Do you know the way to San Jose?

This year, after twenty years in a relationship, I found myself unceremoniously dumped back into the single life. More than a little bruised, I decided to add to my misery and post a profile on Match.com. My first attempts were tortuous. I knew exactly what I didn't want, but listing negatives didn't seem the way to go. I needed to talk about myself. Sell myself. Problem was, without my significant other, who was I? I tried probing friends gently, afraid they wouldn't be able to define me either. Brown hair, brown eyes, enjoys reading and dining out. Big yawn. Finally, late one night, I accepted the truth: I was the most uninteresting person on earth and would die alone, probably of boredom. I marinated this truth in a couple of glasses of wine and dozed, despondent, on the couch. Then, a memory: I once saw an improv sketch at a theatre in Chicago where each actor stated his name and said 'these are the things I know." Simple, but it made an impact. I gave it a try, and here is what I wrote:

I'm Tammy and these are the things I know: I know that I'd like to meet someone who exudes kindness and compassion, who is loved by animals and children, remembered fondly by a former English teacher, and who has at least one family member on speed dial. I know how to twirl a baton. I know that I will never win awards for cooking or performance art. I know how to speak a little Dutch. I know that I love to be inspired, and find inspiration mostly in nature (human and Mother). I know how to do a mean sun salutation (oxymoron?). I know that the reality within reflects the reality without, and that the secret to peace is accepting the impermanence of all things. I know that the first time I see my kids eat a salad I will weep with joy. I know that I enjoy diagramming sentences, but hate to read instructions, that I love to throw parties but I'm uncomfortable in the spotlight. I know that I love to see people using their talent, whether it's singing, acting, designing a house, or testing the super collider. I know how to weather a storm. I absolutely know that I will never run the Chicago Marathon again. I know the sublime joy of being inside a crowded jazz bar in the Latin Quarter and the look of the sun setting on the island of Santorini. I know the wisdom of 'all things in moderation,' that I don't like extremes, and that I'm happiest when there is a balance between rest and activity, solitude and society, care and carelessness. I know that everyone is fighting a battle and the ones who surrender are the ones who win.

I do NOT know the way to San Jose.

Putting this aside (I had a hangover to prepare for, after all), I forgot about it for a few more weeks. When I read it again I thought I must have been channeling some other being. The person I'd described was me, but a forlorn, forgotten me. A dusty self image waiting to be picked up and polished off. And the funniest thing? Reading it made me want to meet me.