when the person from your past suddenly makes it to the present

Dear Soulmate,

Something unusual happened last night. I met an old friend for some drinks at a bar around the corner from my apartment. We caught up over some wine and beers and then of course, the subject inevitably took a turn toward family.

He is cousins with my first big love… the one with whom there is still so much words left unspoken.

But that was years ago, and I’ve learned how to shrug off any probing questions about it by simply smiling and saying, “It was a long time ago.”

So when I was informed that his girlfriend dropped my name last weekend at his family birthday party, I was a little stunned at how something so far in the past could find a way to make it to the present. It seems a long journey.

My friend said that my name was not only dropped by her, but that his grandmother was asking about me, identifying me by my first and last name.

After drinks, I walked home feeling a little lost. I’ll be honest, although it was a long time ago, I still remember it all as though it was yesterday.

But I don’t think about it. I don’t go back there. I don’t open up old memories like boxes in the attic. Which is why I wonder, why would she?

Love Love, R

raining in new york

Dear Soulmate,

It’s raining here in New York. It’s been raining for an entire week. The streets are slick and the parks are lush in their new green coats. Umbrellas parade down the avenues and rain boots create ripples in the puddles where they stand.

He called me yesterday to see if we could talk. It seems the perfect weather to do so. It’s the kind of weather that’s synonymous with apologies and goodbyes, but I can no longer afford to be that girl who waits for the rain to let up.

Instead, I kept with my routine and went for a run along the Hudson River. An old friend of mine asked me to meet him for happy hour drinks later, and I suggested a bar where one of the bartenders caught my eye earlier this week… much to my date’s dismay.

But if I’ve learned anything from the past, it’s that you can’t let the rain dictate the way you go about your day any more than you can let upsets in love. There are too many beautiful things to look forward to.

And if you don’t believe me, wait until the sun comes out.

Love Love, R

raising the bar

Dear Soulmate,

The other night I was sitting at a dimly lit bar when an older man called me over. After a brief introduction he proceeded to tell me that the two guys who I was hanging out with were “trash.” I glanced back at my seemingly respectable two guy friends who were not only attractive, but pretty decent company.

I realized though that my two guy friends were in their 20s- a decade that most older men envy for its freedom but regret for its inexperience.

Without explaining to this older stranger that I was not romantically involved with either of my friends, I asked him to justify his awfully presumptuous comment instead.

And he had nothing to say.

Turns out I was right: older men can be just as bad with words as their younger counterparts.

Just as I was about to turn away, discouraged that I had attracted another ‘winner’, this stranger pulled my arm and asked me what I looked for in a guy.

I looked around the bar- at my two good guy friends who I would never consider dating, at the bartender who was shaking a drink, and then at an older couple seated at a candlelit table.

“Love,” I said. It’s that simple.

And to be honest- that’s all I’ve ever wanted. Ridiculous, inconvienient, spontaneous, crazy, passionate, sweep-me-off my feet kind of love. And not the kind of love that fades in the morning light. I’ve already been someone’s someone for a day, a month, a year.

I want that kind of endless love.

So where is he?

Love, R

“just too busy being fabulous”

Dear Soulmate,

As I sat in class today, spinning my pen in my hand, my mind naturally wandered to places I would have rather been.

And then a night came back to me, one from about a year ago around this time.

“So where is a pretty girl like you from?” an old man asked from the end of the bar.

“Boston,” I smiled, as I pressed my Corona bottle to my lips and took a long sip.

“Really? Well I’m here on that yacht over there,” he said, pointing in the direction of the harbor where his ship dwarfed the pier with glitzy lights that reflected over the still water.

“Nice,” I said, trying to look impressed, although the lines on the yacht were all wrong and completely disproportionate.

“Where are you coming from?” I asked, assuming he was here on vacation.

“Family Christmas vacation- you have to meet my grandsons,” he interrupted himself. “There are about twenty of them down here.”

I looked around the bar at the few lingering strangers. Most of them looked younger than I, and I was not inclined to go introduce myself. I realized how terrible I was at hiding my desperation as I eyed every prospect that infrequently came in view of the bar to buy another drink.

By midnight, I was mingling with people from all over the world. I met a handsome guy who I neglected to even remember his name, leaving me to wonder if I ever introduced myself at all.

“Want to go to the beach?” I asked him casually.

“No thanks,” he said as he turned his back to me.

Slightly surprised, but no less inclined to go to the beach alone, I took a few more sips of my beer before sliding off my bar stool.

“Well where is it?” the handsome foreign stranger asked politely in broken English, turning toward me again.

When we left the bar, we struggled to climb a hill that eventually fell to meet the sea again in a stretch of white sand and silver palms shining beneath the moon. We walked the quarter mile stretch of beach before turning around. The moon glowed brightly upon the sand and the surf glistened as it rolled into shore, each waved tangled with a thousand little diamonds.

“I dare you to go swimming,” I teased. “You only live once, and besides, how many times in your life are you going to be strolling one of the most beautiful beaches in the world under a near full moon, with an American girl?”

A few minutes later he stripped off his shirt, extending his arms overhead.

“Fine,” he said, “You don’t think I’ll do it, do you?” He set his empty beer bottle down in the sand and slipped off his shorts. I stripped off my shirt, following his lead, and slid my gauze shirt from my hips. My necklace reflected bits of the moonlight as I walked toward the water where he was wading in. He dove below the surface into an oncoming wave and shook his head upon surfacing. I dove into the next wave and smoothed my wet hair with my hands after I surfaced. We both looked at each other laughing.

We did not kiss, and to this day I still wonder why. It would have been too cliché I suppose; moonlit beach, secluded island, handsome foreign stranger.

Love, R

friday night shuffle

Dear Soulmate,

What do Fridays mean to you?

Do you like to unwind after a long week at a bar, at home or somewhere difficult to get to that requires a long distance drive?

In a recent news report I read how people’s personalities can be broken down simply by the things they Google. I figure that people’s typical Friday night plans perhaps reveal the same about them.

Even when I don’t go out on a Friday, there is enough energy around me to make me feel that I have. Traffic streams into the city, pouring into the one-way streets and melding into strips of red and white lights down the city’s more busier routes.

With the holidays quickly approaching, the incentive to see Boston in all its seasonal decor only heightens.

It is easy to get lost in the busy shuffle of people coming and going, like standing in a crowded airport terminal.

Sometimes just walking through the city at this time of year on Friday nights feel very much like Christmas eve. There is a hint of promise and excitement that hangs off the bare tree branches, threaded with strings of dazzling lights. There is something optimistic in the way skaters glide around the common’ s rink, moving together in the same circular direction.

It’s comforting to say the least- like seeing an old friend again. And it’s a lot like being in love.

Finally, as I sit here and write to you,  the sun has finally poured its rays onto the rain slicked streets. After days of being blanketed by a drenching rain and dark clouds, its long overdue appearance is most definitely welcomed.

I hope you have a wonderful Friday, whatever your plans may be. If I don’t see you then just know that I always wish you the best of everything in the world.

Love, R

are you ready?

Dear Soulmate,

I am always intrigued when people ask others if they are ready for something, particularly love. What I find more fascinating is the response to this question.

Over Sunday morning coffee with an old friend I began to wonder, is anybody ready for love?

As the rain outside started to turn into a snowy drizzle, I sat across from my friend who argued that you have to go out looking for love if you ever hope to find it.

But I believe my odds of finding love are the same regardless if I am standing in a crowded bar or wandering alone alongside the ocean. There are no great ways to increase your chances of finding love. It finds you.

While I did not agree with my friend on many of the points he made, we did agree that timing is everything, which begs my original question, how then, can one be ready?

The most simple answer is that you can never be ready to fall in love any more than you can be ready for any of the other curve balls that life throws at you. Think for a moment how dull life would be if you were ready for most everything that came your way. You would be completely unsurprised and where there was once mystery and excitement there’s instead dullness and predictability.

That is perhaps what makes love all the more fascinating; the twists and turns, expecting the unexpected, never knowing who you will meet and when you will meet them.

To return to my friend’s argument, there is certainly logic in the rational that going out every weekend will greatly increase one’s chances of meeting someone special. But how uninteresting and mundane it would be to be to sweep someone off their feet when they see it coming.

The really great love stories are the ones you never really expected to read, in places you never really expected to find.

So then the question remains, are you ready for a good story?

Love, R

under my umbrella

Dear Soulmate,

Alas, my favorite time of day; when I can sit down at my computer and its just you and me. Although I strongly dislike the impersonality of Facebook, MySpace and other online social networks, I somehow find writing to you on this level exceptionally intimate. I feel so close to you when I write these letters.

As I read the newspaper headlines today I couldn’t help but think that if one man successfully found a way to finally unite the nation across racial lines, then I will one day find a way to you. Anything is possible.

This afternoon I would have loved nothing more than sitting in a cafe with you talking about politics over coffee while watching the rain fall. Perhaps later we could have sat at a cozy bar someplace where the glow of candles reflect off the polished mahogany counter and laughter resonates over relaxing music.

As the days draw shorter and the weather colder, I feel less inclined to pass my time outdoors. On days like today when the wind shakes wet leaves from their trees and sends them to stick to the sidewalks, I feel autumn quickly slipping away, and I am powerless to stop it.

The thought of you walking down the sidewalk with me under an umbrella, laughing and jumping in puddles, instills in me that warmth and beauty of summer that I long for all year long.

And so I watch as the seasons change while I walk alone under my umbrella, wondering where winter will find ourselves.

All my love, R