Dating: a Little Navel-Gazing.

There’s nothing sweeter than a good Christian woman.

So I know it must pain them to drop me like yesterday’s bran muffin. But they do it anyway.

Not that I blame them. Were times less tolerant, the gap between my personal religious beliefs and modern orthodoxy would have catapulted me to a place of honor at a bonfire for heretics. "Did you see Jon today?" "See him? I think I have a little of him in my eye!"

But I can’t solely blame my eccentric religious beliefs for being serially spit up like a hairball. There’s more to it. I think I’ll not list my shortcomings. Just take my word. Picture an ancient horizontal refrigerator being pulled back from a restaurant wall, and hitherto hidden cockroaches fanning up toward the ceiling in a widening stream.

When I re-read that last paragraph, I fear that I might be painting my soul in more horrible hues than the facts warrant. Or, maybe, people who know me best will read this and say, "He almost gets it."

On the bright side, I haven’t committed most crimes in the Penal Code. That’s due, in part, to the rich imaginations of its drafters. Honestly, for the challenge of a lifetime, make the Penal Code your bucket list.

Yet the modern Christian single woman is way too sophisticated to be much impressed with that old pick-up line, "Hello. I’m a stranger to most of the Penal Code." For one thing, that’s exactly what you’d expect a professional public enemy to say.

But even if I muddle through to semi-familiarity involving dinners and long talks, then the day eventually comes when I sit for The Break-up and The Explanation.

The Break-up must come if it must come. I do not yet know the utility of The Explanation. I have never thought of suing a woman because she dumped me for less than good cause. Maybe they intend The Explanation for my betterment. Or maybe women have a taxonomic nature, and to list my shortcomings excites them like an entomologist might be fascinated by a particularly interesting cockroach spotted streaming up a restaurant wall.

Lovely women, for sharing your interest and concern, thank you.

I’ve dated non-Christians. I’ve enjoyed that. A non-Christian isn’t put off by my eccentric beliefs. She already thinks I’m eccentric for being a believer. The idea of an odd Christian might to her seem a little like the idea of an uncomfortable mammogram: that’s just the way it is.

A good relationship requires similarities and differences. I have a many interests, and any of them could ignite a good relationship: literature (especially Shakespeare); politics (especially progressive politics); law (especially criminal law); travel (especially Latin America); sports (especially swimming); and motorcycles (though a Harley girl might look past me and my metric bike).

Am I optimistic? Uh, not really. Today is the best predictor of tomorrow, and today I’m unattached. And I have been virtually all of my life. And that might mean that I lack some quality that helps a man forge a bond with a mate.

I once worked for a man who was married four times. It’s not the kind of a thing that people boast about, but it shows an aptitude for romantic bonding. I lost track of him, and for all I know his last marriage has turned out to be a long-distance run compared to the first three. Or maybe he paused in the middle of his long-distance run to bond with a hot aerobics instructor.

The point is, I seem to lack his romantic-bonding aptitude.

On the other hand, maybe sports supply a good metaphor. There was a time when I was injuring my shoulder while swimming, and my doctor strongly suggested that I find a coach to examine my stroke. Maybe I need a dating coach. Lacking a gift for dating, maybe I should embark on a course of study to become good at it.

Or maybe there’s a different explanation. I have sometime said that I’m not married because, when I was young, I was too picky; then I grew older, and the women became too picky.

But that’s not completely correct. Sometimes it’s been true that women I’ve dated have summarily ejected me, for fine reasons clearly stated; but it’s also been true that I’ve failed to kindle what might have been perfectly good relationships.

Or maybe my control over my romantic life is illusory. Another metaphor: professionally, I work hard. I labor at my briefs. But as I grow older, I wear a certain fatalism. Because as hard as I work (and I grow better at my job as I grow older), I am subject to time and chance. Every lawyer has won cases he should have lost, and has lost cases he should have won. Certainly, that’s true of me.

Maybe dating is like that. In dating, maybe I’m waiting for the one I should have lost but won.

So this discussion of dating has morphed into the debate over "Nature or Nurture?" with added question marks after "Choice" and "Fate".

I’ve started a debate, but I can’t finish it. There’s an opportunity here for some clever sociological research. Maybe life or further thought will give me an answer. Or maybe the government will fund a study called "What’s Up With These Single People?"