Thursday, July 17, 2014

Here, on the eve of the date, where everything and nothing are possibilities, I am a bundle of nerves. I don’t recommend the feeling, frankly. And since I’ve started eBaying again recently–peddling the product I couldn’t move, back in January–let me put this in like terms: “F+ for the jitters. Avoid if possible. Would not feel again.”

Normally, through overthinking and sheer insistence, I enjoy a base level of confidence, sure in my footing, certain of my convictions. Why isn’t this the case here? Conversation, plain and simple. She’s shy, especially in person. Said so herself a few times. This shyness manifested in texting, too, with an initial 3:1 ratio of my word count to hers. That’s right–I counted words, by hand, in an attempt to get a grasp of the situation.

That was earlier this week. Since then, the tide’s been turning, courtesy of a few things. Meta-talk, where you talk about talk itself, has been immensely soothing. The Rawketeer also suggested a quantity play: knocking out as many simple questions as possible to find that conversational fodder and simultaneously increase comfort level. This has been huge. I’ve also grown more comfortable about talking about myself. These steps, taken in concert, have created the raw material I need to improvise.

But all these approaches won’t amount to much, if they aren’t driven by a genuine interest in her. And I’m absolutely hooked. She likes the outdoors, but not the heat. One of her favorite movies is The Holiday, but she’s current on Game of Thrones. Loves grammar, hates spelling. Can’t throw a Frisbee, but can hit a golf ball. In moments when she opens up, it’s like punching through the canopy to a wide, blue expanse–to a place I want to be.