The Light Bulb Moment Around the time that another round of my eggs were getting fertilized at the new IVF clinic, Meera was at home punishing herself for putting all of hers in one basket. For the last few weeks, Trevor had dangled the arrival of his mother, who was planning to visit from Nebraska, and promised that the two would meet. An introduction to her would be a big st ep, as Meera saw it, one that had convinced her things with Trevor were headed in the right direction. Until they weren’t. The day of the planned meetup, just after Meera had left work early to get a fresh blowout, Trevor texted her that he wasn’t feeling well. “I think we’re just gonna hang in tonight instead. Sorry, babe,” he added, with a frown face emoji. “I’ll find a way to make it up to you.” Only, he couldn’t. Trevor’s mom was only in town for the weekend, and no romantic dinner or gesture the following one would be an adequate substitute for what Meera deemed the metaphorical r epresentation of Trevor’s love: an introduction to the most important woman in his life. She didn’t wait long before booking a session with me. She was considering ending things with Trevor this time, and knew if she delayed acting on her hurt and frustration any longer, he’d find a way to gaslight her into believing their relationship still had potential. But now she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be convinced. A person on the receiving end of a breakup can react in one of two ways: they can break, or they can break away. “I’ll spread my wings and I’ll learn how to fly,” Kelly Clarkson wrote in her power ballad “Breakaway,” about leaving her hometown in order to pursue her music career. A fresh start can feel daunting, even insurmountable, but the reward at the end can be more than worth it. In Meera’s case, though, would mourning another failed relationship set her back? Or would this experience finally be what gave her wings to chase the kind of relationship she ultimately deserved? She implored me when we met up that afternoon to share all the negative things I wanted to say about Trevor but didn’t, because I’d been worried about sparing her feelings. I had plenty I could share but needed to tread lightly. If I said anything too harsh, only for those two to later get back together—a likely outcome if I were to go by her dating history—our coaching relationship could be compromised. So instead, I went with: “It’s becoming pretty clear he isn’t ready for a relationship.” It was an observation rather than a dig at his character. “He’s exactly who he’s been telling you he is—other than your intense second date with him, which was nearly six months ago at this point. You just haven’t been listening.” But she was listening now, so I continued. I told her that I didn’t think he was a malicious guy or stringing her along on purpose. Trevor, in all likelihood, was merely lost. And he was never going to figure out a future with Meera if he was still discovering what he wanted on his own. “I know it’s easier to hate him for that, but he’s probably dealing with his own baggage that he hasn’t sorted through yet, and is filtering everything through that lens. His canceling dinner probably had nothing to do with you—maybe he really was sick, or his mom wasn’t interested in meeting you, and he was embarrassed to say that.” “Do you think that’s it?” She perked up. I should have known better than to make possible excuses for him. I told her the reason wasn’t important. What was worth examining, however, was his inability to communicate that to her. He wasn’t thinking about how his actions impacted her, which is what anyone should want from a potential life partner. “So you’re saying he’s selfish.” She raised her eyebrows. “I’m saying he’s acting selfishly,” I corrected her. “And you
deserve a guy who’s going to be more attuned to your emotional needs. Regularly. Someone who recognizes the impact of their actions on other people. You want Trevor to change, and maybe he will one day: with lots of therapy, a great deal of selfawareness, and a desire to grow. But you can’t give him that. He has to want that for himself. And I’m not sure that’s a priority for him right now.” I wasn’t sure whether Meera had ever read He’s Just Not That into You or seen the film adaptation of it starring Ginnifer Goodwin. Either way, she wasn’t alone in believing that she could be the motivating factor for someone to change their fundamental nature. Like Ginnifer’s character in the movie, Meera believed she might be a man’s “exc eption.” But who wants to bank their twenties or thirties on being someone else’s exc eption? Wouldn’t you rather someone else be yours? To capitalize on Meera’s seeming willingness to move on, I threw out an exercise. I referenced our previous coaching session on red flags and asked her to verbalize Trevor’s. It was encouraging to hear her call him “intense” and “controlling,” and I was glad to hear her point out his inconsistent behavior, which had been the focus of our recent conversations. Still, she seemed unsure this was enough cause to give up on his potential. “Everyone has red flags, don’t they?” she asked almost hopefully. I cocked my head in partial agreement. Nobody is or could be perfect, and everyone has flaws they can work on. But some behaviors in the romantic sphere are more concerning than others, and once they’re pointed out, that person needs to be rec eptive to changing them. So far, though, Trevor hadn’t offered anything beyond empty promises. I also reminded her that breaking up with him was pointless if she was unwilling to address her own major red flag—something she jokingly alluded to in an earlier session—allowing someone to continue to treat her poorly without consequence. “Now don’t start thinking you’re perfect for each other, because you both have things you need to work on,” I said comically, wondering whether I actually might have read her mind. “Sometimes these journeys are best made s eparately.” Meera agreed, and to my great shock and comfort, she shared she was going to break up with Trevor later that night. At last we could focus on her healing, something that would provide so much comfort—to herself, and also to the special someone she hadn’t yet met. “You seem happy,” Kent commented during a session later that month. He was now firmly in the habit of commenting on my perceived emotional state every time we met. And once again, he wasn’t wrong. Dave and I had recently learned that our IVF round at the new clinic resulted in three healthy embryos. “I guess I am happy,” I offered, figuring if I acc epted his observation, rather than protest it, it would be easier to move on. I asked whether he was feeling the same. He said he felt “vindicated,” which to him was close enough. He’d recently ended things with the Gardener and doubled down on not wanting to date women who live outside a five-mile radius from him. “Michelle was perfect,” he continued, referring to the woman who briefly captured his attention. “But after a while, I wasn’t feeling she was worth the drive.” I exhaled slowly, pr eparing for what I knew would be an exasperating session. The Gardener, or rather “Michelle,” had sounded sweet but firm, and like someone who could ke ep up with him. I found it hard to understand why he wouldn’t be up for driving just a little bit farther to date someone he’d been uncharacteristically excited about. “I can try to give you local matches only moving forward,” I started, “but it’s also my job to level with you. The idea that your dream woman just happens to live in your neighborhood is unlikely, at best.” “Not according to Aziz Ansari.” He referenced a popular book the stand-up comedian wrote in 2015 along with the esteemed sociologist Eric Klinenberg. “Did you even read Modern Romance?” I asked him sk eptically. The book, one I love and recommend often, explores how
dating has e volved over generations, and raises the topic of the paradox of choice. Having so many options, in large part due to the existence of dating apps, has made settling down feel more like “settling.” Generations before us didn’t have this problem, since most people just dated in their own hometowns and cities—something Kent was advocating for. I would have admired this bold, more traditional approach to finding love had it been coming from a motive besides laziness. “Maybe I’m just an old geezer too set in his ways, and I’m better off alone.” I smiled softly, recalling the email from Dave where he shared a similar sentiment with me shortly before our first date. It was true Kent was older and used to his routine, but I was having a hard time believing that anyone who would fill out an extensive matchmaking intake, meet with me for an hour to share what he was looking for in a partner, and sign up for additional coaching sessions to have someone to unpack it all with, would be ready to just throw in the towel. Still, I wanted to give him the time and space to process his feelings surrounding his fatalistic conjecture. Unsurprisingly, Kent didn’t stay silent for long. “I’m just saying...,” he continued. “What if I already met the love of my life and I’m supposed to be punished forever for fucking it all up?” Oh. This was new, I thought. His feelings for Natasha are de eper than I realized. “Look,” I started, moving to the edge of my seat a bit, “if you really felt that connected to Natasha before, maybe there’s a way I can reach out to her and—” “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Kent interrupted, seemingly appalled by the very notion. “You think I’m talking about her?” “You’re not?” Who else could he be talking about? I wondered. “I’m looking for a woman with passion, remember? She told you what I said to her on our date, didn’t she?” I pursed my lips, amused. So he had known that Natasha had divulged his use of the L-word. The scamp. He explained that she was beautiful, her energy was great that night, and something just “took over” him on their date. “Hasn’t that ever happened to you before?” he asked, seeming certain it had. “Kent,” I leveled with him, “you say things out loud that most people just ke ep to themselves.” “We only live once, Jaydi. Why not shout ‘love’ from the rooftops if that’s what you’re feeling at the time?” “Well,” I answered calmly, “because if you’re really feeling love, it won’t just last a moment, will it?” Some relationship experts recommend “the Twenty-Four-Hour Rule” following times of conflict. The practice in volves providing yourself a window of time to process your emotions before reacting to a triggering situation with a partner. I believe this “rule” should also apply to intense positive feelings, such as the first time you think you feel love. Before you declare it to someone initially, I recommend waiting twenty-four hours. When you wake up the next morning, are you still feeling the same way? Or did that moment of passion pass? If it did, you’ve potentially spared your partner whiplash, and if it didn’t, your words will still hold weight the next day. Before giving Kent a lesson on this, I wanted to circle back to the aforementioned “love of [his] life,” something he otherwise would have glossed over. “I was talking hypothetically,” he corrected me when I brought her up again. “Sure.” I stared into Kent’s eyes, which were devoid of their usual sparkle of amusement. I’d been wanting to make progress with him for a while now, but always sensed there was something more he’d needed to move on from. I just didn’t realize it was a someone. I felt a strong desire to know everything about the woman who had such a grip on what I thought was his previously inaccessible heart. Like with Callie, I’d been so focused on helping him with his future that I hadn’t spent enough time pushing to uncover his past. I started to wonder whether this was another blind spot of mine. I usually tried ke eping conversations and advice focused on the present, believing that allowed for more immediate change (rather than indulging someone’s preoccupation with
their past, which was harder to alter). But the reality is that so much of who we are, and the decisions we make, are informed by ones we’ve made before. Kent had spoken about his ex-wife so disparagingly that I doubted he still harbored feelings of love toward her. So were we dealing with something unrequited then? Or had Kent been referencing The Notebook all along for a reason? I could tell he wasn’t ready to dive into that story today. But you better believe I was on a mission now to learn all about his Allie Hamilton.
Act Three