It's been longer than I care to admit since I've sat across the dinner table from an eligible bachelor and felt that indescribable spark that marks the sign of good chemistry. While I was writing my first book - then the second - and taking yoga teacher training, I put romance not only on the back burner, but shoved the prospect of dating way into the back recesses of my emotional pantry. I had other priorities, legitimate demands on my time and energy.
"I wish you would open your heart to finding someone special," my best friend said to me one night. With yoga teacher training consuming every kid-free weekend, I knew I didn't have the capacity to devote to a new person.
"When I'm done with teacher training," I promised. "I'll make an effort."
Thus far my attempts have fallen flat. Match.com has provided me with nothing but blogging fodder. What's with all the guys who pose by their cars? I didn't know so many men in the DC metro area liked to chillax. Am I too picky? Maybe. But I'm not willing to settle for anyone less than exceptional. Frankly, I'd rather spend my evenings going to my favorite yoga class or writing the next chapter of my book than having a boring drink with a mediocre guy who randomly capitalizes nouns (e.g. special Lady) in his profile.
Honestly, I'm fine with my solitude. Sort of.
I get it. The right guy isn't going to find me if my nose is always pointed toward a yoga mat, book or computer screen. But in the spirit of full disclosure, I might be a little scared to open up. If the last guy I dated had worked out, I doubt I would have written my first book. But then again, if I hadn't suffered the heartache inflicted by the guy before him, I might never have written my first book. It's the ultimate catch-22.
So I check my matches everyday. I signed up for Hinge. And that incredibly hot man who started dropping in to classes at my regular studio? One of these days, maybe I'll get the nerve to put my mat next to his.
