Love Returned When I Least Expected It

In Mexico, newly single.

When love failed me, or maybe I failed love, I adopted new fears that I thought I had long overcome, only now they took on a new face. Could I find love again? Did I deserve the relationship I had worked toward for so many years, or even something better than I could conceive of yet? Would someone truly love me for who I am, how I look, and how intensely I move through life? Could I handle another try at love? Was I too idealistic? Would hope betray me?

And what did I even want? What was a legitimate desire and what was a reaction to some kind of deficit? Would patterns repeat? What might I attract to myself? Had enough time gone by? Had I been alone with myself long enough? In some ways, I had already been alone for years. But was it too late for me? Had I stayed too long? Would I hurt someone again? Would I be hurt? Would I make a good choice? Would I fail at love again?

It was the end of February and I had just returned from an art retreat in Mexico. John had moved out at the beginning of the month and was living in an apartment. The strange thing about the end of a thirty-year marriage is that the legal ending happens on a date, but the actual ending is much harder to locate. Ours had been unfolding for a long time. Still, suddenly being truly single was completely foreign to me.

I had another retreat in Italy halfway through June until early July, and I was thinking maybe I would try dating when I got back. I hadn’t been with anyone other than John since I was 16 years old. I had never really looked at another man romantically or even considered what my “type” might be. After all of this life I had lived, I had no idea how I would behave with another man in my life. I didn’t know how to date, flirt, or navigate any of it. I felt unconfident and afraid.

The thought of one day being naked in the same room as another man felt utterly terrifying. I was beginning to wonder if I could ever go on a date, or even have a conversation with another man as a single woman.

So naturally, I decided to go to Greece alone.

I grabbed my laptop and began looking at the island of Zakynthos. Greece has always been my refuge, my freedom land, the place I go to find answers and discover new questions. It is a place of transition and a sense of home all at once. I dreamed of going to Shipwreck Beach, seeing the sea turtles, snorkeling in crystal-clear water, and staying somewhere fancy and bougie right on the water.

Could I be brave enough to go alone? I had never traveled alone. Maybe it was exactly what I needed after the end of a thirty-year marriage. I was yearning for independence, adventure, and maybe even a little romance. I wanted to know who I was when I wasn’t responsible for anyone else.

I booked the trip that evening, giving myself two weeks in Greece just before the Italy retreat.

But within a few weeks, my excitement turned to fear. I imagined myself alone in my Airbnb getting ready to go out for a late dinner, choosing a dress, putting on makeup, and then having to face the taverna alone. Sitting there by myself while couples and families laughed and talked around me. What if a man approached me? What would I do? How would I say no? How would I say...yes?

The whole idea scared me so much that I started asking friends to come with me. One friend was able to go and we started making plans, but then her husband had a health incident and she understandably couldn’t leave him.

I was back to my terrifying solo trip.

In the middle of March, just a couple of months before Greece, I decided I needed some experience. Maybe I should push myself out of my comfort zone and go on one date for practice. Or at least have some conversations.

I asked ChatGPT, who by now was well versed in all things Elli, where all the nerds hang out in online dating. Which dating app was safe for a professional woman in her 50s who wasn’t looking for a booty call?

Chat suggested eHarmony.

So I did something way outside my comfort zone and made a profile. This would be practice for Greece, which was practice for when I would start actually dating in July.

One of my dating profile photos.

My daughter, who had used dating apps, warned me that I would be flooded with messages and contacts.

Three days went by.

Nothing.

I started feeling like the ugly stepsister. Apparently, no one was interested. I looked over my profile carefully to see if there was some glaring problem. Under occupation it said “business owner.” I changed it to “artist.”

The next morning I woke up to several messages and likes.

Much better.

I started looking through the profiles the app recommended. No one really interested me until I flipped to a profile named Matt.

Right away his smile caught me. I felt like I could see him somehow just from his picture. He looked kind, congenial, genuine, and mature. I read the standard good-man profile: divorced, 57, data analyst, Christian, light drinker, fitness important, three children, hobby musician, along with some semi-dorky pictures in bad lighting.

Matt’s dating profile photo.

But for some reason I was really drawn to him.

I clicked my first heart.

Within a few hours, Matt liked me back and sent a message asking about my art and complimenting my hair, clothes, jewelry, and look.

My heart beat a wee bit faster.

We started texting in early April, then had some phone calls and a video call. Eventually Matt asked me out. I had a trip to Austin planned, so the earliest we could meet was Wednesday, April 22.

He planned an evening picnic on the beach. He brought a blanket and a cooler with water and beer, and I brought tacos.

I got there first and waited for him to walk up to where I was sitting. I was nervous, anxious, and excited. And as I sat there, I suddenly realized something.

At 53 years old, this was the first real date I had ever been on.

John and I had known each other since we were kids. We never really had a first date. Every boy before him had been similar. No one had ever formally asked me out, made a plan, and picked a place for us to go.

I saw Matt walking toward me from far away.

Do I stay sitting? Do I stand? Do I walk toward him?

Oh my gosh. I’m such a dork. I have no idea what I’m doing.

I stayed sitting until he got closer, then stood and walked a few steps toward him.

I was surprised at what 6’2” looked like. He towered a whole foot over my 5’2”. I looked up at him and he leaned down and gave me a quick peck on the lips.

I was shocked.

Well, I thought, that takes a lot of pressure off wondering about the first kiss.

We started walking toward the beach and Matt was talking. And talking. He talked about how hot his sweater was, how long it had been since he’d been to the beach, and pretty much narrated whatever was happening around him.

I wondered if he was nervous.

We found a spot on the crowded beach and he laid out the blanket. He immediately started rummaging through the tacos, inspecting the salsas and sauces. He told me he was hungry and asked if I minded if he started eating.

Then he told me how “sweet” I was for bringing the tacos.

“I could tell just by your texts and our phone calls that you’re a very sweet and considerate person. I like that about you.”

Matt had called me sweet many times already, in texts and over the phone. Every time I heard it, something happened inside of me.

No one really called me sweet.

Truth teller? Yes. Ambitious, driven, intense, witty? Definitely.

Sweet?

Not so much.

Meanwhile, Matt was tearing into the tacos. Every so often he would pop over for another quick peck, then go right back to eating and narrating.

If I’m honest, I was a little disappointed.

The Matt I met in person was different from the one I expected. On the phone he had been calm, a great listener, asking engaging questions and laughing easily. This guy was high energy, talking nonstop about not much in particular and very busy eating tacos.

I remember thinking, Who digs into the picnic five minutes into a first date while the other person isn’t even eating? I’m trying to tell him something and he’s commenting on how yummy the tacos are.

At this point, I really wasn’t sure about Matt.

My daughter had warned me about this. People don’t always match the person you imagine through texting and phone calls. Maybe this was exactly what she meant.

It’s okay, I told myself. Remember, you’re just practicing.

Then Matt said it again.

“You’re just so sweet. And these tacos are amazing.”

“You know, I have an interesting story about you calling me sweet,” I said.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“You might not realize this, but you’ve called me sweet a lot. You’ve texted it, you’ve said it on the phone, and you’ve already said it three times today. It’s almost like you’re giving me a new identity.”

“A new identity? How so?”

“I’m a lot of things, and there are plenty of adjectives people use to describe me, but I don’t think I’ve ever really heard ‘sweet.’”

Matt looked surprised and continued eating his tacos.

I told him about a women’s retreat I had attended probably twenty years earlier. The woman leading it talked about places in Scripture where God gave people new names and new identities. She asked us to pray and ask God what our new name was.

So I did.

Immediately, I heard, “Sweet.”

Sweet!? I thought. That’s a dumb name. I probably made that up.

Then the woman said, “If you think you didn’t hear correctly or you’re doubting what you heard, ask God what your old name was.”

So I did.

At this point in telling Matt the story, I suddenly realized how far out over my skis I had gotten.

Oh God. I’m being way too vulnerable. I’m being weird. I don’t know how to go on a date. This is intense. It’s probably good that I’m not sure I like him because this story is definitely going to scare him away.

But I had already gone too far to stop.

“Bitch,” I said. “My old name was Bitch.”

Matt raised his eyebrows.

“I knew that was right because my dad and brother used to call me that all the time.”

Oh God. Now I’m bringing up family drama on my first date.

“It was when I heard that old name that I knew ‘Sweet’ was real. But I had forgotten all about it until you started calling me sweet. Every time I read it in a text or heard you say it, it touched my heart.”

Finally, my story was over.

Thank God.

I sat there regretting that I had said any of it.

But then Matt looked directly into my eyes. He slowly leaned toward me, kissed me very softly, pulled away, and continued looking into my eyes.

I felt my eyes begin to burn.

Tears.

Oh no.

I felt embarrassed, exposed, a little undone. I didn’t even understand what I was feeling.

“Oh no! Your face. What’s wrong? Did I do something?” Matt asked.

I tried with everything in me not to cry.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why this is happening. I think it was when you looked into my eyes. I realized right then that I’ve missed this. I don’t remember a man really looking at me like that for a very long time. I didn’t know I needed that. I didn’t know I missed it.”

Matt hugged me. He didn’t get awkward about the emotion or try to change the subject. He just sat there calmly with me, looking at me, kissing me softly, giving me space to feel whatever I was feeling.

I melted into his care and kindness.

And I knew in that moment that my first impression had betrayed me.

I was wrong about Matt.

The calm, strong, secure, mature man I had imagined before the date was sitting right there.

The rest of the evening was beautiful. We sat and talked as the sun began to set and the air cooled. We told stories, laughed, and really enjoyed each other.

Our first date, April 22.

When the sun had nearly disappeared, an older woman walked over to us as she was leaving.

“I have to ask. Are you two on your first date?”

We looked at each other and told her yes.

“I knew it!” she said. “I saw you guys walk to your spot and I could tell you didn’t know each other very well. It was a little awkward.”

Then she pointed at me.

“And you definitely weren’t sure.”

Oh my gosh.

Then she pointed at Matt.

“But after about twenty minutes, you looked at her and I saw everything change. It was beautiful watching you two transform throughout the date. I just have a really good feeling about you two. I had to come over and tell you.”

She walked away with a big smile, and we heard her tell her friend, “Yep! First date! I knew it! Didn’t I tell you?”

Matt and I laughed.

This woman had apparently been watching our entire date unfold minute by minute while we were completely unaware.

It was weird, sweet, and funny.

Our second date.

Here we are five and a half months later.

Matt ended up coming with me to Greece.

My terrifying solo trip became a trip together through Zakynthos, Crete, and Athens, where we fell in love. We rented boats and explored caves, saw wild turtles while snorkeling, had an epic hiking adventure, ate incredible food in a vineyard, tried all kinds of seafood, went wine tasting, and drove through winding hills overlooking crystal-blue water.

Exploring Greece by boat.

We loved every minute of it and learned a ton about each other.

Our love has continued to grow and our relationship has matured. I have learned valuable things about myself and a lot about communication and conflict resolution from Matt. I admire and respect him, and I’m excited about our future.

Athens.

I didn’t expect love to find me so quickly.

Practice became the real thing.

When my marriage ended, I didn’t know if I would ever experience love again. I wondered if I even deserved it. Would it actually be possible for me again? Could my heart trust again? Could I open my soul to another person? Could I find someone who would fascinate me, stir my spirit, and make me dream of possibilities?

I know not everyone’s story will look like mine. Trying again doesn’t guarantee that love will arrive when we want it to, or in the package we expect.

But the failure of one love does not mean our capacity to love has failed.

Love does return.

And when it returns, maybe it returns wiser. It comes back fuller, carrying kinder words, a gentler spirit, and more patience. It is more willing to overlook small, petty things, believe the best about someone, and delight in small loving gestures and sweet expressions.

Love returns carrying the wisdom that years, mistakes, loss, and disappointment have taught us.

I thought I was booking a trip to prove I could be alone. I joined a dating app to practice being brave. I went on one date to prepare myself for some future version of my life.

Instead, I found Matt.

Greece, this summer.

But I had to be willing to take the risk.

Maybe that’s the part of this story I most want to share. Don’t let the failure of one love convince you that your capacity for love has failed. Don’t let pain make all of your future decisions for you. Sometimes courage is simply being willing to open the door again without knowing what will be standing on the other side.

Our hopes and desires have to be bigger than our fears.

And our faith louder than our pain.