Love at First Sight

One of my girlfriends once told me, "When you meet THE man, you'll know." My favorite ex-boyfriend -- the one who morphed into a great and supportive friend -- told me, "You'll find the obvious one and it will all make sense."

"Ha!" I said to this nonsense. I knew love at first sight and I didn't trust it. I was in my mid-20s when I was blown away by an amazing man. He was thoughtful, he was articulate, he was kind, he was beautiful, he was a sensational lover. The connection between us was instant and intense. It took us weeks of deep conversations before either of us would acknowledge these feelings. Oh, but when we did... Our first kiss lasted for about four hours. Our first date, for a weekend. We moved pretty quickly to inseparability.

Which is where we stayed for five years. What a run we had: I learned to sail and rollerblade and play tennis because he did; he subscribed to the symphony and learned to cook with wine because I did; we ran road races and climbed mountains, took classes and went to lectures; we traveled every chance we got, but just as often, we stayed home curled up with our books in neutral corners of the living room.

We got snowed in one weekend and started talking. When I asked him where he saw our lives going, he said, "This is perfect. I don't want to change a thing." "Ever?" I asked. "Ever," he said. Thus, the beginning of the end.

It was several months before the implications of that conversation set in, but as soon as we said it out loud, there was no going back. Once we admitted that our relationship had gone as far as it was going to go, it was only a matter of time before one of us blinked. In the end, it was him. He wanted us to be friends. I couldn't do it, though I promised to be cordial if I saw him on the street. He's still not married, though he's been with his latest girlfriend for four years now.

When I watched him walk out my door that last time, something in me shut down. I vowed never again would I give anyone the ability to bring me to my knees. I built a big metaphorical wall to protect my heart, my sanity, my soul. And damned, if it didn't work. When I started to date again, I ran so fast at the first sign of anything that even remotely resembled commitment that my friends accused me of being just like the freakish men I was trying to avoid. Sometimes I think I should apologize to the men who tried to get past the wall during those years, but I know I was better for having it in place.

If only I'd kept my resolve when I met the next man who blew me away....


The Wife Who Knows