Finding “The One” isn’t always easy. Do you trust fate to drop him in your lap — metaphorically — or do you get proactive?
As I step into the darkened lounge, my eyes focus on 20 or so individuals with numbers pinned to blazers and blouses, nervously sipping cocktails. The awkwardness and tension is soon sliced by a cheerful voice: “Welcome to speed dating! Are you ready for the most exciting or most miserable five minutes of your life?”
I am a stranger to the world of speed dating. I silently pray tonight won’t include an unanticipated rendezvous with an old classmate or, God forbid, a former flame. Like many single professionals in Denver, I’m looking for the right man, one who prefers white to red and skiing to snowboarding, is addicted to golf, and is brilliant — with more than adequate culinary skills. (Too much to ask?) And if I happened to find him in five minutes, well, that would be fabulous.
Getting Personal
While there may be a number of men matching my above criteria floating around the Mile High City, I’ve yet to meet Mr. Right — or even Mr. Maybe. I’m willing to don heels on a Friday night and am game for the occasional blind date, but the sparkling optimism that a room abundant with singles once brought or the notion that a potential suitor will wink from across a bar in LoDo has lost its luster.
Lately, I’ve found myself growing less skeptical of the chemistry born out of Internet algorithms or professional matchmakers promising to connect me to a viable mate. Why should the most crucial aspect of life be left to fate on the off chance I’ll find love while taking tequila shots with the girls?
I started by logging on to both eHarmony and Match.com, curious to see if real love can be discovered virtually. Scouring my brain to pinpoint personality types and hobbies vital to my modern-day Casanova was fun. Three hours later, I had nutshelled my entire personality into 3,000 characters, uploaded a picture and browsed available men like I would shop for shoes on Piperlime. Headers such as, “Hot Woman with a Brain Wanted” and “Goin’ Fishin’ for You” made me laugh but were not enough to make me want to “see more.” Before signing off, I checked my inbox to find 13 emails from men aged 20 to 40, living everywhere from India to the Amazon River Valley.
Although the allure of the Internet playground was enticing, filtering through virtual profiles — half of which belonged to men living on the other side of the equator — would take forever. I couldn’t justify staying up all night to sort through this melange just for a coffee date. And while I can respect the never-married Helen Morrison for publishing the first personal ad in 1727, the possibility of being seen as single and desperate by one of my parents’ divorced friends was enough to make me deactivate both accounts. There had to be a more efficient way.
Relieving the Pressure
Melissa Jannetta from It’s Just Lunch called to schedule an initial interview. I arrived early (a first) and waited quietly until a beautiful woman in her late twenties emerged and correctly pronounced my name (again, a first). Melissa began by asking questions about my job and hobbies and then explained how her team personally interviews clients and then brainstorms potential matches. It’s Just Lunch felt safer than the online sites, and instead of handing me a cookie cutter of a man I’ve never met, Melissa took the reins and posed questions I never considered pertinent to defining “the one.”
Slowly, I unfolded the story of my life. An hour into the interview, her gentle interrogation bordered on the personal, but she listened intently and took notes until I fully articulated my responses. She empathized with my bar-scene frustrations. In another situation, I would have been uncomfortable revealing my failures in prior relationships or deep commitment fears, but our two hours together felt like a refreshing therapy session rather than a matchmaking assessment.
As confident as I was coming out of my interview, I was equally nervous going into my first date. Running into the restaurant, slightly disheveled with damp hair from the snow, I slid into the booth and broke into a big smile. The man across the table could not have been more handsome and seemed reasonably normal. Our conversation moved from the Broncos to golf courses to the tumultuous economy.
We didn’t discuss the trouble we each took to meet the other, but we shared an unspoken understanding that we both cared enough about our futures to go to such extremes. We exchanged a hug before bidding farewell, and while I don’t think either one of us is what the other envisions as our perfect match, we were each one step closer. The date reassured me that the type of man who bears the qualities I cherish does, in fact, exist.
Around in Circles
Of all the available dating resources, the one I dreaded most was speed dating. I cautiously entered the Jet Hotel, took my number and mentally prepared. The premise is fairly simple: Every five minutes, a whistle blows and a different man strides toward my small chaise and begins to chatter. I heard every excuse from “I’m interviewing for a new job and thought this would be good practice” to “I just moved to town and wanted to get to know people.” Overall, the men were gregarious and interesting, but after my final five-minute date shook my hand, I wandered out to my car feeling like a failure.
The next evening, I found myself explaining to a girlfriend just how exhausting the previous few weeks of dating had been. Two drinks into the night, we were both laughing hysterically, so much so I barely noticed the handsome blonde approaching us. People always say when you stop looking that’s when you find the one, but the truth is it wasn’t until I started seriously looking that I figured out who I was trying to find all along.
www.denvermagazine.com, Feb 2009 - Drawing by: Matt Vincent
