Moving
from the Midwest to the West Coast meant getting acclimated to the climate
change. No more fiercely cold winters or
broiling summers. Just chill, fog, rain
and sun; often on the same day. Then
there was the social climate. In the
mid-90s, I attended a tech fair in San Francisco. At one busy table was a group of women
promoting their new company called Match.com.
Anything online was still a new concept and Internet personals were a
promising option to the social maze of San Francisco. I took the free membership and set up my online
profile, then spent the next few weeks trying to crack the code of others. I wasn’t having much luck. My emails usually went unreplied, or the
responses suggested I was a suspect rather than a suitor. One evening I received a message that looked
promising. The sender was a single mom, 33 years old, a professional who described
herself as a legal advocate for men in child custody disputes. We started a conversation, sharing interests
in music and politics, and over the next week our emails and phone
conversations were refreshing in a city where people “networked” but rarely stuck
with their connections.
We
discussed getting together, but the 30 miles of time and traffic to her place
in San Jose meant planning for a weekend.
To be honest, I was in no hurry. Some
years earlier, I had become involved with a woman who, shortly after we met, left
town for a summer job. Our letters while
she was away greatly enriched our relationship.
It was an experience I still value.
It was also a lesson for all the times I’d rushed in, letting
expectations get ahead of me.
My new
friend and I continued talking over the next week. The following Sunday morning, I received an
email from her saying that she and her friends would be having brunch across
the bay in Berkeley, and would I like to join them. Yes, I responded. It was nearby and would be a good day to meet
and finally spend some time in person.
Through the city and over the bridge I drove. Arriving in Berkeley, I was blessed by the
parking gods with a spot only three blocks from my destination. As I entered the busy and popular restaurant,
a hand went up on the far side. It felt
good to be recognized and welcomed. I
walked over and greeted my date and her three friends, who were sitting
comfortably in a booth. They had already
eaten. After the formal smiles and head
nods, I then noticed that no one was making room for me to sit down. I pulled up an empty chair from a nearby
table, sat down and ordered a coffee from the annoyed waitress who kept
squeezing past me. The group seemed friendly enough, and I began talking with
my friend. She had seated herself on the
inside, which caused me to speak directly past the person next to her, who was
nice, but gave me the sense that I was going through a translator. Fortunately, the scene didn’t last very long. When the check was paid, we made our way out
the door with the rest of the dispersing crowd.
It was a
beautiful morning, and I was anxious to spend time with my new friend. The fog had burned off, the sun was bright,
and the air was freshly clear. Just the
kind of perfect weather one imagines in the Bay Area. As we stood outside, I asked my friend what
she would like to do next. “Oh, we have
plans,” she said casually. And the four
walked off, piled into a sedan, and drove off into the Kalifornia sunshine.
