I got a meeting every day when I was really stressed

I knew I had to do something drastic when I found myself crying in a bol of ramen at 12:30 p.m. on Thursday.

It was the week before the results of the bar exam, and I was so anxious that I had melted in tears during lunch with a friend. “I don’t know how to help you,” he said.

It was the second time that I took the California bar, and the idea that school years and study could only wear anything. I had put everything to become a lawyer. Who would I be if I missed?

I could not continue to ask friends to go out just to watch me cry, but stay at home to stress by myself looked horrible. I then had an idea: I was setting dates for the whole week.

It would force me to leave the house

The brilliance of this plan was that I would be forced to leave the house and not to talk about my mental anxiety, which would be an undeniably crazy subject on a date.

I had been so busy studying that I haven’t come out for some time, so I went to dig into my contacts.

For Monday, I set an appointment with a guy that I had been on a few relaxed dates with months before. For Wednesday, I implemented something similar, and for Thursday, I managed to see a guy who had a decisive energy, but also a boat. Friday, I planned to meet an old flame of the school which was in town, which left me on Tuesday to fill.

I opened my Tinder in the long term and scrolled to find the cutest person with an opening line halfway. In the middle of all the “heys”, a message caught my attention: “You seem fun to dance in public with.” It was a strange line, but it made me laugh, and in addition, I am Fun to dance in public with. “It’s incredibly random, but you are right,” I replied. “Do you want a drink on Tuesday?”

I really liked my Tuesday meeting

The date on Monday was good. We were clearly better suited as an older, but the evening was a pleasant distraction. The following night, I met Mr. Tuesday in a bar, where I met a hitch in my plan for a week without stress of occasional meetings: he was even more cute than his photos. I was usually a confident date, but now I was extremely nervous. Throwing my game, I told him the truth when he asked what I did: “I’m going to … maybe being a lawyer?” I torn and explained everything. He was extremely kind and we talked about it as long as I needed.

Mr. Tuesday had nothing on his profile to be in art, literature or politics, but our conversations on these things were much better than those I had with dozens of guys who had highlighted them. I spent the rest of the week thinking about the muscular guy who loved Jane Austen, who knew my greatest professional insecurity but wanted to see me again anyway.

I don’t really remember anything on Wednesday, but I know I canceled Thursday. I was in a way finally calm enough for an evening in my own business sounded better than being at sea with an odious, almost foreign.

I exceeded the bar and married Mr. Tuesday

Friday, I learned that I passed the bar. My friends bought me champagne, after which I managed to keep the appointment with the old knowledge, although sharp. Mr. Friday seemed annoyed when I told him that I died, which was not impressive since Mr. Tuesday had already sent a text to register and congratulate me.

That week, I was raw enough to be authentically myself, with someone I hadn’t had time to make the dactylography as I normally did. Mr. Tuesday and I did another date, then another, then another, and we finally moved together. He had loved me before being a lawyer and was the first person to support me years later when I admitted that I was not satisfied with the law and that I wanted to do something else.

We are married now. Our first dance was for “La Vie en Rose” by Louis Armstrong, one of the many times, we had fun dancing together in public.