The unique meeting that changed my life

If I were to write my completely honest feelings about this experience, I would risk sounding ungrateful, which I am not; but I feel like JDate did little to connect N___ and me. I kept a dating profile for nearly eight years, long enough to go from the time when online dating was considered a badge of shame to the time when the popular consensus considered it a normal way to socialize.

By the time N___ and I met, the online dating experience had made me bitter—not to the point of letting it poison my attitude, but I couldn’t validate N___’s gratitude to JDate for the chance we’d had to meet. Yes, we were the beneficiaries of social media technology, and JDate deserved some credit. However, I had to interact with dozens, if not hundreds, of women, and meet maybe a dozen in person—each disappointment leaving me feeling further and further away from a relationship destiny I could only dream of.

I can’t speak for anyone else who has to endure such a long time to match destiny with another (hopefully) compatible soul, but having to wait that long started to feel punitive. I didn’t make it through the entire eight years as a paying subscriber, but I can’t help but feel like I was more valuable to JDate as a single man going around in circles, rather than gaining traction with another compatible relationship prospect.

This story is a tribute to the lovely young lady I met over 15 years ago. It was probably December 2007 when our JDate profiles crossed paths. N___ was visiting her father in Sherman Oaks at the time and had to relocate her profile to the Los Angeles area where she previously lived in Germany.

N___’s profile picture stood out for its defiance of portraiture. She seemed to be suspended in mid-air, her head and gaze turned outward, her shoulder-length hair auburn. Other photos posted on Nadi’s profile were samples of her figure drawings—white chalk on black paper. The images were representational, but conveyed a style that I associated in my mind with Expressionism, one of my favorite visual art genres.

I don’t remember much of what she wrote in her profile, but nothing I can recall caused me to be annoyed or concerned. I sent her a short message, probably expressing my admiration for her art, hoping that gesture would be enough to pique her curiosity. We chatted via JDate’s instant messaging tool, then a handful more times before the momentum of our conversation led to a phone call, and then an in-person meeting.

Our meeting took place on a Sunday evening in January 2008 at a well-known franchise called Coffee Bean and Tea Leaf, which was owned by a religious family that operated all of its locations as kosher coffee shops. I chose a Coffee Bean in Studio City, not far from his father’s residence in Sherman Oaks.

I preferred not to offer flowers to N___, but rather to buy a collection of poems by Rainer Maria Rilke, with the original texts in German and their translations in English. I really wanted to distinguish myself as a suitor for fun. She arrived at the time arranged for our meeting and it did not take us long to recognize each other.

N___ had returned to her original sandy blond color. With her big blue eyes, Nadi’s smile radiated an intensity that revealed the heart. We ordered drinks and sat down to talk. No gestures or moments of awkward or tense force intervened throughout our conversation; it seemed a most natural impulse without pretense or posturing. I gave N__ the Rilke poems and I remember seeing a real gratitude on her part for this gift.

At some point during the evening, N__ excused herself to go to the bathroom. (Much later, N___ told me that while she was in the bathroom, she had caught her beaming face in the mirror, so much had she enjoyed our date.) It was on our first date that N___ informed me that she was a single mother of an 11-month-old daughter—the father, who was no longer the dominant force in their relationship. I had dated single mothers, so having a daughter had not “scared” me. My own mother was a single mother when she met my father. I grew up in a stepfamily, so the idea had never stopped me from dating or socializing with single mothers.

The outing was coming to an end and I drove N___ back to her father’s house. I walked her to the front door and leaned down to give her a goodnight kiss, which she happily returned. (Years later, she remembers how amused she was when I entered her personal space, eyes closed and lips pursed – like an innocent boy.)

That night, I could have sworn there was enough attraction and mutual interest to warrant scheduling a second date, but it wasn’t meant to be. The next time I called N___, she declined the possibility of a second date. She had interviewed and been hired by the USC Library’s IT team. Accepting the job meant moving her life and belongings from Germany to Sherman Oaks. N___ couldn’t imagine having the time to devote to a serious relationship.

I confess that I experienced a disappointment that bordered on sorrow. I had met a young woman here of quality who attracted me: intelligent, thoughtful and creative. Once again, love was going to be denied me. I respected N___’s wishes and refrained from contacting her. It so happened that I had a good friend who lived in the neighborhood, whom I would visit. From time to time, I would pass by the street where her father lived and I would remember, with sadness, the charming young girl who had run away.

Previously published on Medium

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