I Just Met a Man Who Melted My Frozen Heart…But Only a Bit
A chance encounter on a hike made me remember something I thought I had lost
I was standing on the edge of a narrow lookout platform, taking photos of Koosah Falls when I suddenly sensed I wasn’t alone anymore. I turned to look behind me and noticed a man in his early 30s taking photos of the falls from the trail, just behind me.
I quickly finished up then made my way off the lookout platform, telling him I hoped he hadn’t been waiting there for too long. I’d gotten so involved with adjusting my camera’s settings that I hadn’t even noticed him approach.
“It’s fine,” he said. “I know how it feels to get lost behind a lens.” He held up his camera with a smile.
He had such a warm, kind energy. I liked him, immediately. I especially liked that he hadn’t elbowed his way onto the lookout platform so he could get a better shot.
Maybe he worried I would scream “#MeToo!” if he had crowded next to me on that tiny lookout platform. Maybe he was just trying to be respectful and let a fellow photographer enjoy herself. Whatever his reason, I appreciated it.
He told me to hike down the hill a little ways to get an even better shot. “Here,” he said, scrolling through the photos on his camera. “Let me show you.”
I was hesitant to get any closer to him — you never know, after all, and we were standing on the edge of a steep trail overlooking a very aggressive, cold, deep river. But other than the usual caution I felt (born from experience, I might add), my body registered no other hesitation. This guy was definitely passing the “vibe check.”
So I leaned closer to look at his stunning photos, and he seemed pleased to show them off.
I told him I’d have to try that vantage point another time. My knees were hurting pretty badly and I didn’t think I’d make it back up the hill if I ventured down there.
“Do you live close enough to come back soon?” he asked.
Again, I felt the usual cautious hesitation, but still, my body registered no danger. So I told him where I lived. Not close, I said — but I’d definitely be able to come back next spring.
He shared that he didn’t live in the Pacific Northwest. He was touring the country in his van and stopping at every viewpoint along the highway to take photos.
“Did you see the Blue Pool today?” I asked, knowing how much photographers love that destination.
“What’s the Blue Pool?”
“Oh my god!” I yelped. “You have to see it.” I turned on my camera so I could scroll through the photos and show him what I’d taken earlier. He was predictably awestruck by the brilliant blue of the pool.
“Is that nearby?” he asked.
I knew that feeling — the sense of being close to an amazing photo opportunity, and the determination to pursue it. I hated to burst his bubble, but I told him it was too far to make it back before nightfall.
He said he’d catch it another time and smiled.
I was enchanted. He had such a sweet face and beautiful smile. I caught my eyes wandering to his floppy blonde hair and the black gauges in his earlobes.
“Thanks so much for chatting with me,” he said. I echoed his sentiments and then he turned and walked away.
After he disappeared, I sat on a bench, taking in the sight of Koosah Falls without my camera to distract me, and thought about how much I love the encounters I have with people on the trails. Hikers are a friendly lot, and these little exchanges renew my faith in the human race.
It also occurred to me that there is a sense of romance to them. Mostly, I mean that it simply stirs a gauzy, gentle feeling of connection in me to have a sweet exchange with someone on the trail.
But in this case, there was something slightly more literal about it. I wouldn’t say that I was specifically attracted to this man. It was more like the encounter made me remember what it is like to have a passionate conversation with someone about a shared hobby — and how extra wonderful it is when that person is someone who gives you butterflies.
Two years ago, dating a fellow writer had been thrilling — until I discovered that he was such a good one that he’d written himself a special personality just for me, one that didn’t actually exist.
It occurred to me how incredible it would be to date a fellow photographer (assuming things had a happier ending). We could talk about ISO settings and F stops, and oh my god, I would finally have someone who could help me realize my self-portrait dreams by getting behind the camera and capturing the angles I couldn’t quite achieve with just my tripod.
Suddenly, I realized I was thinking about dating again. I have been so apathetic after my last “boyfriend” bolted that I haven’t given dating a second thought. In fact, I’ve felt nothing but apathy about dating, romance, and sex.
What was happening to me?
October is a tough time for me. It’s actually my favorite month, but damn if it doesn’t plague me with ghosts.
It was the month my most significant boyfriend and I moved in together. It was the month things started heating up with the first man I fell in love with after my live-in boyfriend left me. And it was the month I started dating the writer who so quickly bolted.
So many broken promises, hopes, and dreams — just like dry, brittle leaves falling to the ground, only to disappear in the wind.
It makes sense that I would develop this sense of apathy. Romantic relationships have caused me so much pain. Apathy has been a helpful protective measure.
And yet, this past week, I keep imagining what it would be like to be with a boyfriend. And I mean a real boyfriend — one who would actually treat me with love and respect. One who was excited to be with me, not just going through the motions in order to access my bedroom.
I thought about what it might be like to come home from my 13-mile hike to a warm hug. A dinner already cooked. A bath drawn for me. A foot massage later that didn’t come after ten minutes of negotiating a deal in which I had to rub his feet, first.
What would it be like to have someone to tell the story of my adventure? Someone who would express empathy for the challenges I had faced? Someone who would tell me they were proud of me? Someone who would tell me they missed me even though I’d only been gone for a day?
What would it feel like to curl up together on that brisk October night and fall asleep to the sound of each other’s breathing?
There’s a part of me that’s angry at myself for imagining these things. Especially when my imaginings run backward, into past relationships where there are a few warm, romantic, tangible memories still remaining. Memories that are, as such, slightly more satisfying than the imaginings of things that don’t exist.
I don’t want to remember those moments. It feels dangerous.
Yet it seems unnecessarily cruel to berate myself for any of this. I’m a mammal, for heaven’s sake. Love, touch, and connection are important to our mental health and physical well-being. This isn’t like having a hankering for an unhealthy amount of ice cream. Building and cultivating relationships is a totally normal desire.
What isn’t normal is the lack of access that women have to healthy heterosexual relationships. Every time I think maybe it’s just me, I talk to another friend who left a boyfriend after he screamed at her and threw a vase at the wall, or who found out her boyfriend of three weeks was married and had never intended to tell her.
The lack of integrity out there is staggering. The disrespect of women is overwhelming.
That’s why it really stands out when a man doesn’t bother you as you take up all the space on a tiny lookout platform and then has a friendly conversation with you about photography and nature before going on with his day.
In some ways, that is the most genuinely romantic encounter I’ve ever had with a man.
How heartbreaking is that?
We’re heading toward the winter solstice. It’s still a ways off, but we’ve passed the equinox, so we’re crawling back into the darkness.
And I’ll admit it: I’m nervous. I know what’s coming.
There are things I love and appreciate about winter, but it’s still a hard season for me. A lonely season.
There are times when I long to fill those never-ending nights with hours of kissing and cuddling. Times when I would love to have a partner rustle me out of bed on a cold morning, ignoring my grouchy emergence from sleep, and enthusiastically suggest that we go snowshoeing and take some photos of the wintry woods. And god knows, I would be so grateful to have someone other than my mother who would spend time with me on the holidays.
My apathy doesn’t like this line of thinking. It has closed off everything south of my neck. No love. No desire. We aren’t going there anymore. I love myself too much to subject myself to any more mistreatment.
It feels dangerous to even think about it.
But I’m trying to soothe this frozen heart of mine. Because it’s okay — no, it’s normal — to want to experience a romantic partnership. This desire doesn’t make me foolish, stupid, or self-destructive.
Of course the cold, dark months to come have me thinking about what it would feel like to be in love again. Of course a chance encounter with a kind, handsome photographer in the woods would melt my apathy just a little bit. Of course this time of year has me thinking about the men I’ve loved against the backdrop of crimson leaves falling to the ground.
It’s all okay. I deserve to love. And I deserve to be loved.
Maybe someday, I’ll meet someone who believes that, too.
© Yael Wolfe 2023
Yael Wolfe is a writer, artist, and photographer. You can find more of her work at yaelwolfe.com. If you love her writing, leave her a tip over at Ko-fi.
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