Love At First Flight

The other night around a cozy campfire in a good friends backyard I found myself sitting next to a very charming and attractive young man whom I had never before met. His conversation was enchanting, his stories thrilling, his laughter infectious, and his manner attentive. For several hours I was caught up in his spell and when it finally came time for our departure I was sad to see him go, for he lives pretty far away and I was not sure when I might see him again.

We went our separate ways and as I walked to the car with my younger sister she piped up with a comment along these lines: "Thank goodness, I wanted to leave hours ago but I wasn't about to interupt your flirting."

Shock crossed my face. My what?! "I...I wasn't flirting..." I spluttered, "He was just a very interesting guy and had fantastic stories about his mission that I was greatly interested in, thankyou." I harrumphed my embarrassed self into the drivers seat.

"Whatever." Said she, "you "may not" have been, but he most certainly was. He ignored everyone else who tried to jump into the conversation!"

"That doesn't mean anything..." I replied. It was silent for a few moments. "But he was pretty cute." I winked at her and we both bust up laughing.

Later that night as I dithered and dissected the evening in my head, I had to admit to myself that I had indeed been flirting with the entertaining young gentleman. What does that mean? I thought. I've cut myself off from dating and flirting and all of that. I am preparing for a mission! I don't have time for any of it and I'd only be setting myself and others up for disappointment at this point. No, it's no good. I'll just have to avoid him, or not be as friendly if I see him again, or something...

However, it occured to me later that this reaction is not strictly a result of my preparing for a mission. In fact, it's a bit of a trend I've noticed in my behavior that is slightly horrifying. This trend is that as soon as I discern that I have any attraction for a young, datable man who may be interested in me, I panic. I think of ten thousand reasons why it will never work, why it should never work and why it could never work. Then I pound them out into my behavior and attitudes until it becomes reality and I have chased the boy away. Or at least distanced myself enough to make him believe that I do not have any interest. The problem: I do still like them. Then I harbor these secret crushes as little stunted seedlings of something that could have grown but never did because I poisoned them. See exhibit A:



That's all. This story has no ending because I still have not solved this problem. It's a dillema.