How I Met My Partner

So before I tell you how I met who I met, I would like to acknowledge the 'Sunday Scribblings' blog that you will find under 'My Blog List'. It was within this blog that I found this prompt, and it is my intention to use this prompt in the future to describe how I met a number of my friends, enemies, family members, acquaintances, famous people, and even pets throughout the years.

As for this evening, I think it appropriate that I tell you how I met my partner, Joseph. Some of you may know the story. Others may think you know the story but really don't. And yet others have never heard any version of the story. For that I apologize. But no matter your circumstance, I shall give you the story this evening.

The date: March 2002. I lived among seminarians at St. John's Seminary in Boston, MA. But it was in March 2002 that I knew I was no longer one of them. Earlier in the year - either late January or early February - I had made the decision to leave the seminary after my second year of pre-theology. It was not without some hesitation and certainly some regret that I had made that decision, but between my spiritual director, my counselor, my vocation director, and me, we mutually agreed that I would better serve myself and those in the Church by taking my leave. It did not need to be a permanent leave - and I wanted to believe that was true - but it did have to happen.

Meanwhile, I was trying desperately to understand who I was. Why God had made me who I was. Why it was in the seminary of all places that my struggles with my orientation were exacerbated. Why it was my prayer that told me I should leave. Why I couldn't just be normal. And so, I turned to the internet to understand. I sought out people who might help. Medical sites. Alternative living sites. Dating sites. Any site that might help me to understand myself better.

I read incessantly. I posted questions. And I even called one of those dating sites. A national site, as I remember. I spoke to people from Texas, New York, Florida, Wisconsin, California, Washington. I asked questions. I listened as they asked me questions. It was never my intention to date, mind you, just to talk. To discover. To understand.

One night, I came across a charismatic guy named Joseph. He lived in Seattle, WA, had been in the navy, was black. He came from Massachusetts by way of Memphis. He was a paralegal. He worked for a company that did something with bankruptcy. He lived in a rather spartan apartment in West Seattle. He didn't drive. He liked to go out to the bars. He had tons of friends. I hung up that night thinking I'd never hear from him again.

I called about a week later and across whom did I come but the charismatic Joseph once again. I hadn't remembered smiling so widely and so often, as I spoke to him. We agreed that some odd fate had decided that we should be friends. And so we traded phone numbers and e-mail addresses. We began to correspond regularly.

I told no one, fearing that I was doing something wrong. Cheating on the Church, on Jesus. After all, the choice to call that dating line and to explore my orientation... well, they weren't the actions of a true Catholic. Ironically, as I isolated myself from the other seminarians and from my dreams to become a priest, I concentrated on correspondence with Joseph and on my school work. I very nearly achieved a 4.0 that semester. A single A- prevented that feat.

Graduation came and went. I received a paper saying I knew something about philosophy - meaning only that I knew that I knew very little - with a bit of Latin thrown in for good measure. My fellow classmates bid me adieu. I was finished with the seminary. In my heart, I knew it was for good, however much many of those around me hoped that it wouldn't be.

Meanwhile, my friendship with Joseph increased in intensity. We talked at least once a day, causing both his and my phone bills to skyrocket. But not in my wildest dreams did I think there was any remote chance of anything akin to a relationship. The closest we came to that discussion was his insistence that he would venture out to the east coast to visit.

I went home to Connecticut in turmoil. I had been two years out of student teaching with no good leads and no real experience in teaching. I had a history degree and a philosophy degree - not particularly helpful degrees in the work force. It was time to pound the pavement. I wasn't good at it. I went to interviews for God knows how many positions with no confidence and no experience. No thanks, they all said. And I was damn well not going back to the likes of supermarket work if I could help it.

Joseph continued his insistence that he would visit. I felt an odd excitement at this possibility. We traded Fed Exed pictures, letters, knick knacks of all sorts. I called every night on the rotary phone in my grandparents' basement. I sent e-mails when I could get to a computer with internet access. And Joseph encouraged me in my job hunt, convincing me to try again and again.

I got my first job (after the seminary) selling Cutco knives. Whether you know me or not, please know that I am NOT a salesman. I was terrible. Uncomfortable. Not confident. Soft-spoken. Utterly abyssmal. I came home each evening feeling more and more useless, broken, saddened. I was slipping into despair. Until I prostrated myself before God and asked Him what I should do. I heard a reply. I hope to this day it came from Him. Leave...

And so, I started planning. My grandparents knew. My father knew. Not why... no, not why. I was too afraid. But that's another blog entry unto itself. I just knew that I needed to leave. To find myself. To explore. To understand. To do all those things I didn't think I could do in the place where I had grown. I learned the hard way that you can never truly go home again.

I told Joseph I had to leave. And neither of us had to say to which destination I would be going. Our relationship had evolved. No, we hadn't yet met each other in person. But that wasn't particularly important. Could he have been an axe murderer? Yep. But, to him I could have been a raving meth addict. I think we both knew better. It had been four rather intensive months, after all. Joseph and I grew more excited at the very talk of my intention.

I set the date. I would leave on Monday July 8th. And it was my intention to arrive in Seattle before Joseph's birthday on July 14th. As the day approached, I said my goodbyes, feeling badly about my deception but also not knowing how to say what it was I was doing. It is my worst vice, that lack of communication which is itself deceptive. But it was also who I was at that time, for better or worse.

The day came. My grandfather saw me off at 5 a.m. I shall save the trip for another posting as those three days proved to be pivotal in my life. Suffice it to say, I arrived in Seattle, WA a little after 6 p.m. on Wednesday July 10th. I called Joseph from a payphone - now defunct - on 8th and Olive. He dropped the phone on his end when I told him where I was, i.e. a block from his apartment. I walked as casually as I could to the front door of the building. He exited the building with a whoosh, stole a glance at my face, and plummeted back into the building equally as fast. I wondered - if only briefly - if this guy was crazy. But no, he re-emerged and greeted me warmly with a quick kiss.

I often think back to that first meeting, wondering how it is that we're still together after more than six years. The law of averages says that we shouldn't have lasted. That this relationship should have fallen apart at the first sign of trouble. But no. Don't get me wrong, we've been involved in our share of problems. But I think we just complement each other so well. We love each other and put ourselves in God's care. Isn't that the point? Love of God and each other in the midst of the struggle to be good, decent, just men.

And that's how I met Joseph...