Dating is a sewer of emotions.

One minute, you’re flustered and stomach-butterflied, the other, you’re bewildered and disgusted. Eventually, you’re over it and move on. Your emotions go through the treatment plant, and if you’re lucky, they come out as clear as a shiny-sparkling pond, ready to try them out on the next person.

Recently, I brief encountered a man who’d begun as a friend. We belonged to the same social club and invariably spent ages talking when we ran into each other. I always thought of him as a decent sort. Interesting. Fun. Lethally sharp wit. Has a glamorous, adventurous career, the kind most people would envy. Someone I always enjoyed chatting with.

Though I can be rather effusive about whatever is going on in my particular edge of the world, he’d always been on the private side. Bits and pieces dripped out on occasion. He was conservative both in self and politics, the opposite of me, liberal and blabby. Still, it made for interesting conversations, because even though we didn’t always agree, we respected each other.

Glamour man was also married. Until recently.

One day it slipped out. Something awful happened to the woman I up to that moment believed was his wife. He felt duty-bound to be by her side, as he right well should. He added, rather sadly, that their marriage had been over for some time. He moved out. The sting still hurt, but she needed him, and he needed to be there for her.

My ex twice landed in perilous circumstances, and I gladly gave my help. One can’t erase the bonds held between formers in one fell swoop. Only time can do that. So I shared my stories with him, and it justified his reaction to his soon-to-be-ex-wife’s situation. The pain of separation and starting over is still stuck inside me, but it’s passing away. He’s learning to deal with it. Letting go of the one you loved and thought would be with you until one of you died is impossibly difficult. Anytime he needed to talk, my phone’s open, I said. And I meant it.

A few weeks later, he called. Let’s have dinner.

Sure, why not? I said. Obviously he wanted to talk.

I’ll meet you at your place, he said. And he did, arriving promptly at the appointed hour. We headed to the restaurant.

It’d been a good opportunity for honest talk. He told me more about himself than I ever knew. As I ate my meal and he picked at his, I listened. Eventually, the topic shifted to lighter fare. By the time we left the restaurant, we were laughing. Headed over to my house. I made a pie and invited him in.

We never ate it.

Things got weird after that. I heard from him almost daily, then not at all. At my social club’s Christmas party, he never showed up, even after he said he’d be there. No text, no explanation, no nothing. Felt hurt, disappointed and pissed. Thought the worst and dismissed it. Can’t expect a man to act rational especially since his separation was too new. Maybe I was the first, or twentieth. Perhaps he needed the comfort of someone he trusted to feel valued and attractive again. So did I.

The problem was, I expected more. Not a full-blown love affair, but something. What, I can’t say. I don’t know myself. Did I expect more of him than he was able to offer? Or want to give? Possibly. Maybe it’s because I’m six years out, and he’s barely six months separated. I’m judging the situation through that landscape.

Or maybe, that’s just the way he is.

I went to visit friends I hadn’t seen in a while. Felt good to get out of town and catch up on the latest. As we stood in the kitchen, pouring ourselves glasses of wine, a text dinged my watch. From him. He hadn’t forgotten me, he said. A hug emoji punctuated his point. It’d been three weeks of silence. No explanation. Was it something I said? No! He replied. He wanted to talk soon. Okay, I texted. When? Soon, he texted, without any further indication of time.

After a week or so, during an intense Zoomer with coworkers, a text appeared on my watch. How’s tonight for a call, he said. Tomorrow’s better, I replied. Okay, how about 8:30? That’s fine.

He called right on time. We chatted for two and a half hours, mainly about nothing. Though I desperately wanted to ask him why he ghosted me for three weeks, I never did. Why? Again, can’t say. Guess I chickened out. Or got caught up in whatever it was we talked about. He said we’d get together soon, but once again, no set time or date.

On Christmas I sent him a brief text. Heard nothing until the day after. He wished me a Happy New Year and that he’d be out of town. I wished him the same and nothing more.

Do I like this guy? Yeah. And it sucks, but I’m not going to let it wreck me. I’m too old for that. While I can’t predict if anything will ever come of it, I’m not waiting for him, either.

Today, I’ve created dating profiles for two sites. Between them, both have introduced seven of my friends to wonderful partners, both male and female. It’s how people meet these days. Sure, it’ll probably be equal measures painful and pleasurable, but it beats sitting at home. I’m ready to move forward with my romantic life. Not saying I want to get married again, but going out and having fun sure sounds appealing. If nothing else, this man has shown me that I’m still attractive enough to warrant his attention, scattered though it may be. And if I can do that with him, surely there are others who might actually want to stick around.

I’m going for it. I’ll let you know how it works out. Wish me luck as I dip my toe, once again, into the dating pool. And maybe this time around, it’ll be clear and refreshing.