Written communication has its flaws, especially when you don’t know the other person. It’s hard as the reader. It’s hard as the writer. Sometimes it requires an interpreter. Like one sequence of messages in which I was recently engaged (more like ensnared).

I read his profile, assessed his photos, took the leap, and favorited him. He responded with lyrics, and asked me to identify the artist. I googled the answer and wrote back, admitting that I’d done the search (and earned props for the effort). He wrote back…normally a good sign.

With each successive message (and there were a few back and forth), I became more confused. I wasn’t sure if he was still quoting songs. I didn’t know if he was being philosophical or snarky. I said I was “confused, but curious.”  He was confused by my confusion, and curious about my curiosity. I felt like he was talking in code and I didn’t have the key.

He messaged me a couple more times, but he’d lost me by then.

25 years ago I invited a mom and her daughter (I hardly knew them) over for lunch and a playdate. I’ll save you the details and tell you the afternoon was an awkward disaster. Such an awkward disaster that, by the end of the afternoon, we had bonded over it, and we’re still sharing the laugh.

The relevance of this tale? We were face to face and committed to an afternoon, and we found our connection. I’m resolved to go back to my earlier dating resolution; once we’ve connected online, it’s time to meet. Or not. But no more mysterious pen pals.