“You were quite industrious for reaching out to me on LinkedIn.” That was the first compliment my husband ever gave me. I work in staffing, which means I look at dozens of LinkedIn professional profiles every day. So it’s not too crazy that I would find a husband there.
I started my market research (dating) when I was about 15 years-old. The first few boyfriends weren’t very serious. Then, as a junior, I met my high school sweetheart – an incredibly kind, compassionate, driven, and smart young man. Upon graduating, we chose to attend different universities but continued dating. One winter break, I flew to see him in Madrid while he studied abroad. On the flight over it hit me: if we stayed together, I’d spend my whole life following his dreams. Which would have been great, if they matched mine, but I was only 19 years old. What did I know about what I wanted to do with my life? The only thing I did know was that I still had some soul-searching to do. If I stayed with him, I’d never truly find myself.
“I’ve been dating since I was 15. I’m exhausted! Where is he?!” That’s one of my favorite TV quotes, said by Charlotte from Sex and the City. By the time I hit my late 20s, this was the story of my life.
The first half of my 20s, I dated plenty and had a couple of more really serious boyfriends. All wonderful, husband-material individuals, but again, I wasn’t ready. One day, my sister called to tell me she was pregnant with her second boy. At that moment, I finally had some clarity in my life. I needed to move to Denver.
I had a serious boyfriend at the time, and when I told my dad about my secret desire to move, he replied, “You know, Kate, when I met your mom, I wanted to spend every waking moment with her. It was the same when I met Shirley. You don’t seem to have that with this guy.”
My dad was right. I enjoyed his company, and he was perfect on paper, but something was missing. When I told the boyfriend that I wanted to move to Denver, he responded: “I don’t want to move to Denver.”
My inside voice said: “I didn’t ask you to.”
Within a few short months, I was packing my one bedroom condo into a U-Haul and making my way West to Denver – a.k.a. Menver.
I was excited about the prospects that came with a new city, and it was true, there were a lot of men. But dating in Denver proved to be far more difficult than dating in the Midwest. When a friend explained the Peter Pan Syndrome (PPS) to me, it suddenly started to make sense. PPS affects three out of five adult males, who, due to social circumstances, are never forced to grow up. It’s the fastest growing cause of old maids.
Why would a single man want to commit to having a girlfriend in Denver? Without a girlfriend tying you down, you can hang out at breweries on weeknights and spend weekends at a mountain cabin snowboarding with friends. Denver is full of adventure and good beer. It’s a bachelor’s paradise.
Despite my frustration, I held off on joining the legions of online daters. “When I grow up, I’m going to meet my husband online,” said no one from my generation ever. Online dating didn’t exist when we were little girls. And even though success at online dating happens all the time and may even one day become the norm, most people would prefer to meet their future spouse in more traditional, organic ways.
So instead, I stretched my social butterfly wings to the limit. At one point, I was playing in recreational sports leagues five days a week. I dropped volleyball and kickball in short order. They were more about drinking than the actual sport, and if I was going to try this hard to meet guys, I might as well work in some cardio. I stuck with Ultimate Frisbee and Gaelic Football. Both were fun leagues that led to great friends, and a few dates, but again, all missing the mark.
I went to networking events. I found a good church. I set my friends up with boyfriends, jobs, dentists, and hairstylists. One night over a few beers, my friend Justin remarked on how ironic it was I couldn’t meet a guy when I was the one person connecting all of Denver. Oh, but I was meeting guys…just the wrong ones.
In 2010, I finally caved and started online dating. By that point, I was seeing friends marry guys they met online, so I figured I’d give it a try.
Let me interject a little story I like to call “the worst online dating experience ever” (and that my friends refer to as “the best story ever”). After exchanging messages with a guy through a popular online dating site, he finally called to ask me out. During the call, he challenged me to a “plaid off.”
“A plaid off?” I asked. “Yeah, you know, whoever wears the most plaid wins.” I agreed, and, never one to back down from a challenge, I went all out. I’m the girl who has a giant bin full of costume gear. On top of that, I had one additional unfair advantage: my sister is a golf-pro – and we’re the same size.
The night before our date, I found myself suddenly concerned with the amount of plaid I had collected (shoes, socks, pants, belt, shirt, sweater, scarf, and hat). I texted him: “Is this like classy plaid or tacky plaid?”
“It’s a contest,” he replied.
On a Tuesday night in the middle of a blizzard, he picked me up wearing tasteful attire (given the comparison to his date) – plaid pants with a solid colored shirt. It was the most awkward date ever. The worst part was he made no mention or congratulations about my obvious win. And, of course, I ran into someone I knew at the restaurant.
There were many more bad dates, and some that I thought were good dates, where the guy never called again. All the while, I was still soul-searching. I realized I had done enough market research to know what I wanted, and I had also worked on myself and felt I was putting my best self forward.
I had finally let go and stopped trying so hard. I quit the leagues. I was truly engaged in my friends. My nephews ruled my world. I landed my dream job. And life was good.
Then, in May of 2013, out of the blue, I was diagnosed with ocular melanoma.
It has its own separate story. In short, I leaned heavily on my family and close friends during what was a very difficult time. And I made it through. I got a clean bill of health later that same summer.
Dating during and post-cancer survival is a whole different animal. One guy said to me, “Your current situation isn’t conducive to starting a romantic relationship.” He did offer I reach out to him when I was healthy again. Not in sickness, but in health. No thank you.
I knew the bar – and my standards – had just been raised even higher. This piece of my story would test the emotional capacity of any man I would meet very early on in the relationship.
I focused on work and enjoying being healthy.
Back to my job, where I spend a significant portion of my day on LinkedIn. Working in sales for a staffing company, my favorite part of the job is new business development. I love the challenge of breaking into a new company. I love cold calling companies that have job postings to see if I can help them fill the positions.
And that’s how I ended up on the LinkedIn profile of my future husband.
His company was seeking a web content writer. As I researched the company on LinkedIn, Nick’s face appeared as the manager of the Denver office. I melted. Without a second guess, and knowing full well that due to the nature of his company that it was a long shot we would actually do business together, I clicked “Connect.”
A couple of days later, he accepted my request. It got lost amidst a crazy afternoon and landed in my “low priority” email folder.
Two weeks passed before I saw the job posting again and remembered the smile of that cute guy who OH YEAH, accepted my request! I dug through the folder and sent him a message. I explained what I do, that I had a candidate who might be a good match, and ended with: “It doesn’t look like you’re from here. I hope you’re enjoying Denver.”
The beauty of LinkedIn. You can learn so much about a person before ever talking to them. From the looks of it, Nick was English and had spent time in San Francisco and Las Vegas before making way to Denver.
On the other side of this digital dance, Nick knew exactly what I was up to. Fortunately, he was equally intrigued. We exchanged a few more messages. Then, finally, I signed off one email saying, “If you ever want to grab a drink or coffee, I love networking.”
With that, he triumphantly announced to some co-workers, “I just got a date off of LinkedIn.”
We set up a “meeting” for Friday afternoon. But when Friday came, I got an email from Nick saying he needed to reschedule. I was disappointed. I responded that it was okay, suggested alternative dates and times, and never expected to hear from him again.
Meanwhile, his coworker and very good friend was scolding him for bailing on me.
He replied right away and said Saturday afternoon would work. We both had commitments later on that evening, so we planned to meet for an early drink at 5 p.m. at The Squeaky Bean.
On Saturday, I started to get really nervous as I got ready for my “networking meeting.” On my way there, I texted him to say I was wearing a reddish orange jacket so he would know how to spot me. He responded and said he was wearing a claret and blue checkered shirt.
Oh my God! He’s gay.
My gay stepbrother told me once that if a man describes something using a color outside the basic Crayola box, it means he’s gay.
“Relax, Katie,” I told myself as I laughed out loud. “He could be gay, married, who knows. You met this guy on LinkedIn. Keep it professional. Be yourself. And drop all expectations. You love meeting new people. He’s just another new person – another new connection.”
I sat at the bar waiting, early for the first time in my life, and no longer nervous. In walks Nick, very tall and very handsome. “Please don’t be gay. Please don’t be gay,” I thought to myself. We shook hands, and that was the beginning of something very special.
We talked business for a bit. He made great conversation. It moved from work to where we were from to family. I don’t think I stopped smiling the entire time. And his accent, oh his accent.
I had recently sold my scooter and in telling him about that, I revealed the reason was because I was now blind in one eye. Out came my story about surviving cancer. But he didn’t seem fazed.
When the bartender presented the bill, I reached for it. Nick stopped me. “I wouldn’t be much of a gentleman if I let you pay tonight,” he said.
This was clearly not a networking meeting.
As he closed out, he said he hoped to see me again. I told him I’d like that.
We were both heading out to meet friends. But first, we had to walk down a narrow path to get to the street corner. He glanced at me, grabbed my hand, and led me down the path. My heart was racing. Once we cleared the trouble spot, he kept holding my hand. When we got to the corner, he kissed me. He claims I kissed him, but it doesn’t really matter.
We walked our separate ways, and I hoped and prayed he’d call.
I heard from him the next day.
Just like my dad said it would happen, we were soon spending every waking moment together. In October, we celebrated one year of dating. The next month, on Thanksgiving, he got down on one knee in front of my family and asked for my hand in marriage. I said “yes.”
My market research was finally over. It was a joyful occasion.
But it would soon take a bittersweet turn.
That same week, we got the news my cancer had returned – this time to my liver. The months that followed have been a series of emotional extremes for both of us. I cannot imagine facing what I am facing right now without Nick by my side. We decided on setting an early wedding date so we can face this battle together – as a family.
We planned our wedding in six short weeks. It wasn’t quite the wedding I always imagined, but that did not make one bit of a difference in my fairy tale. I married the man I’ve been searching for all these years – and that’s all that matters.
And every time I log into LinkedIn, I’m reminded of how grateful I am for the day I clicked Connect.
