Risks and Rewards: Vulnerability

I inwardly sighed to myself.  Another Internet date?  I wondered if I had the energy to endure any more freaks, geeks, crazies, or otherwise nice-but-no-spark guys.  I looked at his picture again.  I liked the way his eyes shone, slightly mischievousness and totally fun.  I went back to his message and typed, "Sure, let's meet."  I put my phone down and closed my eyes, offering a prayer to the God of Dating: Let this one be normal.  And cute.  But mostly normal.

[FOOTNOTE: Anyone who has been in this mysterious world of dating knows that these sorts of meet-and-greets generally only last an hour or so.  It's a brief encounter designed to feel the other person out, to determine if more time should be spent on him/her.  Sure, let's meet for a drink so we can both decide if the other is a whacko or not.  It really goes without saying.]

A few hours later, I found myself walking into the bar where we agreed to meet.  I had pre-conditioned myself to have low standards and not to expect too much from what I was sure to be another thanks-but-no-thanks date.  Walking in, I spotted him instantly: lounging casually, beer in hand, smiling as if he knew me already.  He was wearing a black dress shirt and a black sport coat that set off his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly.  Those sparkling blue eyes dared me to join him for a drink.  I smiled broadly despite myself and whispered my thanks to the dating gods.

I sat down at the bar next to him and bravely met that mischievous look, hoping my own green eyes didn't belie my nervousness and that he didn't notice the goosebumps on my arms.

"Hi!" I managed to say, trying to calm the butterflies in my stomach. He was so handsome, self-assured, confident.  Normally, that's me: confident, daring, and maybe even edgy.  It was disarming to meet myself.

"You're a lot prettier than your pictures," he offered.  The butterflies flapped their wings in my tummy, and my heart skipped. I blushed.

Five hours later and three rounds of drinks, the bar was closing and we had to call it a night.  As his lips touched mine for a goodnight kiss, I felt my soul stir and the butterflies calm themselves.  It was as if we were long-lost lovers, souls parted for years but now rejoining.  It was easy, effortless, warm.

I will never forget his hand on the small of my back leading me out the door, the feel of his goodnight kiss, and his promise to take me out on a first date. Six weeks later, writing this post, I can feel the same goosebumps rising on my arms and the same silly, happy smile spreading across my face.  I love the sound of his soft voice, the mannish smell of his skin, the crinkles in the corners of his eyes, and the way he kisses me.  But more than that, I love the way my heart feels in his strong, capable hands: protected and secure.  I'm not a woman prone to trusting men easily, but the heart knows when it is free from danger, so I find myself allowing this vulnerability.

Somehow, I don't feel vulnerable at all.