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The Blog

When I tell people that at 32 years old I’ve never been in love a pearl-grabbing gasp is the common response.

Eyes bulging, jaws dropping, some slowly step back.

I comfort them with my confidence, “It’s okay, it’s not a condition.”

When I decided to share my story by blogging I thought it would be as simple as write, post, repeat.

Little did I know, it would be more like write, hide, puke, repeat.

Fear, anxiety and intimidation would sink in and I would rather push pins in my eyes than press publish on another post.

But then, BlogHer happened.

And this girl who has never been in love with a man, had her heart stolen by a room full of women.

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Love is In The Air 

My flight from Vegas to Chicago reminded me again (to quote my favorite movie) love actually is all around.

I met yet another couple willing to share their love story with me. Susan and Tim met on a blind date 40 years ago, and after dating only a few months they tied the knot.

Susan was 30 at the time and deemed an old maid, as all of her friends had already been married, some with children. But Susan and her friends were having fun being single and she knew love would happen for her one day. So she waited patiently for her handsome husband and 3 children.

A Christian woman, Susan encouraged me with scriptures and experiences of her own. She was sure love was making its way toward me and said she would be praying.

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When it comes to dating prospects, the public library is not the first place that comes to mind.

A mix of the DMV and welfare office, interesting characters abound. Your best with your head buried in a magazine as to not be disturbed.

When love jumping, however, it’s important to receive every interruption as an opportunity.

An opportunity to love and be loved.

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I recently returned home from L.A. for work, play and a little love jumpin’ along the way.

Before heading out, I sent out the love vibrations letting friends know The Love Jump was coming to town and Tingle was ready to mingle.

Despite my most earnest effort, no dates were set before my arrival so I thought, “Tinder it is!” We all know what happened the last time I met a guy on Tinder. I was hoping to not have to use the app again any time soon.

After a few days in Tinsletown, I felt my pre-love-jump self rising, picking apart guys I met while out with friends, cowering at soul night in Hollywood, safely ignoring the guy standing next to me at the bar.

Why do we do this? Why do we self sabotage?

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Fearless love is daring to fall… again and again and again.

Remember the classic kids game Guess Who? That’s what speed dating is like.

Staring at a dozen or so funny looking faces, awkwardly asking the same questions over and over again.

Only this time it wasn’t about what the other person was wearing.

Instead, “Where are you from?” and “What do you do?”

But the first question I asked was to myself.

“What am I doing here?”

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Just when you think you’re ready for love, you’re not. That’s what I told myself after receiving another romantic musing from Chef.

Chef is the hopeless romantic I met on while in Miami on vacation a few weeks ago. We emailed, talked, texted and face timed every day since the first connection. It felt as if we hit it off from the start.

Christian? Check. Tall, dark, handsome? Check. Aspiring chef who had plans to travel the world and settle down in our mutual hometown of Miami? Check.

One night he sent me a text that made my face melt into my pillow.

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b’sheirt or bashert: (Yiddish: באַשערט)

Yiddish word that means “destiny”. 
It is often used in the context of one’s divinely foreordained spouse or soulmate, who is called “basherte” (female) or “basherter” (male). It can also be used to express the seeming fate or destiny of an auspicious or important event, friendship, or happening.

I almost didn’t sit in this seat.

The plane was packed so I shuffled on expecting to be smashed into a middle seat. You know, the one allllllllll the way in the back against the bathroom wall. The one where the seat doesn’t recline.

Yeah, that one.

Instead, after a last minute glance, I waved down a handsome, salt and pepper gentleman to see if the coveted window seat next to him was empty.

It was.


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I reached over at 4:45 this morning, turned my alarm off and Pandora on. My mornings are sacred to me and typically start with worship music but this morning it was Marley. Is This Love? was the first song that came on as I snuggled back into that comforting place between sleep and wake.

My eyes still closed, I smiled and pictured our first dance. This is my wedding song. For as long as I can remember I’ve said Is This Love? will be the first song I dance to with my husband. Not Etta. Not Luther. Just Bob.

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This was one of those moments. The moment you ask a question you don’t want to know the answer to.
Only you don’t realize you don’t want to know the answer until you actually hear it.
Because had you known it would swallow every romantic notion you had into a mushroom cloud of smoke… well, you just wouldn’t have asked.

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