Maybe Starbucks is the best dating app

One day last week, I had some time to kill before my hair appointment, so I went to a Starbucks nearby so that I could use the Wi-Fi and work on a few things I needed to complete. I don’t actually like coffee, so I usually just buy an Ethos bottled water so that I feel like I’m giving at least a little financial contribution while I’m using the free internet there. Plus, it helps children have access to clean water, so I’m a fan.

I opted for one of the cozier chairs and noticed a good-looking man sitting in one of the four of them. The other three were open, so I sat at one somewhat across from him after double-checking with him that it wasn’t occupied. He had his headphones in and appeared to be on a call. I tried listening in every once in a while to figure out what type of businessman he is—people fascinate me, so I’m always curious to learn more about them.

Thanks to a small bladder and kidney stones that won’t quit, it wasn’t long before I needed to use the restroom. I didn’t want to pack up all of my stuff and risk losing my chair (there weren’t that many people there, so it honestly wasn’t a great possibility), so when it sounded like Cute Guy wasn’t on the phone anymore, I got his attention.

Me: Hey, do you mind watching my stuff for a few minutes while I run to the restroom?
CG: How do you know I’m not going to steal it?
Me: We both know you’re not.
CG (noticing my Avengers Band-Aid on my knee): How’d you get your owie?
Me (immediately falling for someone who uses the word “owie”): I cut myself shaving.
CG: That’s not a very good story.
Me: You didn’t let me finish. I reopened a wound that I got while hiking the Incan Mountains in Peru. I noticed a llama off in the distance and became distracted, so I went after it, and I wasn’t paying attention, so I tripped on a rock and gashed open my knee. When I was shaving, I forgot about it and ripped the scab off. Hence the Band-Aid.
CG (with a swoon-worthy smirk on his face): Yeah, that’s definitely a better story.

Just wondering if I should go back to Starbucks soon

I walked to the restroom with a sense of pride at being able to create a fib so quickly. I’m not sure if it’s actually a quality I want to have, but I felt like it benefitted me in this particular instance. Also, I do realize that they’re actually called the Huayna Picchu and Machu Picchu mountains, so maybe I’m not that great of a liar after all.

When I came back, I thanked him but also let him know that I told him I knew he wasn’t a criminal. He blamed it on the fact that there were security cameras in place. Touché, guy.

Not too long after that, I looked at my watch and decided it was time to leave for my appointment. As I stood up again, CG took out his ear phones and said “You can’t leave me.” I explained that I had an appointment, and he said something else I don’t really remember because I was staring into his eyes trying not to fall for some guy I may never see again but also secretly hoping that he’d ask for my number.

Dear Hollywood, why isn’t reality always like a romcom? Sincerely, a hopeful romantic.

We tied for first but then got third because we didn’t know the Rotten Tomatoes score for 10 Things I Hate About You (eye roll).

In hindsight, perhaps I should have asked for his. I need to stop assuming that every good-looking man in this world has a girlfriend. As one of my friends pointed out, it would have been a good moment to have a business card on hand. How stalkerish would it be to show up at the same Starbucks on the same day around the same time? And how much do I actually care? I mean, I know I’m not a psycho.

Maybe he didn’t see when I tried to suavely move my sunglasses from on top of my head to my face and got them stuck in my hair. But maybe it’s better if he did. It’s good for people to know others’ quirks.

And I happen to have a lot of those.

In other news, it’s Wednesday, so I’m going to share the things for which I’m thankful this week:

  • 10 Things I Hate About You trivia night on Monday—such a blast with some of my gals.
  • The changes that just keep happening in my life, even though some of them are more challenging than others.
  • Running with my brother and sister lately. I cherish those times.
  • My new community group, which is full of women who pour out the love of Jesus like flour in cake batter (I think that’s an accurate comparison) and make every single human feel valued and adored.

What are you Wednesday pieces of gratitude this week?

When your pink hammer isn’t enough

Whether we like it or not, we’re not going to be right about what we think are the best options and solutions in our lives all of the time.

Even if the best option is a hammer with a pink handle.

I went on my first mission trip to Mexico over the weekend to help build some additions to a church down there. Everyone who went had received an email earlier in the week with reminders and whatnot, and the email included a tidbit about bringing a hammer if you have one. I got really excited about that part because I have the perfect pink-handled hammer.

Or so I thought.

As you can see, the hammers are quite different.

When we got to the worksite, I stepped out with my hammer all ready to go. Pastor Daniel, who is responsible for the building of more than 30 churches in the Tijuana area, chuckled and asked me what I was going to use my hammer for that day. When I told him it was to build the rest of the church, he laughed again and told me (in nicer words) that my hammer would be pretty useless.

Gasp!

I tried to convince him that my brute strength was all I really needed, but he still seemed pretty amused and skeptical and said that it would be better to go with one of the hammers they had there, but the choice was mine to make.

So glad that this gem of a friend was there with me. (Also, she’s a BA on the job site FOR SURE.)

As it turns out, that Pastor Daniel is a pretty smart guy. My hammer was barely bigger than the nails we were pounding, and it was very ineffective in that situation. I tried the pink hammer once and hit and hit and hit, and nothing really happened. But when I used the more powerful hammer on the exact same nail, there was a drastic difference in the outcome.

It’s never fun to be wrong.

I think that it’s easy to get caught up in the things that we think are best for us to the point where we have a bit of tunnel vision. I’m guilty of it—especially when it comes to guys. I always think I know for sure which ones are perfect for me, but I’ve clearly been wrong each time. Sometimes it’s ended in a guy I truly care about breaking my heart, and sometimes it’s ended in seeing a new crush walking hand-in-hand with someone who’s not me.

Years ago, I was convinced that this one fella was the right one for me (spoiler alert: he wasn’t). I had this idea in my head of what I thought he was really like—or maybe it was what I thought he should be like—but he wasn’t actually the guy I hoped he was. Instead of acknowledging and accepting the fact that he wasn’t my lobster, I kept using my pink-handled hammer tactic and tried, anyway. I remember one time I asked him if he wanted to go to a football game, and he told me that he had to clean his place. On a Friday night. As an adult with no mandatory chores.

That’s a worse excuse than “I have to wash my hair.”

And that’s only one example. There are far too many of those—times when I knew guys weren’t the guys I was meant to be with forever (or at all), yet I still tried to make it happen. I ignored the signs and red flags and, instead, kept hoping and praying that each one would be the one who would finally love me forever. I kept letting false hopes and hollow prayers take the place of what should have been patient endurance and trust that God will bring the right man into my life when He deems it best.

All because I was so convinced that the hammer with the pink handle was the best option.

I know that God’s plan for my life is so much better than anything I could ever imagine or create myself, so I don’t know why I don’t always live like that’s true. I keep taking these silly pink-handled hammers that look really good to me and trying to build big buildings on my own. You’d think that I would know better by now.

I certainly can’t guarantee that I won’t opt for the wrong choice of a hammer again (mess of a human over here), but I am going to make more concerted efforts to practice that whole patience thing that’s part of that other whole faith thing.

And maybe the next situation I face in which I could opt for a hammer with a pink handle when it’s the less effective option, I can look back in reflection and say, “nailed it!”