“So what really was the deal with Cuba? Did you meet a guy there?”

“Did you not talk about Cuba because of someone you date in Los Angeles?”

“How many guys do you date?”

“I get the impression you date someone very young.  Am I right?”

“What is dating like in Los Angeles?”

“Have you met quality men in Los Angeles?”

These questions, verbatim and various forms of them, were the most frequent questions people asked me at my recent high school reunion.  Not just a few people — not just a select curious crew.  A lot of people asked them.  I did arrive a little late, well after a few drinks were drank by most, inhibitions loosened.  But I still found the intrigue in my dating life interesting.  When I asked an old friend (who once was close with me) what caused her to be so curious, she said I don’t really write about it.  I write “fiction” (some of it really is fiction by the way!), and I write about my kids, and about travel, and I share my dance “stories” – but I don’t directly tackle, head on, dating. She told me I bring it up, without every really addressing my own experience directly, and then leave it alone, keeping it a mystery.

Which is ironic, because it’s one of my favorite topics. It’s fascinating – my own dating stories and those of others.  In real life, in-person conversation, I share these stories, quite (very!) candidly.  Every day, I also think of stories I can write and share, fiction and non-fiction, on the topic.  A collection of essays I could weave together.  Fertile ground for insightful words, it’s always on my mind.  But then I realized….she’s right, I don’t really ever actually write those stories down or open them up outside of in-person conversations.

Why not?

Truth be told, it makes me feel vulnerable.  Vulnerable, in the purest, most beautiful sense of the word, as over the past four years I’ve met a few (plus a few) great guys that I’ve opened my heart to. The result of that opening has varied and while it’s been wonderful, it’s been just as hard.  I lose my breath thinking of the moments when I’ve realized how much I like (love) someone, as if it’s happening right this second. I feel exposed; I feel like I want to hide but am in an open field without shade let alone cover.  Somehow, I can talk about these experiences over drinks endlessly, but writing them down memorializes my vulnerability in a way that magnifies it.

It also makes me feel vulnerable in a not so beautiful, not so pure way.  When I write, I know the best little pieces come together when I write from a position of complete truth.  When there is no censorship, no holding back.  When I wrote about losing my job and my search to find my current job, or about seeing my best friend the day before she died of cancer, there was no word or phrase that wasn’t authentically true.  It’s why it resonated, why people connected, why people appreciated the prose.  When I go to tell some true story about dating, the truth would reveal not only that I have really fallen hard for just a few (plus a few) guys, but also that I’ve navigated the waters in a bit haphazard, possibly questionable, definitely human way.  And, god damn, sometimes, I hate admitting I’m human.

But you know what — I also love it and love being relatable.  And it’s been fun.  Mostly really fun.  It’s also been tormenting and horrible, in moments.  And I do have a good stories to tell, so I’m going to share a few.  Starting with one of my best (worst) ones.

Coming soon.