The Love of My Life

The Love of My Life

          As we wing our way back to New York from Ireland, I am seated across the aisle from Kim, my wife of twelve and a half years and the love of my life for fourteen years.  As I look at her sleeping with her headphones on, she looks like any other person curled up in a row of ten business class sleeper seats.  I am reminded of that powerful Jeremy Irons movie, Damage, where Irons bankrupts his entire life (family, emotional, professional, reputational) all for a woman.  He spots her years later in an airport and comments that she looks like any other woman, the point being that it’s impossible to explain or rationalize the impact some people have on your life at a moment in time.  That was a horribly negative impact and not at all like what Kim has done to my life, but the idea is the same.  It cannot be explained or rationalized.  Love can be dissected and described, but it cannot be explained.

          I met Kim in a chance encounter. We met on match.com, but that alone is not so different these days.  She had recently discontinued her membership when I joined.  Something in the teaser email enticing her to rejoin and send me a message even though her profile was not online.  Something in her message and then in her voice made me ignore the unique circumstances of what was truly a blind match.com date.  But even more serendipitous, I cut short a day-trip to Hopewell Junction where I was golfing and visiting with my college friend to take her to dinner. 

          Just think about all the coincident things that happened to make that all so.  Those are butterfly wings on the other side of the world, rippling the forces of nature for us to meet.  Me signing up for 48 hours on match.  Her seeing the teaser. Her taking the initiative to send a note.  Me being a very responsive match.com participant.  My liking her voice sight unseen.  My feeling I had enough golf and swimming and would make the effort to return in time for a date.  Her agreeing to the last-minute date and being available. Both Kim and I wanted a good relationship and there is something about that name Hopewell that I cannot completely ignore either.

          I pulled up on West 46th Street in Hell’s Kitchen and buzzed her apartment.  She lived in a shared 6th Floor walk-up and said she would be right down.  I’m not sure if it was unchivalrous to not insist on walking up six flights, but I will admit that not having to do so put me in a distinctly better mood I am certain.  Taking someone in Manhattan on a date and picking them up in a car is probably a bit strange, but it was all working so far.  We made small talk heading down to Tribeca where I had booked a table at a restaurant on 10th Avenue called PARK.  It was a converted parking garage and was reasonably hip (certainly by my standards).

          I can distinctly remember sitting across the table from Kim that evening.  I don’t remember what we ordered or what we specifically discussed, but I was staring at her face and feeling that thunderstruck feeling when you know something special is happening.  She was the most beautiful woman I had ever seen in my life and I told her so even though it probably struck her like a line.  I can only liken it to the feeling one gets when one first looks at their newborn child.  There is a hormonal reaction that rushes chemicals into the brain and make you think your child is so much more handsome or pretty than any other in the world.  It is an honest assessment, but it is highly influenced by your brain chemistry.  Well, Kim is a strikingly beautiful woman (one who I find gets better and better looking every day) and that is as close to an objective assessment as I can get.  But that night at that restaurant in my eyes, she was the most beautiful woman that God had ever created.  No exaggeration.  Perhaps excessive brain chemistry, but no exaggeration.

          I liked that she laughed easily.  I liked that she seemed very with-it and well-informed (from current events to pop culture).  I liked that she did not seem to be anything but genuine.  She ordered what she liked and ate heartily, right down to and including dessert.  If looking at her engaged me raptly, listening to her and conversing with her made me fall instantly in love with her.  This was a woman to make a life with.

          While driving her home, I stopped at a green light.  I could claim that it was because I was so enthralled with her, but the truth is that when I’m talking with someone and not paying enough attention, it’s something I do.  At least I don’t go on red.  Nevertheless, I could tell she thought it was a little weird.

          We had talked about living in various parts of the City and she was very curious about the South Street Seaport.  So, on a lark, I said let’s go to my apartment and I’ll show you what it’s like.  I know what this sounds like, but it was less about making a play for her that night (I had already decided that I was going to be far more strategic than that), and more about showing her that I was not just some schlub who didn’t care about where or how he lived.  I was very proud of my apartment and I thought it would reflect well of me.  It also occurred to me that if I had her in my apartment and I didn’t bust a move, that too would speak well of my intentions.  To make this all sound plausible, I did not put my car in the garage, but just pulled it up in front of the building knowing it would be fine there for 10/15 minutes.  It did occur to me that she would take some comfort in that, but to be honest, she did not seem too concerned about me (other than the green light trick) anyway.

          It is very hard for someone that prides himself in being expressive to admit that I have a hard time expressing how much I love Kim.  She has brought so much meaning and joy to my life that my cup runneth over.  And here’s the thing, everyone sees it.  I don’t just mean that they see how happy I am with her, which they do.  It’s that they get it.  People who just meet her for the first time or people who have known her for a while will just tell me unprompted that she is the most wonderful person they have met and that I am so very lucky to have her in my life.  I find that extraordinary.  I have met plenty of friend’s wives and liked them a lot, but I have never felt compelled to say something so over-the-top about them.

          All this reminds me every day that I am a lucky man to have found the love of my life.