My Soul Mate

Vulnerability is a common human experience. I consent that conquering the fear of vulnerability is rewarding; however, it remains my least favorite human experience, next to death and my yearly trip to the dentist. Throughout my life, there have been many instances of inadvertent vulnerability; generally speaking, my pride suffers little due to embarrassment, harassment, humiliation, and the like.

However, in relationships, I do not often choose to make myself vulnerable. I may have an uncanny imbalance between hopeless romanticism and cynical skepticism. There are numerous theories that have been developed about why this is so after two bottles of wine and a bag of Redvines; these range from fear of failing, to fear of commitment, to fear of rodents and winged creatures. Suffice it to say, I remain aloof.

This weekend, I am proud to say, I took a small step toward putting oneself out there, although I will never be certain where "there" is. Perhaps it is the infinite abyss described in Garden State, or perhaps it lives in the common, mundane situations of every day life. Laying such musings aside, and accepting that "there" can be frightening, to really understand the story, we must begin with my notions of soul mates. I do not hold there is one person for all, or that destiny binds two people for eternity, but I do like to believe in soul mates. I have yet to form a concrete definition, but I enjoy Elizabeth Gilbert's opinion that, "Soul mates come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave." She of course goes on to elaborately expound on the challenges of living with soul mates, but for personal purposes, this definition will do. There are a few people I consider soul mates, ones with whom my relationship has lasted years, and others who have walked in and out before a true relationship can be formed; all have impacted me.

How did I meet this particular soul mate? Fret not, it was not some ridiculous way such as listening to his coffee order. I heard him singing. Laying aside the fact that I could instantly fall in love with anyone who shares my affinity for mumbling songs in public places, he happened to be singing the Scientist, by Coldplay. If you have not heard the Scientist, it is a moving song and the reason I began listening to the band a year ago. You may be surprised that I just started listening to Coldplay a year ago, but one must keep in mind that my tastes in music are roughly eight years outdated. Although it could appear obvious as to why this makes him my soul mate, for inquiring minds, I will explain. Again, I fear the explanation has very little depth; I had been raving about the song the day before, and it is one of my all time favorite songs (along with Wyclef Jean's "Staying Alive" and Leona Lewis' "Bleeding Love"). Anna, meet soul mate.

I realize this story is romanticized; it is entirely probable that I simply formed this crush for motivation to blow dry my hair in the morning. The details of the relationship can be spared, because they are few and far between. There were smiles exchanged, witty comments and emails passed, even a beer toasted. Unfortunately, as is the case with most crushes, it was not to last. As quickly as he appeared, sporting his worn hat, a sweet smile, and a boisterous laugh whose gusto was matched only by my own, he was leaving. Yet, his departure meant we would grow a bit closer, as I was receiving his responsibilities. This was the classic worker/trainer relationship with a Navatsyk twist, meaning that I asked the most inane questions imaginable and prayed a smile could redeem me. I do not know if the smile worked its magic, but when our time drew to a close, he was gracious enough to say that I was the most active/interested trainee- although that does not mean I was not also the least competent.

Whatever his opinions, I wanted to see him before he left. Not to confess my love or to tell him I wanted to follow him as Ruth did Naomi, or even to suggest we try a Drew Barrymore/Josh Long and "go the distance." I just wanted to see him. And here, before me, stood my Goliath. If I did want to see him, I would have to put forth an effort, pick up the phone, and call. At this point, I will resist the urge to digress into a pontification regarding the break down of human communication caused by the onslaught of technology. Regardless, after a motivational speech and a shot- don't judge me, I ignored the butterflies and called. Thankfully, I received the answering machine and left a thoughtful, witty message (that I had recited to myself about one hundred times in preparation).

Now, it was out of my hands. Whatever the response, I had made myself vulnerable, something that had not been done in a very long time; it felt as though a weight had been lifted from my shoulder.

That very weight returned the next day, when I saw that I had received a voice mail. Silly, perhaps, but I am quite sure that everyone has moments in which they are anticipating rejection, no matter how slight and insignificant, and they are never pleasant. Instead of avoiding the message for three days until he was gone (which I seriously considered), I took a deep breath, listened to the preceding messages regarding my absence at the weekly AARP tennis match, the necessity of Drano in our shower, and the message from my last date (which, interestingly enough, made me swear off dating for the near future). Would the anticipated message ever come? This is why you do not let your voice mail fill. Five messages later, I heard his voice. He was busy this week. Shoot. But wait... he could eat dinner tonight. He accepted my invitation.

We went to dinner, and it was lovely. I ordered ribs, which are risky enough when you have napkins and utensils, but the lack thereof makes it much more adventurous. We discussed boxes and moving, shoes, zombies, sports. When the waitress came with the ticket, I did reach for my wallet out of obligation, but when he offered to pay, I did not protest too emphatically. He walked me to my car, we wished each other the best of luck, realizing that interstate mingling is not very practical, and hugged.

I think I will resume my dating hiatus, and my work wardrobe may digress from a t-shirt and blow-dried hair to a t-shirt and ponytail. Will our paths cross again? Perhaps. I hope they do; I will then buy him the dinner I promised. Presently, I am happy with the reward of embracing vulnerability, if only slightly. Unknowingly, he revealed another layer of myself, and for that, I am grateful.