Date with Denver

Last year I went on a date in Denver.

I walked 3 blocks after dark to a warm brewery and ordered whatever cider they had on tap.

Our meeting time came and passed without a word and when I saw that his Tinder profile had him marked at 10 or so miles away I gathered that I was being stood up. Turns out, it was worse than that. He simply hadn’t left work yet and was still on the other side of town.

Regret bubbled in my chest when I didn’t tell him to screw off (trusting my own ideas of how to spend the evening) and instead agreed to wait another half hour for him. I sipped my drink in silence in a corner counting the minutes to his delayed ETA. Anxiety and nervousness danced in my gut. This was my first date in 9 months, and only my third date of the entire year.

Having spent most of my life single, social independence is my default state. Simultaneously, I have never quite mastered the art of stepping out alone. This haphazardly planned trip to a city that seemed to call to my soul when all else was abandoning me was a significant exercise in courage.

Seeking out a date during my time in the city wasn’t exactly a search for love, nor was it for fleeting companionship. It was an intentional step into discomfort. This was far from my comfort-zone. (Which had been left with my bra and my blanket at the AirBnB.) Twenty twenty-three was a year dedicated to stepping out on my own and expanding that comfort-zone. And this date was definitive intentional expansion.

When he finally arrived I was unsurprised to find that he had lied about his height. He, oddly enough, was surprised to find that I hadn’t. He immediately “took charge” to assure me he knew this part of the city better than me, and insisted we check out a little Mexican place nearby because the bar I had chosen didn’t have food. I considered arguing this point (as I was making eye-contact with the slew of food-trucks gathered along the brewery’s patio) but decided to follow his lead.

As it turns out, my 20 minutes of googling this part of the city before traveling had given me substantially more familiarity with the options nearby than his living a few minutes away his entire life had. After attempting 3 different restaurants within four blocks we finally found one with a wait time of less than two hours. Who would have guessed that 8pm on a Friday night in RiNo would be busy? (Certainly not my date, who clearly knew the area so well.)

Against my better judgement (once again) I let him lead me on a walk in circles around the nearby poorly lit neighborhood as we waited for our table to be ready. My fingers began to numb in the pockets of my leather jacket despite my gloves, and the scarf wrapped around my cheeks fought valiantly to protect me from the crisp November chill. We made small-talk as we walked.

(While I want to claim he had no personality, it is more fair to say that his nervousness combined with my ire at the disaster of planning influenced my ability to get to know the person next to me. It was doomed from the beginning. For this, I do feel sorry. The tidbits of his life that I do remember him sharing hint at his being a truly thoughtful and kind person, undeserving of the cynicism my heart was swaddled in.)

After a mediocre and over-priced dinner he offered to check out a nearby cocktail bar, and at this point I was “in it for the plot”, as I knew my co-workers thrived off of my dating stories and had had quite the drought this year. So I went along.

I don’t remember the name of this bar, but I do remember that all thought of proper conversation vacated my mind when I spotted the taxidermy raccoon on the wall. It wore a turban and his hands hovered over a crystal ball. (Which upon closer inspection turned out to be a disco ball.) Our experience here was entirely awkward, and I truly don’t remember whatever conversation was made.

Once we were done I nodded a goodbye and walked the 5 or 6 blocks back to where I was staying alone. He never followed-up to ensure I made it back safely. Admittedly, I was more comfortable that way than if he had offered to walk me, and I was glad not to have to expend what little remained of my energy on further small-talk.

When I finally settled into a hot bath after getting back I was certain of three things. First, that I shouldn’t have agreed to let him meet me after he was late. Second, that I am truly bad at small-talk. And third, that this city welcomed me. It is difficult to put words to it, but I realized that as I allowed this man to lead me around I had an instinctual feeling that he was leading me around my own hometown.

I don’t know that city life will ever truly be for me, as my heart longs for nature. Even still, something happened to my heart when I was in Colorado. The mountains, hot springs, crisp nights, art installations, and apothecaries welcomed me home as I passed through.

Twenty twenty-four has tossed me into the air destroying all but a few ties that keep me in Orlando. I do not know where I will land in twenty twenty-five, and I cannot confidently say Colorado will become my next forwarding address, but I know that my date with Denver has expanded my view of the possibilities.