He wore an argyle sweater vest over a buttoned up dress shirt. Literally, a shirt buttoned all the way up to the top, every last button buttoned so that his collar was tight round the nape of his neck. His glasses made him look studious, and his kind eyes let you know that he was an old soul. He was 20 at the time I first met him, but he had earned the respect of an old man, or so it seemed to me. Our teachers adored him and he spoke eloquently and passionately in class in such a way that made me think he’d be the president some day, or that he could be if he wanted to be.

I joked with my friends that I had “an intellectual crush” on this guy. But whenever I tried to talk to him I got so nervous and tripped over my words. I borrowed a book from him once, hoping that we’d get into a deep conversation about it, but when I returned the book I instead got bashful and said “thank you” and left quickly.

A year later we found ourselves in the same social circles, at the same church, in the same classes at school. And I was beginning to notice that this guy in argyle liked me. He told me so one day, and started asking me on dates.


But I was still somewhat terrified of him. He didn’t seem quite relatable because he seemed so put together and polished. I was intimidated by him, thought he was too good for me. I was nervous, afraid to say something stupid. I remember studying with him one time and trying to read the words on the page, but not even being able to concentrate enough to get through a paragraph. I was too paralyzed with worry about making a bad impression. Meanwhile he sat next to me flipping through pages at a rapid pace and making astute comments along the way. My stomach sank a little. He is going to see through me and realize that I’m not as smart as he thinks I am.

I had an idea in my mind of who he was—basically that he was faultless—and I was letting that idea keep me from being myself around him. I was also letting that idea keep me from seeing who he really was.

If I had stayed in that state—the state that is all about making a good impression—I would have never actually allowed myself to get to know him. I would have remained so preoccupied by my own insecurities and my concerns about what he thought of me, that I wouldn’t have noticed all the things that made me eventually fall in love with him.

I still remember the first time it struck me that he wasn’t only a really smart guy who I admired—but a normal guy who was complex and interesting and, well, human. We were sitting together in the library and he had taken off his glasses and I caught myself looking deeply into his dark brown eyes and really seeing him as if for the first time. In that moment—just for a moment—I took him off the pedestal I’d placed him on and found that he was David, just David—a person I was excited to get to know.

And from then on he kept surprising me....see more

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