He Taught Me Mindfulness: Finding Calm in a Hectic Life

When I started dating older men, I totally thought my role would be to reduce stress in their lives. I was envisioning these high-strung businessmen who needed to blow off steam by spending their time with someone carefree and fun, like me. I even assumed that I would become something of a confidante: I pictured my future boyfriend calling me up at 2 am because he was working through a stressful merger and just needed to hear my voice.

As you can see, all very cinematic. All very self-aggrandizing. And ultimately, all very wrong.

Desmond, the first guy who reached out to me on the site, was just the kind of businessman I had been imagining, or so I thought.

He got to the riverside restaurant we had agreed to meet at early, and I saw him sitting alone as I was walking up to the hostess station. He had shown up straight from work, but had taken the time to change out of his suit into something equally smart if a little bit more casual. His hair was perfect. His skin, glowing. No undereye bags in sight. In short, he was well put together and seemed to radiate confidence and good energy. Even the way that he talked with the wait staff was easy and unhurried, as if he were a man totally at peace with his surroundings.

This is not what I was expecting at all.

In fact, his sense of calm kind of threw me for a loop. It was my own prejudice, for sure, but I was expecting someone grouchy and maybe a little bit scatterbrained because he was just coming for work. I had this whole vision of myself telling him that he could relax with me. I was going to make sure that we had a good time.

In reality, I was the messy one. I had gotten lost on the way to the date, so I showed up just barely on time and feeling sweaty and frazzled. When the hostess walked me to the table and told me to enjoy my meal, I said, “Thanks, you too.” The worst of it all, when Desmond reached out for a handshake, I assumed that he was going to kiss the top of my hand, so we ended up in this horribly awkward, twisted hand-holding thing.

I didn’t know what to say, so I said something about how he looked so much more put together than I expected. I kicked myself immediately, of course. I was messing this up from every which way.

“Sorry,” I backtracked. “I just mean that I usually look a lot more ragged at the end of a shift. And you look like you just got out of a spa.”

Desmond, luckily, just laughed.

“I get the feeling that maybe you’re kind of nervous?” he asked gently.

I sighed and let my shoulders slump.

“Hey, don’t worry about it. Let’s start over.” This man was unbelievably smooth. He waved the waitress over (who completely fawned over him the entire date, I couldn’t blame her) and asked her to bring us a bottle of wine.

“Okay,” he said as he was pouring me a glass, “Why don’t I tell you a little bit about myself and what I do and what I’m looking for in a relationship, and then you can be in the hot seat.”

He proceeded to tell me about his job (as a real estate developer), his plans for renovating his house, his dog, and his hobbies (surfing, yoga, and needlework, of all things). He also told me about what he wanted in a partner (someone who was low-key, a morning person like himself, who loved animals).

“And, that’s about all that’s interesting about me. Your turn, Opal.”

Even though I was feeling less nervous than at the beginning of the date, I still found myself tripping over my words as I told Desmond some random facts about myself without much rhyme or reason.

“I think I’m a morning person, but I do find myself scrolling my phone later than I want to on most nights, if I’m going to be honest. I work part-time at a nail salon. I like dogs, but I’m afraid of some of them. I would love to have one myself, but I don’t feel like I have the time. I take care of my niece a lot. Oh, and I guess something interesting about me is that my mom named me Opal, but my favorite color is turquoise.”

By the time I trailed off, I felt like Desmond’s eyes were glazing over. I expected that we might not have a second date after the way that I was messing this up.

“Hmm,” Desmond said, taking the reins of the conversation back (thank goodness), “It kind of sounds like you’ve got a lot going on. What are some of the things you do to deal with stress?”

I tried making a joke out of chugging the remaining wine in my glass, as if I relied on alcohol to help with the stress.

“No, no,” I tried clarifying when the joke didn’t land. “I guess I do what normal people do. I distract myself on social media. I watch TV. I talk to my friends about it. But then, I guess I feel worse because I feel like I’ve wasted my time instead of doing something productive.”

“Do you ever try disconnecting from technology and, I don’t know, meditating or doing yoga or taking a walk outside?”

From anyone else, this question might have come off as condescending, but there seemed to be genuine concern in Desmond’s voice. I appreciated that.

I told him that I had never tried meditating or journaling or anything like that.

“My parents were of the mindset that if you have time for being stressed out, it’s because you’re not doing enough with your life. Immigrants, you know.”

Desmond laughed at this. “I understand. I come from immigrant parents, too. I had to do a lot of counterconditioning to get to a place where I prioritized my mental health over their expectations. And once I did that, it changed my life. And ultimately, I was able to get to a place that would make them proud. But I had to do it my way, not theirs.”

‘Wow, that’s really inspiring,” I said. I could feel myself relaxing in a way that I hadn’t in a long, long time. Coming into this date, I expected that it might feel like work. But now, I didn’t want it to end.

As we were wrapping up and Desmond asked for the check, he said, “Now look, Opal, we’re still getting to know each other, so I think I need some more time to decide whether this is going to work long term. And I want to be honest, so I’m not saying this to hurt your feelings. But, I think, if we’re going to be spending time together, I want to see that you’re taking some steps to calm that inner monologue that’s going on in there. I’m not saying that you’re doing anything wrong. I just think that you haven’t learned the skills to slow down and be present. And I don’t want to feel like I’m spending our dates trying to follow the thread. Is this making sense?” The realization hit me like a pile of bricks. But I understood completely. I thought that I was going to be this zen goddess, and really, I was like this whirlwind of nerves around Desmond.

I asked if he had any suggestions.

“Well,” he said, “Why don’t we have our next date at a meditation class? And in the meantime, maybe you can look into mindfulness and whether that might be something you can implement in your daily life.”

Now, I get that it can come off as kind of cringeworthy to take on a whole mindful meditation persona just for a guy. But, I have to be honest when I say that the suggestions that Desmond made really did change my life. Independent of him, I started taking yoga, and I made conscious efforts to reduce my screentime. When I wanted to call up a friend just to chat, I started suggesting that we go for a walk together, and that led to more intimate conversations.

I realized, little by little, just how much I was letting life string me along willy-nilly instead of being more intentional with my attention and my time. Desmond and I started scheduling meditation classes every other week, and sometimes we would even start off a date with a five-minute meditation in the parking lot before walking into a restaurant or a movie.

Maybe it sounds woo-woo, but I don’t care. Desmond gives me a lot, but hands down, the most valuable thing he’s given me is the push I needed to dig my heels into the ground and start living my life at a slower pace.

Now, I’m not afraid of a first date or a job interview or anything. That’s not to say that life is all of a sudden stress-free, but I’m in a much better position to face the stress with a clear mind.