I'm driving to meet someone in a restaurant across town in a carefully selected semi–casual outfit. My hint of nervousness inspires an impromptu prayer, "God, please give us good fellowship and conversation. Help us to hit it off, and if we don't to just get through this lunch OK and part ways peacefully. Thanks for this new relationship possibility."
When I arrive at the agreed–upon time and place, I check my lipstick in my rearview mirror and affix a hopeful smile. Then I wander into the diner to meet … Christine.
I met Christine a month prior in a membership class at my church. I'd taken one of the few empty seats next to her, and during the break in our hours–long meeting had struck up a conversation in which I discovered she's a fellow singleton and an English prof at a nearby Christian college (a fellow word nerd!).
We'd exchanged business cards for possible professional connections. But that next week I found myself e–mailing her a tentative and carefully worded e–mail:
Christine–
It was great meeting you at church last weekend. I enjoyed our conversation and was thinking it would be fun to meet for lunch sometime. Let me know if you're interested and, if so, when you might be free.
Thanks!
–Camerin
Then I pressed send with a bit of trepidation, hoping these overtures of friendship wouldn't be interpreted as stalker–ish or, worse yet, gay.
Just weeks before, I'd joked with a couple of single friends at work about how pursuing friendship at this age, especially as a single person, feels not so unlike asking someone on a date. You have to somehow get the person's contact info, then achieve the appropriate level of breeziness in a phone call or e–mail invite. Then, if the person agrees to get together, there's the hope you'll have good conversational chemistry and won't spend the entire hour over sandwiches or mochas staring at one another in awkward silence. Is the friend–potential open to new relationships or suffering from a too–full roster? If it's a work contact, does he believe in keeping work and social life separate? If the person thinks you're a goober, will it be weird every time you run into her at church?
I've seen articles written on this phenomenon that have coined new phrases like the "girl crush" or the "man date." While it's interesting to read about this phenomenon, and to know I'm not alone in my fumbling attempts at new friendship, I also roll my eyes at such labels. They all feel like they're exacerbating the issue, making much ado about next–to–nothing.
But then I watch another close friend move out of state or meet another word–loving, large–living, Christ–emulating woman at a conference and wonder if she'd be a fun addition to my friend roster and how on earth to get her there without seeming freakish.
Let's face it, maintaining community as a single person in our transient, independence–loving, I–can–do–everything–from–grocery–shopping–to–date–finding–in–the–comfort–of–my–own–home society isn't easy. As I watch friendships fade or disappear altogether into inter–state moves, marriage, or parenthood, I scan my relational horizon for replacements. And this side of classrooms and dorm living, I don't meet those potential replacements just every day. So when one seems to cross my path, I feel compelled to act. To risk giving my business card or even a "we should do coffee sometime." And this can feel downright risky for borderline–introvert me.
A few months ago I took such a risk with a woman at a local singles conference. After my initial you–seem–cool, I–promise–I'm–not–a–stalker, let's–meet–for–lunch e–mail, we've since met for dinner twice and coffee once and she recently included me in her blanket e–mail invite to a roller derby and her upcoming birthday bash. Who knows what other friend potential may be lurking in the other folks at these events?
