Dating is such a strange exercise these days. Once upon a time, you met people through friends, at bars. Yes, you could be at bars every day, you could be begging your friends to introduce you to people constantly, but it would ostracize you. No one would look at you the same. Your desperation so overwhelming it followed you.
The apps morphed a once ridiculous exercise in excess into one of normality. Go on a date one night, or two. Go on dates six days a week. Your friends and family might comment on it being a little odd, but they’re not about to stop you. And no one will judge you after you find the one who you were looking for, not even the one who you were looking for.
They’ll think it’s cute, find some way to rationalize a certain kind of behavior that yesterday made you look unhinged.
And that’s what I fear, looking unhinged.
What if I find the perfect person and they find out how many dates I’d been on before I met them? They think it’s creepy, strange, like I don’t see them, the person I chose, as anything more than just another option. Like I just picked them because they were my 500th choice. I remember someone saying to me once that, “I wanted to date them just to date them.”
Well, yes?
It’s this maddening part of dating. You both need to be interested in people but not so interested that they find it weird. I’m guilty of handing down that judgment.
More than once I ran away from people who simply liked me faster than I liked them. Would it have worked had I stayed? Maybe. I’ll never know. There’s one haunting my mind, a boy in Myrtle Beach. I wouldn’t go back for him. But what if I had stayed with it, if I had given him a chance,
would I still be there?
Would I have given up on Austin temporarily? Tried to bring him back here with me? Destroyed a relationship simply because I couldn’t lose sight of one place.
***
The tightrope of interested but not too much also stretches to each person differently. Varying thoughts on speed, intensity and progression in a relationship. Some will be happy to just lay it all out, what they want and when. Many won’t, but that doesn’t make them any lesser. It just means you’re having to figure out how to read someone’s mind while also not being intrusive.
Quote of the Week
“‘Of course, some people always think that Swift is the obnoxious sound. ‘What’s up with the damn Taylor Swift?’ a neighbor yells out. Another voice chimes in with requests: ‘Play “Style.” That song’s tight right there.’ By the time the song ends, someone new will admit, ‘That girl’s got jams.’”
—Joe Garcia, Listening to Taylor Swift in Prison (The New Yorker)
I’m just trying to break this thought out of my head. That there’s something wrong, something broken about not having met someone after being back in Austin for six months. There’s something wrong, that I’m getting older by the minute while yet to have a relationship longer than seven months as I meet people who were in relationships for years.
Rationally, I know there’s nothing wrong. I know I’ve never been happier. I know that yes, having someone in my life could make it better. I know I will continue living a great life without.
Yet thoughts of what if melt my mind.
And all this makes my breakup with Stephen look cruel to these onerous life goals for love.
I had a boyfriend who cared about me, who wanted to see me all the time and who made sure I knew it. On paper, there was no reason to break up with him, that I was being ridiculous.
It’s why my mom and my boss, for weeks and weeks kept telling me to not screw it up. My boss even met him, she saw how much he was into me.
I told myself that for weeks.
I loved getting to watch movies with him, he loved my food, I finally had a boyfriend, what else do I really need? But I knew one thing; I knew I would be happier after him. I knew the stress ate me, wondering when he was going to finally arrive, hours after he said he would.
I knew that I didn’t want to keep up with his schedule. I could. But that’s not my life anymore. I saw how being everywhere all at once just means you’re nowhere at all.
The thought of being happier is what keeps me away from the edge when it comes to wondering why I haven’t found a boyfriend yet.
I knew I would be happier when I was alone again. I knew I was happy before him. And I am now.
A viral video recently, that was depressingly hijacked by online harassers, featured a 29-year-old talking about how she’s single, no kids and no pets. On Saturday, she just can just live her life, get up whenever, decide to make a random dish and then watch TV and be done. That’s it.
That’s where I am right now, and I know it’s fine. One major benefit has been not worrying about my appearance too much, wondering whether I’m thin enough, muscular enough.
But I wonder what it will be like when I go back. How to strike that balance between focusing on myself and being willing to find someone, being able to be on the apps without treating them like roulette.
How to look normal while dating, not going on too many dates, but not going on none at all. And what is a normal amount? Once a week? Two or three a week? My problem has always been that I can’t help myself from checking the apps when I have them. I’m worried I’ll miss that perfect guy, as if I would ever know that I missed him. It’s just another version of Stephen’s fear of missing something that kept him so busy. I can’t possibly risk missing the perfect man.
I’d recently vocalized more than a few times that I would be okay if I was single, for like, awhile, years even, a couple decades. It was this way of trying to convince myself that everything was okay. Because I am okay. I know that.
Talking about something can make it less scary, but it can also allude you into thinking that talking about it solved the problem.
As I sit here, thinking about all the dates I went on, all the ones who didn’t work out. Is it really all of you that’s the problem here?
More than just my Love Story
I’m gay, autistic, and horny. Here’s what you should know before we date… (Queerty)
6 Podcasts About the Perils (and Joys) of Modern Dating. (New York Times)
Credit where it’s due: Queer Seattleites protected each other from mpox. (Seattle Times)
“A Decade of Fruitless Searching.” The Toll of Dating App Burnout. (New York Times)
And, an ode to this strange collection of links on Google.
Note: The names of the people in my columns have been changed to respect their privacy — and to allow me to spill a bunch of tea about them without remorse.