As I listen to Counting Crows’ Long December on my Pandora app, a Christian Mingle ad pops up, and I have to laugh at the irony.
I haven’t posted about anything really personal in a while. I know you’re missing my normal onslaught of online dating stories and woes. Until recently, I was starting to think that part of my life had finally set sail.
I met someone I connected with. We had so much in common—our love of the Blazers, of running, of being childishly, ecstatically nervous around each other. Terrified butterflies were ninja-fighting in my tummy every time I walked out the door to meet him.
We were so alike but so different.
Then, the talk. We had differences, yes. Major ones? Oh yes. Stomach-curdling, I-don’t-want-to-talk-about-it differences. The distinction between compatible or not came down to one word: religion.
That was it. None of our chemistry, our smiles, our kisses, our electricity, mattered. We couldn’t find a middle ground. How is it possible that two people with such a connection could find the one giant elephant-in-the-room issue that so easily broke us apart? What was the purpose of our meeting?
When the ice shattered, it didn’t leave anything intact, but all the pieces were still there. We could still feel each other but we couldn’t see each other. We could hold hands but we knew the mountains would move between us soon enough, cutting the rope that made us an “us.” It was done.
But we must move on. That’s how life works. Failure is a teacher. It may be a bitch, it may take things away, but it shows us what could be.
And sure, it can be a bitch, but it can also be a fairy godmother; it gifts us possibilities. And now I know that real love IS possible.