Here’s to the Hot Ones (That Make Zero Sense)

As seen on Medium.

I spent the better part of this past July visiting family in New Mexico. I hadn’t visited the Southwest since my Dad passed nearly six years prior. The dry heat always makes me question why I continue to live on the East Coast.

I returned to the city smack dab in the middle of a heat wave with insane humidity. Upon departing the plane it felt as if my entire body seized up, turning me into a puffy, frizzy Oompa-Loompa.

On the third day I scheduled a two hour long acupuncture appointment hoping to God they could give my poor system some relief. The morning before the appointment I stationed myself in a well air conditioned café in Tribeca. During my second coffee meeting, I noticed him. Him being this Abercrombie + Fitch model type guy with sharp eyes and a baseball cap that was surprisingly sexy.

Something about being all hot and bothered (but not in a good way), also gave me a healthy dose of I-don’t-give-a-f*ck attitude, and so I stared. I stared pretty damn hard, so much so, that when I went up to get another tea (which I hoped would prompt him to say hello to me) he approached me.

“Would you like to sit down? I feel like we’ve been making eyes at one another” he said.

I have no doubt my skin took on the color of the beet red tank top I was wearing. Nonetheless I was all, “Oh um me…whaaat? I mean sure….I guess I’ll sit down. I…I don’t have much time.”

And so I did, and we chatted and exchanged pleasantries. My play it cool act went out the window when I remembered how physically uncomfortable I felt. But instead of describing the whole humidity situation (← sexy), I opted for “God I’m not even wearing makeup” (insert dry heave), to which he replied “I like it….you’re a natural beauty.” And cut. End scene on my faux rom-com life.

I blushed more and then explained I had to get to my next meeting (to have needles put in me). He walked me to the café door, gave me a hug, and we made plans to get dinner in the coming weeks.

There are these moments in our dating lives where things feel equal parts insane but also kismet. By the time I’d reached the subway, I’d convinced myself Eric MIGHT BE THE ONE because we’d met in a cute café and I wasn’t wearing makeup and he was all sweet and from the spreadsheet I caught on his laptop screen, he must have a good job? He must be a super responsible good-father-material human being, right? RIGHT?!

We carried on with the loose plan to make actual plans until I remembered my goal to focus on nothing but finishing my book proposal (which included not dating). I messaged him to explain I wanted to hold off. He was understanding and so we did.

A few weeks later, when I’d made enough significant progress against the 20,000 word beast that would eventually become my proposal, I reached out to finally make those plans. He was all game…and then he wasn’t? I couldn’t tell. His texts came in days later and were clear (“Yes, that’s perfect”) but then also flakey (“Any chance you can meet up next Sunday?”. We both split our time between the Hudson Valley and the city, so coordinating was proving to be maniacally frustrating.

After a few failed attempts I moved Eric from the “potential husband material” category to “hot guys who make me feel seen,” and that was that. I had no interest in attempting to understand the meaning of our interactions. It gnawed at me, but that was mostly my own loneliness. It had nothing to do with Eric.

But then, months later, when said book proposal was now in the hands of my agent, Eric popped up again:

Hey! I’m going to be upstate tomorrow and Thursday night. Are you free to meet up?

What? Why? Wait really? This again? I was confused. Had I misread him? Had I misread me?

I wasn’t free and while I was teetering close to the rabbit hole of what-does-this-all-mean, I opted again not to go down it. Instead I wrote back:

Hey there! Sorry not free. Have fun.

He shot back a confused response:

Are you not interested in getting together? (Insert the emoji where the smiley yellow face is pulling at their chin).

I was suddenly tired. What was this? Should I move Eric into another category?

Not knowing what to make of his response, I was brutally honest. I told him I did want to see him but that I was surprised to hear from him and didn’t know what to make of it. That I’d assumed he wasn’t looking for something serious and I was so does it even make sense to meet up? Eric said he, too, was interested in a relationship, not something casual. Round and round we went again.

Maya Angelou’s words hung in my mind…

When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.

But who was Eric? He hadn’t been outwardly mean. He hadn’t ghosted. From what I could tell we had different….planning styles…but I, too, had thrown a wrench in because of my book. Was it worth giving him a second chance?

My conversations with clients often include a slew of “Well they did this and then they did that and I think this means that…I know it does…except…WAIT. Wait. I don’t know. Fuck. I don’t know! I don’t know what to think. What do you think?”

I flip the equation and work to help them understand that it’s this endless loop of questions—not their crush themselves—that’s really driving them mad. I guide them back to their own internal wisdom, show them how they already have all the answers inside of them. That it’s a matter of honing their internal trust muscle so they can actually hear those answers, rather than obsess over their crush.

But occasionally I feel like saying…

Listen. What you’re doing right here? It’s a big fat fucking waste of time. Because for the rest of your life people are going to do things–especially in love– that make zero sense to you. And the effort of working to understand what their actions mean is like setting fire to your own hair. It’s nothing but self-destructive. The better things to ask are: Why am I obsessing so much over this? Why did I attract this person in the first place? Is this a pattern? When has this happened before?

Eric is not an asshole. From what I can tell (and really I can tell very little), he’s a generally kind human being that…has a very busy schedule. His continuous attempts to schedule are sweet but his inability to lock down a date is annoying AF. But only if I make it so.

Last weekend Eric asked me if we could move our latest scheduled date to the following weekend, explaining he was drowning in school work. I didn’t stop to ponder “Is he REALLY drowning in school work? Why didn’t he say something BEFORE?” Instead I just wrote back:

Sorry Eric but I can’t schedule things like this. If you’ve got a time you know you’re definitely free, let me know.

I’ll undoubtedly hear from Eric again. He’ll express genuine interest in hanging out and I’ll be tempted, once again, by his piercing eyes and chiseled physique. Maybe this time around, I’ll say no right from the start.

Originally published on Medium.