The Best Online Date of My Life

This dog. This energetic, kiss-happy, 38 lb. bundle of magic. Nash is all mine; my second dog. I think Cadence, my first dog, lives on in Nash’s sweet, loyal temperament. This dog shaped package of breathing love, turns 4-years-old today. I adopted him when he was a few days past his first birthday. I really wish I had known him as a puppy. He’s so dang handsome as an adult dog, I can’t imagine how adorable he was as a wee one.

I spend a lot of time worrying about him. He could run away, he could get into a bad fight with another dog, or he could eat something bad for him. I don’t like to take him on playdates with friend’s dogs because there’s always that what if hanging out there. I have a bit of PTSD from a fight he had with a dog I tried to foster at the beginning of the plague lockdown. This too shall pass.

I often say that finding Nash was the best online dating I’ve ever done. I found him on a random Wednesday home from work with a migraine, and sadness. It was about 2 months after Cadence died and I woke up feeling morose with the migraine. I realized I was morose and migrainy because I missed having a dog. So, I hopped on Petfinder.com and it was love at first sight. His profile was gratefully remiss of gratuitous fishing shots, or posing with his sweet ride.  He did have a weird name but it wasn’t Todd, so not a deal breaker.

Nash did try to bounce midway through our first hang, however. He saw his opening while on our get-to-know-you walk through the aisles of Petsmart where we met. Escaping his lead, he made it to the inside of the entrance vestibule. I did my best Rowdy Piper move and landed on top of him so he couldn’t escape. It may have been too early in our relationship for that much physical closeness but I knew I had myself a good one and didn’t want him to ghost on me.

I managed to get the lead back on him and we continued our stroll through the aisles as I tried to stop hyperventilating while also checking out all the cute dog toys I could buy my new love. We strolled back to the maitre d, or the adoption guy, and I asked a few clarifying questions as Nash, or Shieko as he was then known, leaned his little body against me, waiting for me to finish up so he and I could begin our lifetime adventure together.

Maybe moving in together within the first 2 hours of knowing each other is impetuous, but I knew he was a keeper. Nash seemed incredibly happy to be on his way out of the Petsmart and into my sweet ride. Definitely the best online date I’ve ever had.

Happy Birthday, sweet Nasher.

The New York Times Hates Me

Well, maybe hate is too strong a word but still...
Some of you may know that I'm in love with the New York Times' "Modern Love" column. Recently, they had a call out for 500 word stories about living alone during the pandemic. I've wanted to write a "Modern Love" column for like, ever, and so decided to submit my own 500 word story of living alone pandemic-style. Honestly, I'm happy that I submitted it at all, so the fact that they didn't choose my story is totally fine. Really, it's fine.
I'm including my little submission here instead. Would love your feedback, of course.


Maybe I’ve had it right all along. Maybe swearing off dating of any kind somehow weirdly prepared me for lockdown. “Well, I’ll never meet a man now,” I thought to myself after lockdown was imposed in my state. The two-dimensional Zoom meeting, while novel at first, has now gone the way of fear-free grocery shopping, and if this experience has taught me anything, it’s that I enjoy my people, in the flesh.
An only child, and single adult, I’m accustomed to living life solo. I travel solo, work solo, movie solo, shop solo. Most things, I do solo. I do all this soloing by choice, while never thinking about it in the context of not having one. Without giving it a second thought, I’ve always had the option of bringing, or meeting along the way, some of my people. Now that this choice isn’t mine, it makes me feel, well, I’m not quite sure how it makes me feel. I have some shame about not entirely hating this solitary time. Pre-pandemic, I longed for days of unfettered, unscheduled time. Now that I have it, I just feel weird.
Part of me wants to use this time to unshackle myself from the monotonous day-to-day, but then I remember how lucky I am to be employed, housed and fed, and remind myself to be grateful for the monotony. I’m working, hanging with my dog, doing house projects, sewing masks, and thinking about how best I can contribute to society through all of this. Most of all, I’m grateful for my health. At 52, my fear of getting this disease is like a low-level fever in itself.
I’m not overly bothered by the very limited possibility of my snagging a fella anytime soon, and I miss having experiences with my friends and family. While not lonely, I manage the low-grade fever of fear by running, riding my bike, reading, and sleeping. Going to bed is the only time of day that still feels normal. Nothing’s changed about going to bed every night, and I relish that moment when I slip between the sheets. Life feels normal for half a second, until I check my phone and see another story of pain and survival that’s incongruent with the fleeting feeling of normalcy.
Before living in our pandemic reality, I’ve taken seeing people in the flesh for granted, we all have. People that I can touch, smell, and be present with. Things are different now, and for what I believe, years to come. Still, this normally happy solo gal longs for a packed concert, a busy city street, listening to podcasts on my way to work, and jockeying for the aisle seat on flights to the Midwest. I even miss waiting in line. I try to never say never, but I know I’ll never again take the day-to-day for granted, monotonous or not. As long as I have a choice to bring my people with me, I know I’ll never really be alone.

And if you'd like to read the words of much better, published writers, check out the article here: 

https://www.nytimes.com/2020/05/13/style/coronavirus-modern-love-living-alone.html