I’ve written a lot recently about the importance of balance. Life has a funny way of giving us opportunities to practice what we preach.
Last week, I had one of those opportunities.
I matched with a woman on a dating app on Sunday. We hit it off almost immediately. We chatted for a while that day, and on Monday morning she gave me her phone number and invited me out for coffee or a beer. We compared schedules, found a time that worked, and agreed to meet that evening.
I got to the restaurant a little early and grabbed us a table. She arrived right on time.
Something felt a little off at first.
She seemed hesitant to order food, and I got the impression she might not be planning to stay very long. Even so, the conversation flowed naturally. We laughed. We found things in common. Then she looked at me and said, “You’re really cute. Are you really 48?”
I won’t lie. That felt pretty good.
The Surprise
Eventually the conversation turned to our kids. She has a daughter about a year older than mine, and they even attend the same school. We started talking about teaching teenagers to drive, and I mentioned that it was all new to me because I’d never driven.
She asked why.
I smiled and asked, “Do you realize I’m blind?”
She gasped.
“No.”
That surprised me.
My main profile picture is of me with my guide dog, Kronos, wearing his harness. Several of my other photos include Kronos in harness or me holding my white cane. I don’t explicitly mention being blind in my profile because the app only gives you 500 characters. Space is limited, and I’d rather spend those precious words talking about who I am than listing my disability.
She laughed and said she’d been so focused on how cute I was that she hadn’t really noticed the dog.
I’ll take that compliment.
I asked whether my blindness was a problem for her.
She said no.
She asked me a few questions about it, and then we moved on to talking about music, our kids, life, dreams, and everything else people talk about when they’re discovering one another.
Three hours passed before either of us realized it.
By the end of the evening we’d kissed several times.
When we said goodnight, I asked when she was free again.
“Wednesday after 6:30,” she said enthusiastically.
We made plans.
Flowers in a Coke Bottle
Tuesday was easy.
We texted throughout the day and for nearly an hour before bed. Before we said good night, I confirmed that we were still on for Wednesday.
Wednesday morning we exchanged a few more messages, and she mentioned she’d make me a late dinner.
I had a doctor’s appointment that morning. On the way home, I stopped at the grocery store and bought her flowers.
Nothing extravagant.
Just a simple bouquet.
I thought it would be a nice gesture for a second date.
When I got home, I discovered I couldn’t find a vase, so I put the flowers into a glass Coca-Cola bottle. I collect Coke memorabilia, so somehow it felt even more personal than a vase would have.
I was excited.
Around lunchtime she texted.
She said she was sorry, but she needed to cancel because she had to work late.
Something about that didn’t quite make sense to me. She’s a teacher and school is out for the summer. She teaches piano lessons during the summer, but it didn’t seem like the kind of job where you’d suddenly have to stay unexpectedly late.
Still, life happens.
So I asked whether she’d like to reschedule now or another time.
“Another time,” she replied.
That answer left me wondering.
I asked whether I should interpret that as, “I’m not interested,” or, “I’m interested, but I really can’t today.”
She replied that she truly did have to work late.
So I thanked her, wished her a good day, told her I was still interested, and said I hoped we’d get together soon.
She reacted to that message with a heart.
Later that evening I sent her a short text.
The next morning I sent a simple “Good morning.”
She read both messages.
She didn’t respond.
An Unexpected Twist
Just when I thought I’d reached my conclusion, the story took another turn.
After a full day of silence, she reached out again.
We had a really nice text conversation for about an hour. Suddenly I found myself wondering whether I’d completely misread the situation.
Clear communication is especially important to me. That’s true in part because I’m blind, and also because many neurodivergent people—including me—often do better when people communicate directly instead of expecting us to read between the lines.
Maybe I’d jumped to the wrong conclusion.
During that conversation we agreed to talk on the phone later that evening.
I called.
She didn’t answer.
She didn’t return my call.
She didn’t send a text apologizing for missing it.
The next morning I sent another simple “Good morning.”
She read it.
She didn’t respond.
At that point I stopped trying to figure out what she meant.
Maybe she really did have something unexpected come up.
Maybe she decided she wasn’t interested and didn’t want to hurt my feelings.
Maybe dating a blind person wasn’t something she ultimately wanted.
Maybe it had nothing to do with blindness, or even me, at all.
The truth is, I don’t know.
And unless she decides to tell me someday, I probably never will.
Sometimes the Lesson Isn’t About Them
Honestly, after that I was ready to take a break from online dating.
Being vulnerable is exhausting. Every first date comes with hope. Every disappointment asks you to decide whether you’re willing to risk hoping again.
Then, while I was eating breakfast on Saturday morning, another match appeared.
I almost didn’t respond.
Part of me wanted to avoid another disappointment. Another part of me didn’t want to reject someone else simply because I was afraid of being rejected again.
So I said hello.
We’ve been chatting for the last few days.
The communication has been easy.
We’ve moved onto phone calls.
We have our first date tomorrow.
We’re both nervous and excited.
Will it become a relationship?
I have absolutely no idea.
And that’s really not the point.
The point is that before we find the right person, we almost always have to meet a lot of people who aren’t.
The hard part is that many of the wrong people seem like the right person at first.
That’s what makes it hurt.
Learning What I Need
Every relationship, even the ones that never really become relationships, teaches us something.
This one taught me something important about myself.
I’ve learned that I need clear and consistent communication.
I don’t need someone to respond instantly to every text message. People have lives. They get busy. Sometimes they simply aren’t in the mood to talk.
But if I don’t hear from someone for a day or two without any explanation, I start wondering whether they’re pulling away. I start feeling rejected.
That isn’t just true in dating.
It’s true with friends, too.
Of course, sometimes there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation. Emergencies happen. Life gets chaotic. I’d rather know ahead of time if possible, but I also understand that isn’t always realistic.
I’ve also realized that I haven’t always communicated as clearly as I’d like, either.
That’s something I’m actively working on.
I hope people will extend me the same grace I’m trying to extend them.
I’m also learning that it’s okay not to be ashamed of my wants and needs. For a long time I worried that asking for clear communication made me needy. I don’t believe that anymore. There’s a difference between asking for something and demanding it.
Balance, Again
This experience brought me right back to where I started: balance.
Giving people the benefit of the doubt is a good thing.
So is recognizing when continuing to give someone the benefit of the doubt is becoming painful.
Neither extreme serves us very well.
I don’t want to assume the worst about people.
I also don’t want to keep explaining away behavior that leaves me feeling confused, anxious, or unimportant.
Balance means holding both ideas at the same time.
Maybe there was a reason.
Maybe there wasn’t.
Either way, I’m allowed to decide that clear, regular communication is something I need in a relationship.
I’m learning to express disappointment without blaming someone else for it.
I’m learning to say what I need while respecting another person’s right to say no.
I’m learning that every experience—even the disappointing ones—is teaching me something if I’m willing to pay attention.
These aren’t easy lessons.
They’re often uncomfortable.
Sometimes they hurt.
But they’re a lot like exercise.
Too much at once can leave you injured.
The right amount, though, makes you stronger.
Every disappointment stretches us a little. Every difficult conversation builds emotional strength. Every relationship, whether it lasts three hours or thirty years, teaches us something about ourselves if we’re willing to learn.
Your Turn
How do you work through rejection?
What have disappointments taught you about yourself?
What advice do you give yourself when you’re hurting? Is it the same advice you’d give your best friend?
I’d genuinely love to hear your thoughts.
Leave a comment below. If you’re subscribed to my email newsletter, you can simply reply to the email to join the discussion.
And if you think someone in your life needs this reminder today, please share this post with them. Forward the email, send them the link, or tell them about Permission to Be You.
Thank you for reading.
Leave a Reply