Figuring out what being in love felt like was as close to a life mission as I’d ever had. That, and writing about it. Meeting him and everything that ensued in the weeks following our first conversation was an amalgamation of the fantasies I’d fantasized, the close-to’s and near-misses I’d lived with other romantic interests, and it was also all the best literary descriptions of love I’d ever sighed over and movie evocations I’d wept for.

After exchanging a few words with M-P, he invited us to have a cigarette in the alleyway where the smoking section had been designated. I felt unusually shy and I guess it was because of the way he projected intelligence. (Beauty doesn’t intimidate me nearly as much as brains.) I also assumed he was taken or married because he was “of a certain age” and I never really encountered mature single men. It’s fun to think about how little I really knew about him in those first moments, yet how much I actually did know just from how fast my heart was beating. He mentioned his two children and I talked about moving to Calgary. M-P shared a bit about her life, too. He commented on how uninterested he was in “typical party banter” and wanted to try out some deeper questions on us, one in particular that he’d been asked in a coaching session the week previous. He asked: “What do you consider your greatest accomplishment?”

I knew my answer immediately. In fact, I’m sure I’d recited it to a girlfriend just that week but in a different context. We were probably talking about things we were really proud of overcoming or emotional growth we’d made—but the words, the exact wording of my answer was perfectly formed in my head and it was a wonderful feeling having my accomplishment so close to me. But before I told him, I asked if we could go get a drink: “I need to go grab a non-alcoholic beer…”. I blushed as soon as the awkward words came out of my mouth, it was like I was trying to show off my teetotaler-ness or something. We both kind of smiled and I went over to my bag, bent down and sort of mumbled at myself to get it together.

“Alright, so what is it then?” he asked again as we stood there.

“Well, my greatest accomplishment is a bit intense and weird.”

He looked genuinely intrigued.

“Go on…I can handle it,” he said.

“Umm, well, my greatest accomplishment is that I’ve excavated my shame.”

I watched for his expression then immediately stared at my shoes because he looked like he’d been struck by lightening. His eyes both widened and glazed over as if he was really looking at me but also through me.

“Can you elaborate?” he asked.

“I’ve excavated my shame because I’ve spent the last decade writing a book, I mean not really a book, it’s an unpublished manuscript I guess, but it explores the origins of my many years of feeling self-hatred and shame…and how I got out of all that and yeah, so…”

“Fascinating, truly. I want to know more about all of this,” he said.

So I told him about what I’d been attempting to unearth through writing, how I’d uncovered and traced many circular layers of meaning in my actions and choices and how for many years, I lived the shame and wrote it at the same time, and at the end of this process, found some peace and healing.

“Wow. I really am impressed. I’ve never heard anyone speak about their process in this way before,” he said, looking at me with fascination. I recoiled a bit at the look of fascination because I’d played the “odd creature” role with men before and was over it. Something about him was intriguing though and seemed to transcend typical role playing. He wasn’t hitting on me. At least not in an obvious way.