Facing Down Uncertainty

| posted in: life 

Here’s the thing, dating is filled with uncertainty. Gaps in your knowledge if you will. And we, as humans, love to fill gaps in our knowledge with fear. You send some one a note and don’t hear back for a day. Then two. Not knowing the reason why you start to assume the worst, they hate me and I’m never going to hear from them again. Once the gap is filled with your fear (which is really an expression of insecurity) you move on to bashing yourself for the insecurity. It’s a downward spiral that’s no fun to ride.

Following my lunch on Sunday, I send a note saying I had a good time. She replied in the same vein. I used her reply as a springboard into suggesting that we might go ride roller coasters some time, did a fairly cute job of working in a bench that played a role in our initial meeting. Haven’t heard a word since Sunday evening.

(cue Robbie the Robot: “Danger Will Robinson!”)

My fear is that I over did it at lunch, or under did it, or didn’t did it. What ever needed “diding” didn’t. And while that’s the point of meeting, I want to go back and “did” it right. I want to pass the implied test. Only the point isn’t passing or failing the test, the point is the test itself. Some people click and some don’t. That’s just the truth. Not good or bad, just truth.

Reality is that not everyone utilizes their computer as much as I do. I can easily spend several hours in the evening in front of my computers (Yes, plural. It’s a disease.) So rationally I can understand that some one might not see a cutely written message for a day or three or even more, but I don’t understand it. And I don’t like it. But I am learning patience. One excruciating minute after another.

Finally, I’m making a great big old mountain out of a non-existant mole hill. It isn’t as if this is the last person in the world I’ve attempted a relationship with, she only the first. So I need to just chill and wait for more first meetings to happen. One day there’ll be a lunch or dinner and something inside will go, “hubba.” And her insides will go, “hubba” too.

And that’ll be good.

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Mark H. Nichols

I am a husband, cellist, code prole, nerd, technologist, and all around good guy living and working in fly-over country. You should follow me on Mastodon.