Is it possible to have the marriage of your dreams? Are you a husband wishing you were appreciated? A wife wishing you felt loved? What if I told you that true love and soulmates can and do exist? Would you roll your eyes? That’s what I did when people mentioned it.

I remember doing a cleaning estimate in the home of an elderly couple, Elsie and Jim. I always asked our potential clients to walk us from room to room and tell us what they expect, and I would, in turn, tell them what we would do as I would reach up and rub a finger across the top of the door frame, checking to see how much dust was up there. I had a notebook and a pen, writing down each room we entered and anything I noted, and anything they specifically mentioned. It was a modest home in an older neighborhood that was once home to the upper middle class. The home’s original layout was smaller, with add-ons like a step-down den with an attached, closed-in sunroom. The trees no longer let the sun in. The furniture and decor were what you would expect for someone in their 80’s. Their house was not dirty by any stretch of the imagination, but they were not able to keep up with the cleaning, as their eyes and muscles just were not up to the task. Elsie was walking us from room to room, explaining what she expected and asking if we did certain things. She went on to tell me how she found out about us, which ensured her a discount. When we reached the formal living room, we found metal sculptures throughout the space. Unique and clearly custom-made. Elsie could see I was looking at them with intrigue. I always like creativity, and she began to boast about how Mr. Jim had handcrafted them. She was so proud of these unusual, out-of-style, out-of-character art pieces.

“Jim had a welding hobby, making ornamental iron and porch rails. Every time he would do a project, he would make me a sculpture and bring it home. I told him he had to stop making them because I was running out of room. But it sure is the sweetest thing.”

I looked up. She was right, she didn’t have room for any more. When she told me of the ways he showed her love, I had to admit I was a little jealous, seeing as I was married to a self-centered, non-affectionate man. There were never birthday cards, anniversary cards, or even Valentine’s. No, those were holidays for him to have a rage because he felt like I expected him to do something, and since I expected it, he refused. I didn’t receive anything on any other day of the year, either.

“Wow, that is so cool! How long have you guys been married?”

“Sixty years.”

When I heard those words, I stopped and felt like something pushed me back. How? That is more years than I had been alive, and I was surprised. I could not recall knowing anyone else who had been married that long. My parents were approaching 50 years of marriage. How in the world can you be with and live with someone that long? There is no way. One of us might kill the other first, and I was sure he’d be the one to do it to me.

She immediately answered without hesitation, “I married my best friend.”

That was that. Nothing more.

I hope she could not see the cynicism in my response,

“Oh, that’s awesome.”

But boy, did it get me thinking. Really? Are you telling me you guys actually like each other? That is incredible, and oh my god. We are doomed. I can’t stand him, and he can’t stand me. Friends? Absolutely not. Whenever there was a fight, he would announce, “I am not your enemy,” but it sure felt like he was. If he wasn’t my enemy, and he wasn’t my friend, then what was he? What would you call it?

We definitely were NOT best friends, and we were struggling to be friends, but more like acquaintances. I could not stand being around him; we had nothing in common. We were complete opposites. Whoever said opposites attract failed to add “misery.” Opposites attract misery. I desperately wanted to marry my best friend, but that had long since left the table. I do not remember a single moment we were friends. The closest we came was that my best friend and his best friend were siblings, and we were friends through friends.

After that meeting, I determined to do my best to make my husband my best friend. But how do you do that? Quick disclaimer: You don’t. I will spare you the sickening ways I tried because this particular article is not about my ex.

“Mom, you need to start dating.”

It was good to hear those words. I was afraid of what my kids might think when they found out that I was on a dating app. Yes, I used a dating app because I had been so sheltered that I had no idea how to meet people. And I was not interested in going to bars. I had long left the formal setting of church, and quite honestly, I was not interested in getting back into religious control. I wanted to stay as far away from “god-fearing-church-going men” (read my other memoir material, and you’ll understand why).

During my divorce, I kept Natasha Bedingfield’s songs “Soulmate” and “Unwritten” on repeat. Those were my jam. I played them over and over. They were a lifeline to me.

I purchased a membership to the Zoosk Dating App, figuring that if I used the paid version, it would weed out the guys looking for a booty call. On the app, you can check boxes of what kind of person you do or do not want. Then they would show you a photo and a little bio. It wasn’t too hard to narrow it down. I was certainly aware of what I did not like. And I was exploring ideas of what I did want. I did not want to be with someone in my own town, but left it open just in case. My parents live 2 hours away, so I was hoping for a guy nearby them.

I put in my bio that I was not looking for a marriage or long-term commitment. I just wanted adult companionship, someone to hang out with occasionally. There were two guys from Crosset. One of them had a son, and he made it clear he was looking for a mother for his boy. He was a love bomber and came on so fast and furious that it made me sick. It was too much, too soon, so I stopped conversations with him quickly. The other guy in Crosset had a working relationship with his ex and never wanted to leave her in the first place. It was apparent he was still in love with her, and I sure did not want to start a love triangle. There was the guy in El Dorado who wanted someone a little younger, a party girl. He was not my type at all. And then there was the guy who took me on my first date after the divorce. I do not remember where he was from or what his name was. I don’t recall any of their names, for that matter. Our date included Geocaching and dinner. He was a dirt bike rider, and although he was kind, we had nothing in common. We agreed to keep in touch, but we both knew we wouldn’t, and didn’t.

I did not get discouraged, as I kept seeing the face of this guy from Hot Springs. There was something about him that intrigued me; he looked like a Guru. Maybe it was his profile picture. He was squatting in a field of pansies, yet his face was fierce, not threatening. It was confident. I thought, if a man is willing to take a photo in a field of flowers, he must be pretty harmless. So we started a conversation in the app. We had several things in common, including poetry. The only thing that scared me about him was that the church still had a place in his life. I wasn’t opposed to church, but it had to be the right one.

We never spoke on the phone. Our entire conversation was via text on the Zoosk app. This went on for a few weeks, maybe a month, then he finally asked me for a date. It was arranged that he would pick me up at my parents’ house (neutral ground) while they watched my kids. I drove up after a hard day of cleaning houses, exhausted and nervous. When he announced he was on his way, I took a shot of tequila to calm my nerves.

The text came in, “I’m here.” I went outside, and he hopped out of his big white Ford F150. I had no idea what to expect. Zoosk had been our only form of communication.

Here he was, dressed in jeans and a dress shirt with boots, bald, not nearly as tall as my ex, thank god. And cute. Wow, was he way better looking in person than on the app. And his eyes were slate blue like water. His blue shirt made them pop.

I chuckled inside when I heard his voice for the first time. He had such a southern accent.

He opened my door as I climbed up into the truck. It was nice to have someone plan everything for me. I do not think I ever had that, not in the last 24 years for sure! He would not stop staring at me. He kept saying I had the most beautiful eyes he’d ever seen.

He found a parking spot downtown, and we walked to Rolandos, where he insisted we start with the top-shelf margaritas, claiming theirs were the best in town. We talked and talked. It was as if we had known each other our entire lives. There were no awkward moments of silence. Each sentence went on to the next. When we felt we had outstayed our welcome at the restaurant, we walked downtown for a bit. It was misting, so he held an umbrella over both of us while I linked my arm in his.

We decided to stop in the Bathhouse Brewery for a beer and more talk. Being with him felt right, comfortable, normal. I was so comfortable in his presence that I even set my hand on his leg while we were talking. He understood me, he listened. And I got him and hung on every word. Some would say we bonded over our similar traumas, and maybe we did. But we also had the same life goals. We had a lot in common and a few things that weren’t. But the things we did not have in common were what made us individuals. And I learned he was not as active in church as he had put on the app., which was a relief.

Since he was driving, we decided to cash out and head back to my folks’ house to continue our conversation in the driveway. I didn’t want to get out, nor did he. Since I had worked all day, I fell asleep while we listened to one of his favorite songs. He woke me, and we decided to call it a night.

He once again hopped out and opened my door, such a gentleman. When we kissed goodnight, his lips were trembling. It made me smile. He felt like such a virgin. He was fresh out of a 20-year marriage with 3 kids, so I knew he wasn’t. But his sweet innocence was a delight.

He picked me up for lunch the next day, and our conversations picked up where we left off in the truck.

And here we are, ten years later, and I can honestly say I found my soulmate and married my best friend.

It wasn’t until I went on that date with my husband that I saw a future friend. I can say without hesitation that he is my best friend. There is something so different about being married to your best friend.

You’re friends because you have things in common and can sense what the other person is feeling and thinking. You care about their feelings, and they care about yours. And if you accidentally hurt them, you will apologize. You enjoy each other’s company.

I now understand what else Elsie meant when she said she married her best friend. They’re your support system, and you’re theirs.

Reflection is resurrection! 

I fell in love with a stare into those green eyes, then a smile that turned into a comfortable laugh, washing away the nerves of newness. 

Then… when we danced and swayed in each other’s loving arms as we found each other. 

I fell in love with the placid lake, colored blue eyes that caught my gaze, and a tender gentleness of spirit as I listened to you from across the table.

Your hand that reassured mine when I reached for your arm. The laughs and giggles… The quivering lips that kissed me goodnight. 

I fell in love with a woman I could embrace with my quivering lips …

…at The Baker … you made love to me so tenderly, while looking into my eyes the entire time. 

I won’t forget the beautiful woman across the table, trying Irish beers, or the face of my love, smelling the roses. 

I won’t forget a man casting a voodoo wish behind a screen and kissing me in the rain. 

I won’t forget us being the only two on Bourbon Street kissing, while it was raining! 

I won’t forget how you held my hand the whole time when I had hurt you… Yet, you still reassured me of your love.

That’s because I’ve loved you ever since the day I said it. 

I think you loved me before you said it. 

And you? 

I fell in love with you the first time our eyes met. 

Reflection is resurrection! Plaster it on the palette of your life

Sometimes our written words pierce louder than any voice spoken.

True. Sometimes they’re easier to go back and reflect on because they are tangible.

A Poem we wrote to each other reflecting on a few memorable dates.