We exchanged emails everyday for thirty days. We talked infrequently over the phone and we, with a small sense of trepidation, embarked on a journey which would forever change us both. Each day after work, I plopped myself down on my bed, waited for my dial-up to chug along and eventually log me onto the AOL account I had at the time. My hands sweaty with anticipation and my heart overcome with fear what if she hadn't emailed me?
It was 2007 when we met, long before high-speed internet proved to be "the thing." We met on a dating website which was exclusively reserved for gay/lesbian individuals seeking to connect, meet, and potentially find a forever partner. When I created a profile, I didn't even know what I wanted. I'd been told countless times that my interest in women wasn't normal. But I knew at the age of 16 I was a lesbian. I knew that much but I was unsure if I wanted to commit to anyone at that point in my life, by the time I'd logged onto the internet to find a date. Then, it felt a little desperate yet safe to look for a date online. I continued with the registration process and created my profile.
I wanted to feel special and to me, going on dates and treating myself to a good meal and good conversation would do just that, make me feel special. Over the course of the days and months which followed, my perusing of profile after profile of women who spanned a variety states, ethnicities and ages, I kept returning to this one profile. Her profile photo lit up my screen and the warmth of her smile grabbed at my soul. Her words, a quote from the Bible, worried me a little bit. I wasn't religious. I couldn't recite a portion of the Bible even after growing up as a Baptist and spending every Sunday in Sunday School followed by two hours of church. Her words still were simple. She was genuine and honest. She was normal and seemed uncomplicated by her past or confused about who she was or what she wanted.
I thought many times that maybe I wasn't right for her.
But still, we met. One day in September, accompanied by a cool crisp breeze, we spent the day together in New York City. We navigated through conversation over brunch, shared pieces of ourselves over waffles and eggs benedict, and eased into a sense of vulnerability unlike our email exchanges had. I hadn't come down from the high of reading her emails as we sat across from one another, sharing our hopes and dreams of our future. We spoke openly about our families and left all on the table in lower Manhattan. We ended our lunch and walked the grimy streets of New York, as I stepped over every peculiar yellow liquid, I could not help but wonder how this date would end. I grew up in suburbia on eastern Long Island, she in Sri Lanka. Growing up, New York City seemed like another country to me. For her, it was home, at least temporarily as she grew into her own, away from her family and defined normal for herself.
I yearned for some semblance of normalcy away from my family too. And maybe, just maybe, I hoped on our first date she would help me feel more normal, help me define it for myself. I shared with her my past and my hopes for my future. She did the same. I told her of my love for writing. She told me of her love for religion. We admitted we both had insecurities about our appearance. She told me of her travels alone to Spain, Portugal and Egypt and how she wanted to travel more. I'd not left the country. She told me she felt her calling was to be a priest. I told her my calling was to be a writer. We both loved working with kids. She was a sixth grade teacher when we met. I worked in youth development. She wanted to adopt one child. I was raising my half brother as my own after my mother died. But I wanted to have a biological child of my own too and create a sense familial stability I'd longed for and experience my kind of normal.
Our first date lasted twelve hours. We talked and talked and talked some more underneath a large Oak Tree in Central Park. Our date ended and began underneath that tree. I shared with her so much during our first day of meeting. She gave me so much to think about. What kind of life did I want for myself? Who did I want to share my life with? She reminded me I was capable of so much more than I ever thought possible. She reminded me that I didn't have to experience this life alone which is how I'd felt for much of my life.
I feel like we are very much still on our first date. We got married in 2011 and now have three children. She's given me more than the ability to feel normal and we live it each and every day. The unconditional love we have, even through our growing pains, is a reminder that normal is what we make it. I love her and the life we've created together. She loves me as I am, baggage and all. I love her, baggage and all. We've very much joined our "baggage" and understand it does not need to define us or our future. We teach our kids that love is beautiful, it is colorless, and crosses all boundaries. It is honest, forgiving and takes work.
Being "normal" is defined not only by our experience in this life but changes each day.