Letting Go, Being Real and Deal Makers

As a forty-three-year-old sober divorcee of two failed marriages, I was swiftly moved from apprehensively intrigued to completely terrified as I scrolled through the arena of dating apps for the first time. I had absolutely no idea there were so many, running the gamut from traditional dating to hooking up. Overwhelmed, I put my phone down. Couldn’t I just meet someone in the wild? I was desirable, right? I was determined to find out.

First up, a coffee companion with attractive sobriety. We’d shared good conversation, texts, book recommendations, and made plans for a walk on the beach. Then, radio silence. The familiar doubts crept in—I’m not smart enough, pretty enough. I’m just not enough.

Months later, I sent a text asking what happened. He responded, blaming his absence on work pressures and the awkwardness over how much time had passed, expressing that he’d still like to take that walk on the beach. But again, he ghosted me. I couldn’t stand the rejection, so I persisted. Disappointed once more, I decided to talk with God about it, ending my prayer with, “Thy will, not mine, be done,” secretly hoping that His will and my will were perfectly aligned. They weren't.

Round two, a finance professional who suggested dinner after finalizing the purchase of my new SUV. Although not my type, this was an opportunity to practice the art of dating. At dinner, I discovered some surprising commonalities. A non-drinker with a sense of humor and a good job seemed like a promising combination, so I pursued him.

Several dates led to an invitation to my home for sushi. Amidst the excitement, I’d forgotten a small but significant detail. I’d never been able to master using chopsticks, a skill I’d seen even children execute with ease. Suddenly filled with anxiety over the thought of unveiling this truth, I rummaged through my refrigerator, settling on raspberries as my practice material. Turning to YouTube, I hoped to learn enough to get by without embarrassment.

With a need to impress and raised with the adage “presentation is everything,” the spread was fit for a celebration. Alongside the sushi and ramekins of soy sauce, the chopsticks lay tauntingly in wait. My date arrived and admired the display, filling his plate.I watched him step away from the platter, reach into the kitchen drawer, unashamedly pull out a fork, and sit down at the table. Seriously? Unable to deny the irony, I grabbed one too. Closing the drawer, I glanced up, chuckled, and whispered, “I deserve that,” recognizing the absurdity of the lengths I’d gone to maintain a façade. Clearly, I had a lot to learn and change.

After months of witnessing the disparity between Sushi Guy’s actions and words and trying to change him, I abandoned the old idea that something was better than nothing and ended things. I sincerely told God that I was finally okay with being myself and, if need be, alone.

Almost as if God had been waiting for my submission, I found myself, within two weeks, on a breakfast date with Jaison, a firefighter I’d met at a sober event. As I began sipping my coffee, he began “puking all over my shoes,” divulging information about his past that was shocking, to say the least. He said that he wanted to be upfront, so I could decide if I wanted to keep getting to know him.  

After taking a moment to digest his words, I said, “Okay, that’s a lot.” I was full of excitement and fear. This was new territory ­­­- being open, honest, and authentic. “I guess I should tell you some things too,” I said and began revealing some of the darker details from my former life.

There we sat. No time for games. Withholding nothing. I asked him what his deal breakers were. He suggested what, to me, was a novel concept. “Everyone starts out with the negatives. Let’s focus on our deal makers instead. What do you need?” I was certain we were breaking every rule in the book of modern dating dos and don’ts. After a wonderful meal and incredibly genuine conversation, we left the restaurant knowing the desire to see each other again was mutual.

During one of our earliest dates, as a server placed a wooden boat of sushi on the table, I politely asked him for a fork. Leaning in, I said to Jaison, “I don’t use chopsticks.” Humility had allowed me to see and love myself while witnessing God’s grace in my life

That was almost three years ago. We were married in June.