Intractable

“Viajero would like to meet you”, read the notice from Plenty of Fish. It is not unusual to get these types of messages. They are the equivalent of a “wink” on Match, or a “smile” on Green Singles—and they don't mean very much--only that someone clicking through numerous online profiles, chose to respond “yes”, rather than “no” or “maybe” after seeing your picture. Usually I delete these automatically—especially when they have names like HotHarley, Crappieman, or Python.

Perhaps it was the name, “Viajero”, meaning “traveler” in Spanish that appealed to the globe trotter in me, or perhaps it was because it was early morning, and I'd just awakened from a dream in which a gentleman extended his arm to me and asked “May I have this dance?” Whatever the reason, I clicked through to the profile and checked it out with a little more of an open mind than usual.

There, on my computer screen was a very handsome man—dimples, blue eyes, fit and trim, dark hair graying at the temples, with a warm smile. What really got me were the mountains of Peru in the background—and the photos of a Bolivian city, a llama, and of “Viajero” wearing a crazy, colorful hat posing with children. For the first time in many moons, I felt a little flutter of interest.

Yet, I knew better than to take this “wants to meet you” thing too seriously. I wrote back: “A little bird told me you might want to meet me. Normally when I get these thingies they are from men 15 years older than me or 50 pounds overweight pictured without their shirts. So, imagine my surprise to find these arresting travel photos with the handsome smiling man in the foreground...” Oh, God, had I really written that? I was actually flirting with someone! I thought I had forgotten how... I went on to tell him in a couple of quick sentences about my own recent travels in Transylvania, and asked if he might want to meet and share our travel stories over coffee. “That is, if you really do want to meet me.

Or was it just a random keystroke?”

I hit “send”, rose from my desk and went about my day—not really thinking too much about this. He might or might not answer. I have this philosophy when applying for jobs, as well as looking for love, that if you put out many feelers, —not putting too much stock in “the one right job” or “one true love”, not putting all your eggs in one basket and getting too attached—that it increases your chances.

I was already corresponding half-heartedly with “ZenWalker” and “Phoenix”. Zen Walker was somewhat boring, Phoenix lived too far away. So, I went about my day as usual, only letting my mind wander a little bit, as I walked my dog in the brisk January air, to the handsome, smiling man in the Peruvian mountains.

When I woke up the next morning, his answer awaited me: “No, I did not fat finger the keyboard. I found your profile, ergo, you—interesting. Would you like to meet for coffee at Cuppa Joe or Weaver Street? He obviously had read my profile in some detail, as he'd noticed that I listed these as my favorite hang outs. A good sign. “We could talk by phone first, if'n ya like”.

I revisited his profile, and perused it more closely this time. It sunk in that he was nine years older than me. 64 years old. One year over my stated age limit. Ideally, I would like to find someone within five years of my age—age can make such a difference between your 50's and 60's. The difference between work and retirement, between helping college kids move into a dorm or being a grandparent, between active good health and serious problems. But vitality can vary considerably depending on the individual, and he did look healthy and active in the photos, which were clearly dated from December—just a few weeks ago. I also noticed that he lives in Greensboro. Of course, my preference

was to meet someone in my own little town of Hillsborough, or at least in Durham or Chapel Hill/Carrboro. I don't want to have to make a huge effort to see someone. But Greensboro, and 64 years old were not so far out of the range as to be deal breakers. I decided to go ahead and respond, but to wait a few hours, so as not to appear too eager.

It was the morning of Martin Luther King Day. I got to participate in an inspiring interracial celebration and service at the 1st Baptist Church in Chapel Hill— with spirit filled gospel singing, and rousing speeches by officials with the NAACP. The Unitarian Universalist Choir I am part of sang “Joshua Fit De Battle” with gusto—and I got to belt out some of the high soprano notes. We heard passionate testimony about fighting poverty and injustice, and how there is no turning back. We lifted up our voices as a whole congregation— blacks and whites together, and sang “We shall not be moved” with spirit and conviction. A state legislator spoke about how the Republicans were unfairly trying to rig the voting districts in a completely unbalanced way. He spoke passionately about voting these guys out of office come November.

As I drove home to my afternoon of piano teaching, with these songs, emotions and thoughts reverberating in my mind and heart, I was also internally composing my response to “Viajero”. He had said in his profile, that he was looking for a woman with “a well formed world view”. Good. That resonated with what I had just been immersed in, at the church. But still, I made myself wait to respond. I ate lunch, did some quick household tasks, then devoted myself to listening to my piano students—the theme from Star Wars, The Happy Farmer, “F-A-C-E”-- remember “face the spaces”. ..

Later that evening, when the day was done, as I sipped my celebratory glass of red wine, I finally allowed myself to savor my conversation with the handsome Viajero, and compose my response. I wanted it to be short and snappy, and to show off my “well formed world view.” I suggested a weekend meeting. I said I didn't need to talk on the phone first, as I actually find that more awkward than meeting someone in person for the first time. “Just promise me you're not a Republican, and I'll be fine.” How clever I was! I hadn't said “ax murderer” or “rapist”. Rather, Republican would be my worst fear. I went to sleep eagerly anticipating his reply, and our upcoming weekend meeting, which would soon be finalized with details.

The next morning, I opened his message: “I'm not going to reveal my political convictions here”, it read, “but I will tell you that I would never date anyone who can't listen to other viewpoints and is so intractable. That's a deal breaker for me. Good luck on Plenty of Fish. You'll need it.”

I felt like I'd been punched in the gut.