The Functional Value of Heartache

Adult dating involves set narratives, similar to job interviews. Two people make an acquaintance and, as they proceed, start talking. Initial conversations often are rituals of standard questions posed, reliable answers proffered. If the elusive chemistry exists, the masks slip down so the less polished self emerges. The real connection begins then.

The masks slipped quickly last spring when I met a woman I'll call Tieta. From our first encounters, online on JDate and then in person, I sensed something special about her -- and, as important, about us. We revealed bits about ourselves that very few others know. I allowed plans for what we could do, what we could be, to form in my mind. That's what happens when somebody touches the reptilian boy-girl attraction node deep inside me.

It didn't last. Tieta thrashed in a spider-web of complications involving parents and exes that thwarted our relationship, so we constantly took one step forward and two steps back. Finally, she decided to take the two steps back and no more steps forward. She abruptly left me to thrash on my own. I could only take tiny solace from edits she made to her online dating profile, where she wrote, "Sometimes you meet the right man at the wrong time."

Months later, the heartache of Tieta remains with me in a surprising way. Our experiences became part of my dating narrative. I never expected this to happen. I'll talk to some degree about my marriage or my nuttier dating adventures, but I never talked about Tieta because the whole sequence was so baffling and hurtful, so close to my dreams and expectations of what life could indeed hold.

But I am finding that heartache carries a functional value. That value emerges in response to questions that lately women have been asking. For my part, I never ask women about their dating experiences, online services to which they subscribe, anything that crosses into the realm of "none of my business."

However, some Jewish women are very curious about this side of my business. Have I had a steady relationship since I got divorced? Do I date much? What's my online experience been like?

The first time a woman asked me whether I'd had a steady relationship since my day in divorce court on Black Friday, June 13, 2003, I didn't know what to say. I finally said I had known different women, made some good friends, but nothing really serious had happened. Buzz! Wrong answer for this woman, who expressed concern that I may not be very serious in the pursuit of romance.

Afterward, I thought about what she asked, what I said. Treating this as a "it's none of your business, honey" question may not be the right approach. What was she truly asking? What have I truly felt and experienced? I decided the questions are anything but casual. They aim to sound out my past and intentions, what I'm seeking, whether I'm merely a male hummingbird sipping the nectar of available blossoms, or whether I'm serious about this business of romantic cross-pollination.

Before long the issue arose again. This time, I was ready. Tieta and I did have something potentially serious, and I'll be damned if I downplay what it meant -- what it meant for me, anyway. Combining honesty and discretion, I replied, "Yes, I had something that looked very promising. We really connected. But the timing just wasn't right. Her life was complicated. It just didn't work out."

That basic response may evolve, depending on the question and the amount of tequila involved in the conversation. Women ask, and they deserve an honest answer. Now I have one, spoken through gritted teeth and showing hard lessons taught by Tieta. If not asked, I won't bring up the topic. But if asked, I have a narrative that shows I am indeed capable and serious.