinds, lighting his pretty face while he told me he would be loving another did kill me, at least a part of me. He had that right, I had left years before but not really. I kept showing up near him. I didn’t know any other place I belonged. It was hard, for him for me for all who knew and loved us.
But I have found that I belong with me pretty well since then. I’ve sat for months alone in deep meditation, awakened in the hills and valleys of many a foreign place and flew across the world looking for me. Now, sitting here writing to you I am as much me as its possible to be and I can with a fair certainty say I am capable of giving and receiving a pretty sweet love.
So whether it is to be candidate#1, or candidate #0, I am still me, still in love with life, still in amazement of the friends and family who hold me and still in search of that someone who I can share the longings and laughter of life with.
As the winter sun soaks the bare trees in front of me I can hear their voices slowing behind me, they have grown quieter and more sincere. I sense the interview is coming to a close and I will await the decision of my matchmaker as to next steps. My current and next step will be the same, gratitude. Deep gratitude.