I just got married. Unlike other, more social-media savvy couples, we did not assign a hashtag to our wedding. And even though I have many Twitter and Facebook connections, I didn’t post live updates of our special day online. My husband Eric actually doesn’t use Twitter, and he never plans on creating a Facebook profile. (Sorry, Randi!)

While Eric keeps his digital thumbprint at a minimum, my work as an author and performer actually depends on the opposite. Yet, I, too, strive to keep my personal life more on the private side. Needless to say, our marriage was announced in The New York Times, but we will never be “Facebook official.” Like Randi’s new book, Dot Complicated, suggests, it is, in fact, complicated.

To add to the perplexity of it all: guess where I met my stealthy husband who likes to fly below the Internet radar? Online. I’ve heard it said that you can’t buy love, but Eric costs me exactly $63.93— the cost of a three-month subscription to Match.com.

Another unusual point related to our meeting over the Internet is that, at the time, I despised online dating. Those two words conjured up a mixture of disappointment, depression, exhaustion, and shear annoyance. After years of online rejection and failure, I was bound and determined to meet someone the “old-fashioned” way— through a friend, my work, or in the grocery store checkout line.

Anywhere but the Internet.

Then my tech-smart friend and coauthor Jennifer J. Thomas, a clinical psychologist at Harvard Medical School, entered the picture. After many years of leading cognitive-behavioral therapy groups for women struggling with eating disorders, Dr. Thomas began to believe that a similar format might actually help some of her single girlfriends (like me) in their dating struggles. So, after one writing session for our book Almost Anorexic at her home in Boston, she held an impromptu, informal “Match.com party.” This essentially meant the main objective was “exposure therapy,” as she says, to encourage her single friends to create online dating profiles.

Jenni and Jenny on the night of the Match.com party.

Knowing that clear-cut evidence is important in encouraging people to take action, Dr. Thomas invited those who had successfully met their significant others by online dating to share their experience, strength, and hope. Think the principles of a twelve-step meeting applied to Match.com. And that’s how $63.93 got charged to my credit card.

Not long after, Eric sent me a message, and we seemed to have real chemistry— online, that is. He stood out from the majority of men I’d met on dating sites because Eric 1) actually read my online profile, 2) wrote more than “hey babe,” and, 3) worked toward scheduling an actual date rather than attempting to spend hours hiding behind his computer screen. Following our first date, we gratefully discovered that our online connection translated into a real one as well.

I have to admit that even though I had wanted a no-Internet-required type of romance, it didn’t take long for me to “Google” my new love interest. Unlike a previous date whose mug shot I discovered online alongside a long criminal history (we never went out again), not much appeared about my husband-to-be. A few links about his job revealed that he was, in fact, who he said he was. But I didn’t come across any family photos or information about what he did last Friday night. To learn more about this man, I was going to have to ask him. As it turns out, although Eric could have learned a considerable amount about me online, he chose to refrain from typing my name into his search engine and to talk to me instead.

Even if he had decided to all-out Internet stalk me, his efforts wouldn’t have helped him much in getting to know me on a deeply personal level. Just as my parents had done nearly fifty years earlier, we were going to have to resort to meeting up (in a real, not virtual, space), asking questions about one another, and truly listening.

While our face-to-face relationship seemed to be progressing, our technological connection—yes, the one I didn’t necessarily think I wanted—was lacking. Eric and I frequently would go out on a wonderful date, and then nothing. No text messages saying “Good night xo” or “Thinking of u.” Radio silence on my smart phone. And when he did send the occasional text message to confirm plans or share directions, he never added flirtatious smiley faces or winks. Eric’s lack of exclamation points, LOL’s, and emojis began to translate in my mind as a lack of interest. Maybe he’s just not that into me, I wondered.

Like any self-help author would do, I brought it up— in person. But, instead of eloquently expressing how his lack of emotion in text messages (and lack of texting altogether) made me feel, I just blurted out, “Your messages are really boring.” He didn’t take offense, since I was smiling when I spoke, and simply pulled out his phone. (Note: a smiley face does, in fact, go a long way!) We actually analyzed our text message conversations together right there at the dinner table. A comparison of his texts to mine revealed a lopsided amount of enthusiasm on my end and, he admitted, boredom on his.

After this honest conversation, Eric began to sprinkle a few well-placed exclamation points and smiley face winks into his texts, and I stopped reading so much into it all. I began to appreciate the fact that I had met a man in this digital age who preferred to share an actual smile over an emoticon.

A real hug is better than a virtual one any day. All in all, I found love in the place that I least expected it: online. In a not-so-old-fashioned way, the Internet pointed me to an old-fashioned kind of romance. And that deserves an exclamation point.

Posted on 12/4/2013

Written by Jenni Schaefer

Jenni Schaefer is an internationally known speaker, accomplished singer/songwriter, and bestselling author. She has appeared on shows like Today and Dr. Phil, as well as publications ranging from Cosmopolitan to The New York Times. Her books include Life Without Ed; Goodbye Ed, Hello Me; and her latest with Harvard Medical School, Almost Anorexic: Is My (or My Loved One’s) Relationship with Food a Problem? Jenni lives with her new husband in Austin, Texas, where they can often be found on their bicycles. For more information: JenniSchaefer.com.

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