I know I know… I haven’t posted any posts lately but that doesn’t mean I haven’t been out helping guys with their dating lives here and there.

Vincent actually has been pretty busy putting into application what I’ve been teaching him.  What has been most interesting to me working with him is realizing how your dating life is a direct reflection of the “heath” in other areas of your life too.  I’ll make sure to write something about that soon.

In the meantime, I was honored and humbled by reading what Vincent thought of me when he first met me.  I am reposting the post he initially wrote from his blog below.

Enjoy!

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Khiem

People watching can be fun, well sort of.  I tell myself that because right now I’m people watching; watching for my dating coach to show up.  I know what he looks like, I found him on his blog at KissNTale.com.  But he doesn’t know what I look like.  This could be fun I thought, really fun.  Did I have a particular book I’m reading, Dostoyevsky perhaps, or maybe I’m sporting a tan plaid fedora, with a blue feather to the right.  Every cliché in the book right, throw in coffee shop and Beverly Hills while you’re at it.  But no, I’m not that obvious, and I’m not that cheesy.  There is nothing to give me away.

It’s been thirty minutes, I get a bit anxious, if this was a date, the girl’s probably not going to show (actually he did say he was running late, but…).  Speaking of women, there’s this hot girl who spoke to me earlier, told me to cut in front of her in line, says she’s also waiting for someone.  And here she is, this petite blonde bambina, dressed in black stretch cotton tights, with a pink word prominently advertised on her behind, so ubiquitous, too ubiquitous (pink words on black pants that is).  She moves past me once or twice, adding cinnamon to her latte, looking around a bit.

Of course I didn’t say anything to her, didn’t even really look at her other than a few passing glances.  This is precisely the kind of bullshit that needs to be taken care of, my fear of talking to new people (and not just women).  That’s why I need my dating coach.  Wait… where is my dating coach Khiem.  Khiem… that girl, she must be Khiem’s friend, that’s why she was loitering around trying to find out who this mysterious client is of his is.

Dancer girl left eventually (every girl who’s cute is “dancer girl” to me).  I should’ve spoken to her. Oh well there’s another cute girl in front of me, waiting in line for her coffee or tea or whatever it is that… but someone got her attention, this tall, fit, young, confident, Asian man casually, confidently says to her “hi, how’s your day.”  They speak a bit, then he turns towards me, walks towards me and says “hi, you’re Vincent right?”

I would have loved to savor giving someone a hard time, watching the confused expression on someone’s face as I pretend to be Waldo, hidden, find me somebody.  But Khiem my dating coach found me the second he walked in.  But how did you know it was me, you don’t even know what I look like.

“I just know,” Khiem replied.

How does he just know?

But that’s the point I guess, dating coaches, they’re supposed to just know.

Knowing is everything, what to do, how to act, knowing women, understanding both men and women.  My dating coach took the time to get to know me, who I am as a person, to really understand my issues, my struggles, my dreams and passions, and whether those passions are being put into motion.

I have a good feeling about this, about Khiem, about myself, about my dating life, about my passions, about life… because they are all interconnected in a way. I feel hopeful, positive, a bit exhausted and writer’s block.  I’ll leave it at that for now.  The Wisdom of Khiem will have to come at a later post…

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Reflections

Coffee.  Strong, pungent aroma.  The smell of morning.  I imagine that smell to get myself to wake.  The earlier I awake, the more drowsy my mind; and the drowsier my mind, the better.  The enemy is aging, fine lines are the signs, the mirror on the bathroom wall reflects.

Mirror, mirror on the wall.  Sometimes we do need is a mirror, but a different kind of mirror, a social mirror.

I met Khiem, my dating coach, at a café on Beverly Hills.  He looks confident, too confident.  The mirror in my mind is churning in the background:  is this going to work, is he going to be able to help me, is he going to like me…

And then he spoke, and the conversation felt like morning, the good parts of morning, past the mirror, past the smell of toothpaste.  It’s the slightly later parts of the morning, cream cheese melting on a warm bagel, the smell of coffee, watching the swirl of cream dissolving into darkness, changing it, lightening it, transforming it.  And then there’s the taste.  Enjoying coffee is like enjoying wine, the life of coffee, where did the beans come from, who tended the coffee bean, the way it was roasted… but I digress.

Khiem and I had a long conversation, but mostly it was about me, the life of me, where I grew up, what experiences shaped me, where I am in life.  An hour passes and it felt like minutes.  The mirror in my mind fades and the self consciousness dissolves like coffee brightening to a lighter hue.  I’m just enjoying the moment in conversation.

He then said to me, “You are bold, fun and sexy. You’re actually not shy. You need to change the labels you give yourself.”

Khiem’s right, people have told me that I’m not shy, but in my mind I’ve always thought of myself as shy.

The labels I have about myself go just beyond shyness, the mirror in my mind is distorted, self consciousness based on faulty premises. Modus Ponens, valid but not sound.

A good coach is also a good social mirror, to see you as you really are, and how you could be.
“There are many aspects to a person’s personality; the key is the focus on those aspects relevant to the situation,” Khiem said. “For dating, focus on bold, exciting and sexy.”

So I guess the next time I see a woman I find intriguing, I’d have to ask myself, what would a bold, exciting and sexy man do and say.

Perhaps that’s the only way to change the mirror in our minds.

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