Elle Potter

I don’t know that I’d recommend speed-dating.

Speed dating.  It sounded like a really great idea at the time.

My friend and I arrived at the wine bar just a few minutes early, having precisely calculated the timing of our entrance as neither fashionably late nor desperately early.  The second we walked through the door, my heart sunk and I very seriously considered turning on my heel and exiting the building immediately.  But because I could feel my friend thinking the same thing, I was determined to prove that this was, after all, a good idea.

There were about twenty women in the room and half a dozen men.  And by “men,” I mean a rag-tag mish-mosh of what I only hoped was a practical joke.  We got our nametags and seat number assignments and made our way to the long table with the other women.  At 7pm, the men began to migrate over to sit across from each of us.  And then it began.

The ad for the speed date, which had promised the participants would all be between the ages 25 – 35, was sorely mistaken, but I chit-chatted amiably enough with each of them no matter what jokes my inner sarcasm was cracking.  One man in a Cosby sweater told me he was a musician; my friend told me later that I had misheard him and he was, in fact, a magician.  My favorite suitor was a charmingly effeminate man from San Francisco who, at barely five-foot, I wanted to carry around in my pocket.

Conversation was, for the most part, awkward and rehearsed, but I managed well enough.  If a gentleman began rambling on or if I couldn’t hear what he was saying anyway, I adopted a smile-and-nod system while I eavesdropped on the couples to either side of me.

A man with what was quite possibly a fake New Zealand accent really grilled me with questions.  He asked me what I wanted to do with my life, if I could do anything.  I told him I wanted to travel.  He asked about the traveling I had already done and I told him most of it had been done on my own.

“But don’t you want someone to travel with?” he asked, pronouncing travel, ‘treevull.’

Immediately realizing I wasn’t giving the right answers for someone looking for a partner, I replied, “Nope.  I enjoy getting to know myself.”  He pulled back from the table and smiled at me piteously, and I was very aware of some twenty years between us.

“Well, I can see that.  And I’ll tell you, when I was in my twenties I did a lot of travelling alone.  I have been to some of the most beautiful places in the world.  But eventually, it gets tiring, not having someone to turn to and share the sights with.  You’ll see.”  I smiled politely, squaring my chin to stubbornly take hold of my ground.

“I can appreciate that,” I allowed.  “But it’s not important to me to share it with anyone quite yet.”

That conversation roared in my head while I was in Italy.  Each morning, my friend Dennis and I would wake up and get breakfast before he left for work.  I would go back to the room and read, shower, do some yoga, and go back downstairs for another round of breakfast.  The days would be spent meandering around the portico-covered streets of Bologna, sometimes stopping in for gelato, sometimes walking for four hours into the countryside to catch some fresh air.

As much as I love my independence and enjoy travelling alone so I can enjoy quiet and solitude and the power of being in charge of making my own decisions, I really did begin to miss some company.  For example, my desire to have my sister along by my side would be so strong at times that it was almost as if I could feel a hole in the air beside me where I wanted her to be.  There were boutiques I wished my cousin was with me at and cafes where I wanted to have an espresso and a pastry with one of my girlfriends.

My greatest passion has always been to travel, to explore and to have adventures.  I used to always think it was mine, and mine alone.  I feared the experience would be ruined if I shared it, and there have been times in my life where people I loved didn’t share that same passion.  And so traveling became a choice – either I could have a boyfriend or I could travel.  I could never have both.

Now I realize that I don’t need a traveling boyfriend.  I have other people, much more important people in my life that I want to travel with – and who want to travel with me.  I have already been blessed with the opportunity to travel and visit and adventure with a handful of incredible beings.  I cannot wait to continue to share those experiences with them and also with the other people I hold so near and dear to my heart.

The conversation with that man at the speed date kept playing back in my head whenever I felt the lack of presence of a loved one on my solo day-adventures in Italy.  I think I understand now better what point he was trying to make.  Not that I needed a man to travel with me, which is how I took it and thus became defensive.  Rather, the point of seeing the world is being able to share that experience with someone – anyone – that you love.

Tags: speed dating, travel buddies, world travel