The Struggle Love Diaries: Essie

What are the odds?

June 12, 2023

Dear Diary,

I've always heard it said that God works in mysterious ways, though I've never been one to rely solely on divine intervention. My life has been built on careful planning, hard work, and calculated risks alongside my faith. Yet here I am, at 2 AM, unable to sleep because my mind keeps replaying every moment with Marcus.

Three weeks ago, I was attending the Higher Education Administration Conference in downtown Baton Rouge. I was there representing South Louisiana University's Academic Affairs office where I've been serving as Executive Assistant to the Provost for the past few years. During the panel on "Diversity in Institutional Leadership," there he was—third row, crisp blue blazer, asking thoughtful questions that made even the distinguished panelists pause to consider their responses. 

When we ended up chatting in the same circle at a networking reception afterward, I expected the usual small talk. Instead, he referenced specific points from a committee report I had helped compile last year—one that had received recognition across several HBCUs but was rarely mentioned in broader circles. He and I ended up talking until the hotel staff began breaking down the tables around us. Just two people, connecting over ideas, losing track of time.

Then, the coffee shop incident three days later? I still can't believe it. Of all the cafés in Baton Rouge, we chose the same spot on Highland Road at the exact same time. He was as surprised as I was. "Ester?!" he'd said, his face lighting up in recognition. "I was just thinking about our conversation." The sincerity in his voice made my usual skepticism take a backseat. “Hi! Marcus, right? You can call me Essie,” I say. Ester-from-the-backseat rolled her eyes a little but only a little.

Four hours and too many coffees later, we'd covered everything from a shared fascination with Octavia Butler to our eerily similar childhood dreams of becoming writers. The way he listens—truly listens—is unlike anyone I've dated before. He doesn't interrupt. Doesn't try to one-up my stories or experiences. Just absorbs and responds with thoughtfulness that makes me feel both seen and heard.

Last weekend was supposed to be a quick lunch at that little Creole place near the Capitol, but it turned into an entire afternoon together when we discovered we both had grocery shopping as next on our to-do lists. "Why shop alone when I could shop with you?" he'd suggested with that smile that seems to light up his entire face.

Walking through Whole Foods, debating the merits of different olive oils and the necessity of buying organic—it should have been mundane. Instead, it was intimate in a way I hadn't expected. There's something revealing about seeing what someone puts in their shopping cart, about the small domestic decisions that make up a life. By the time we were comparing notes on the best type of bread, I realized I'd completely lost track of time again.

"Do you believe in coincidences?" he asked as we loaded our groceries into our respective cars.

"I believe in statistical probability," I answered, making him laugh.

"Of course, a pragmatist," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "But what are the odds of all these 'statistical probabilities' happening with the same person?"

What are they, indeed? My logical brain keeps trying to dismiss these moments as mere coincidence, but my heart—a muscle I've learned to guard through failed relationships and disappointments—beats differently around him.

Yesterday, he called just as I was thinking of texting him. After the greetings and small talk, we spoke simultaneously: "Umm, would you—" We laughed, and then he continued, "—want to attend a friends and family cookout at my church this Saturday?" It was then that I learned we've been attending different services at The Church of Zion for months, maybe even passing each other in the parking lot without knowing it.

There's something both exhilarating and terrifying about how easily we seem to sync. At 29, I've seen that chemistry can be deceptive– that initial compatibility often fades when real life intervenes. I haven’t gotten this far in life by following feelings alone.

Yet here I am, smiling at my ceiling in the dark, replaying his voice, his laugh, the way he quoted James Baldwin perfectly during our debate about literature's role in social change.

Is this what people mean by "when you know, you know"? Or am I allowing myself to be swept away by romantic notions that have no place in my carefully constructed life?

Tomorrow, we're meeting for dinner at that new Ethiopian place on Government Street. Part of me wonders if this actually is a mysterious move of God and wants to go with the flow of whatever this is becoming—to “walk by faith and not by sight”. Another part whispers cautions: It's only been three weeks. You barely know him. Remember what happened with Damon.

So, how do I move? How should this play out? Do I embrace this connection that feels almost ordained and keep enjoying Marcus's company? Maybe let myself fall for him without restraint? Or do I keep my feet firmly planted in reality, proceeding with the caution that has served me well throughout my life?

The rational choice seems clear. But faith and rationality often seem to contradict one another. 

Until next time,

Essie

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