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“He’s a really interesting guy,” my friend, Diane said, trying to sound all casual about adding a guest for our dinner date in New York City that was supposed to take place in a couple weeks. I was going to be in NYC, working as the substitute anchor for Aaron Brown’s prime time news program, “Newsnight.' 

“What do you mean “interesting”? I asked cautiously. Diane never calls me when I’m at work so when my cell phone rang and I saw her name, I was curious, and then suspicious when I heard the reason for her call.  She was trying to set me up on a blind date.  Frankly, after only a year of grieving my late husband, I didn’t care how “interesting” he might be!  I was not ready to be set up on a blind date! 

“John covered politics for Time Magazine for the last fifteen years, but he’s taking a break to write a book.” Diane said.  And then she paused before she dropped the bomb. “He lost his first wife to cancer. So sad. She was the love of his life.”

Oh no.

Diane wasn’t finished. “You know how that is, Carol.”

Uh, yes I do.

 “It must have been heartbreaking!” Diane said almost in a low whisper.

Um, I’m sure it was.

Diane went on, “After a while, John remarried but, uh, his second wife died a couple years ago.”  Diane paused and then concluded with an insider’s knowledge, “Breast cancer.” 

WHAT? Ah.  Okay, stay calm, I said to myself. I am suddenly, mad.  Really mad.  Yes, I know, Diane is just trying to be nice but shouldn’t it be my decision to ask for a blind date, not hers?  It’s not the first time a girlfriend has poked around to see if I was ready to start dating, but I spent the last year since Will died, applying a lot of mental and emotional energy into accepting that he was gone and I was alone.

In the last year, I’d struggled to evolve from uncoupled and devastated to independent and..well…okay.  So, an introduction to an eligible man smelled of someone’s judgment of my hard won state of mind. In my current transitional state of mind, I’m thinking all those girlfriends who wanted to introduce me to a nice man; were they saying that I could never find happiness if I was alone? Would it always take a man to make me complete? If that’s the case, then my memories of loving Will would be my Berlin Wall standing between me and any future happiness. That left me feeling hopeless. I would always love Will. I knew that much.  Then again, what if no one ever mentioned dating to me?  Instead of feeling like a liberated woman, would I, instead, feel washed up, unattractive and old? 

Sometimes I felt like there was a countdown clock over my head, ticking it’s way to the one year mark when a proper grieving period had passed and, should she want to, a widow could shed her black veil and swing it over her head and declare “C’mon baby! I’m reaaady to party!”  I should realize that my friend was being thoughtful. Meanwhile, Diane’s voice was growing slightly high pitched. She was aware this conversation was growing more awkward.

“I thought you two should meet!” Diane finally got to the purpose of this phone call.   “You two have so much in common!”

“Oh for goodness sake, Diane.”  

I was still angry, but I was no longer sure with whom. Was I mad at Diane?  Or was I really mad at myself?  What happened to that woman who used to try anything once? Where was that woman who once stood on the border between Pakistan and Afghanistan and thanked God that life was an unpredictable adventure?

Before Will died, I had a motto that always cheered me up:  “Just think of the ten minutes before the last most amazing thing happened to you.”  I could sense the tension and hopefulness in my dear friend’s voice that she could change the course of my life with a dinner with a handsome stranger in New York City.  And so I said yes, but I did so through gritted teeth, because my emotions were more complicated than to end here with a pat conclusion about when is the right time to start dating again.  But I knew that the ‘old’ Carol, the one who took chances, still lurked inside me. Perhaps agreeing to have dinner with John was more about finding my old kick ass spirit than meeting a man.

“Yes, Diane, that sounds great,” I tried to say with sincerity. “Thanks for thinking of me. What do you think I should wear?”

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