Mazes

In late October, I subscribed to the online dating application, eHarmony. I diligently created my profile and added as much detail as I could to try and give others a clear picture of who I thought I was. I shared my favorite movie, Shawshank Redemption, my love for hiking, pickleball, and curling, and my love of music.

The next day I eagerly logged in to see if there were any matches identified for me. Although no one had reached out to me, the eHarmony algorithm had identified a dozen or so individuals who it thought were compatible with my profile. I reached out to several of them asking “What do you like to do on a Saturday or Sunday when you have nothing on your schedule?”

This question sparked conversations with several individuals. The answers varied from hiking and cycling to concerts and spending time with grandkids. After the initial responses came in, I began online chats with several of them. Immediately, I felt overwhelmed by engaging in more than one conversation. I reached out to my friend Jim who encouraged me to pare it down to just one or two at a time.

One profile, Cathy, made a strong impression on me. I began to chat with her as she shared with me her situation, recent losses, caring for her mother and father, and her love of helping her daughters navigate life. Of course, that also included stepping in to care for her two grandchildren whenever called upon.

I shared with her my loss and subsequent struggles with grief. Her response caused me to physically gasp when I read it.

“I am so sorry about your wife. Grief comes in waves, often when you least expect it, it knocks you off your feet. I try to choose joy. Sometimes it’s hard, lots of times it’s hard, but I keep trying – for my daughters’ sakes.”

It was a sentiment I am all too familiar with. Choose Joy. Had she somehow cracked my identity? Had I let it slip into our conversation? I reread our entire exchange and nowhere had I dropped that phrase or anything close to it into the thread. I reviewed my profile to ensure there were no references that would have given away my identity.

After my reflections the past few months, I decided this was a sign. I had to meet her. I asked her if she would be open to meeting for coffee and she readily agreed. After working out the logistics, we met for coffee on a Sunday afternoon.

I don’t recall many of the specifics of our conversation, but I do know I was incredibly impressed by her confidence and self-assurance. Our conversation was comfortable and devoid of any nervous banter. We readily laughed at each other’s stories but also shared difficult and tender moments from our lives.

She relayed to me that she took up cycling after her own life was turned upside down. Like my immersion in hiking, she similarly threw herself into cycling, a sport totally new to her. We shared our mutual admiration for each other’s journeys through grief to healing. What struck me the most from our first meeting, however, was her full embrace of Amy and her legacy. I readily shared stories of my life with Amy and detected only sincere admiration for our lives together.

The coffee shop closed after about an hour, but we continued our conversation as we walked the neighborhood. As we departed our first meeting, we agreed to continue our conversation in a couple of weeks. When I got home, I reflected on our conversation and felt we had made a real connection. Not having dated in more than three decades, I attempted to temper my enthusiasm.

The next day, Cathy continued to be in my thoughts even though I had a busy day. By mid-morning, I was second guessing myself about waiting two weeks to meet her again. I contemplated my friend Joe’s advice to me a few weeks earlier. He had chastised me for relying on fate and chance to establish new friendships and had encouraged me to be more assertive and intentional in my desire for companionship. As I mulled over this conversation, I realized I did not want to wait two weeks to see her again.

I reached out to her via text and asked her if she would be open to continuing our conversation the next night over dinner. It was a relief when I received a quick affirmative response that even included an exclamation point!

The next night, we had a wonderful dinner and our conversation picked up right where it left off. Once again, we closed the restaurant. Over the last couple of months, we have continued to enjoy each other’s company and often find ourselves spending our days or evenings together.

After Amy passed, I struggled to find direction. Every day I strained to envision a new life. I was caught in the mazes of my own creation as I sought pathways to healing and joy. Almost two years have passed since I wrote the reflection, Atlas. In it, I longed for a road map for the remainder of my life as each pathway seemed to turn into a dead end. I kept backtracking trying to find a path forward.

Since my return from Utah, I have begun to see these mazes in my head from a different perspective. Instead of running down corridor after corridor, I now see the mazes as if suspended above them. The pathways through them seem simple and obvious. This newfound clarity provides me with hope.

I can finally see a future filled with possibilities of new love, new joy and new happiness. And yes, I also see the possibility of a companion to share that journey with. Perhaps I’m being overly optimistic, but who can blame me after the past few years for wanting that sooner rather than later. Life is so short.

I’ve always considered myself a hopeful romantic, but a little extra help from all of you might help. Please keep your fingers and toes crossed for us as Cathy and I explore these new possibilities together. Cheers.