It’s morning and I’m scrolling: news, dating profiles, news, and more dating profiles. The news is garbage – it often is. The dating profiles are either uninspiring or I’m too picky: lives too far away, kids are too young, mismatched life experiences and expectations, too ambitious, wears too many turquoise hats, too many pictures of her dog… ok, maybe I’m exaggerating on some of those reasons. Briefly, I begin to wonder if I know what I want. None of these people seem like the people I used to date and I can’t pinpoint what has changed (aside from everything). I liked some of the people I used to date – though I can no longer articulate why? It seemed easier then or more fun or… I don’t know. Mindlessly, I scroll. Mindlessly, I swipe.
One of the profile pictures was a timeline of pictures with the first three or four showing a gaunt face, sunken eyes with dark circles, and objects attached to her neck and shoulder that I can only describe as plastic medical thingies (like maybe where an intubation tube had been). In those first pictures, she looked like a hardcore drug addict – I mean zombie-like hardcore. Obviously, the timeline of photos was meant to show her progress and perhaps her rightly-earned pride or new-found appreciation for life. Been through hell and still standing. In her write-up, she says she suffered a very serious NDE (which I assume is near-death experience). I swiped left (meaning no thanks), but felt slightly bad about it. That’s too much baggage for me (which probably says more about me and my shortcomings). Man, people really go through some shit and admirably come out the other side.
The question lingered, would I want to date someone who once had a problem with hardcore drugs (meth, heroin, fentanyl)? I know the answer is no, but I’m embarrassed by how closed-off I am or how particular I am / have become. Not that the answer was yes in the past, but I used to meet a lot more people and give long shots a chance. If they were attractive and met some basic requirements, we’d connect and meet up. Now, that doesn’t seem to cut it anymore – and shit if I know why. One plausible answer is age – life’s too short to waste it on things that don’t have potential. We tend to grow more conservative as we age, and while I’ve grown more politically liberal, I’ve probably become much more conservative in my dating preferences (cute poet/writer/artistic type of modest means who lives close by, appreciates presence, is curious, kind, funny, etc. etc. it’s a long list). Another plausible answer seems to be related to proximal life experiences. Sure, princesses marry toads and vice versa but how does that conversation even play out?
The other night, I guy I know (though I don’t know him terribly well) was saying that he thinks his relationship isn’t working. He’s not sure what to do about it. The bartender and I asked a few probing questions. I began with “”you’re attracted to each other, right?” He replied, “that’s the thing, not really.” It was a classic situation where he’s in it, and has been in it for a while, and admits he’s hoping something better might come along. At the same time, he doesn’t want to give this up and be alone. He’s been alone and this is better than being alone. In as tactful and gentle a way as I could, I said these aren’t the best reasons to stay in a relationship. He knows this and he knows he has to talk to her about it, but he also doesn’t want to hurt her. It’s probably too late for that… and who knows, maybe she’s doing the same thing to him. I advised him to get honest with himself first, and to get some clarity on what he likes about her and the relationship (in addition to what’s not working). I told him we’re wired to focus on what’s not working, and shared my experience of breaking up with someone because I saw my hesitation to say I love you as a sign that it wasn’t working when it could have easily been interpreted as a sign that it was working well enough for us to almost be at the point of saying “I love you” to each other. I was looking for the negative.
Sometimes, when I’m thinking about these things (love, relationships, attractions, preferences), I’ll think about my family and how I’m the outlier: single and living far away – the only one still trying to figure this out. All of them (parents, siblings, step-siblings) have been with their current partner/spouse for decades. Only one of those relationships might be under 20 years in length. I assume that by now most of those doubts that plague early relationships (is this who I want to grow old with? do I even like this person?) have either been forgotten or are so weathered as to not matter much anymore (they’ve actually grown old with each other). It’s wild to think about how different our life experiences are from each other… how I struggle to imagine their lives and they probably struggle to imagine mine. Our worries, our aspirations, our motivations – so many differences. Their lives seem normal, mine does not. That view causes some cognitive dissonance.
Every few weeks I hit this wall and every month or so I write about it. The wall is a familiar conundrum: balancing contentedness with desire. And because it’s perplexing, I keep thinking that maybe if I look at it from a different angle something new will reveal itself. It’s the whole looking in the fridge thing and expecting to find something different or so appealing that I no longer question if I’m hungry or bored.
I enjoy my life. And yet, there’s always an “and yet.” Most of the people I know who are my age and single seem to say the same thing. Most of the dating profiles I read say the same thing. It’s some version of “I enjoy my life and yet…” When I try to think about where this sentiment comes from, I see it most vividly in two places: other people living different lives (perhaps somewhat enviable lives) and past versions of my own life. For example, I was reading a poem the other day in which the speaker mentioned a homemade lemon vinaigrette. I dated someone who, when we would cook together, would often make a lemon vinaigrette to go with our side salad. I seldom make side salads for myself, and there was something nice about the care that she put into making meals with me. My current life without side salads is just fine, I’m not going hungry for side salads, and yet… These sentiments pop up when I think about travel or cooking or (as mentioned in a recent blog post), going to museums. I don’t necessarily hold back from doing these things, but I can envision a life in which they’re enhanced by someone else.
…
The morning began with scrolling the news and swiping profiles (or more accurately, looking at profiles and NOT swiping). Throughout the day I wrestled with this sense of pickiness and this notion of “if I really wanted something different, I’d do things differently.” There was, for sure, a lot of self-talk.
Frequently, I reminded myself that my last somewhat long-term relationship was six years ago and the last time I lived with and envisioned having a future with someone was eight years ago. They were not the same relationships. Once or twice I revisited somewhat prophetic conversations I had with each of those people. In the one instance, we were in my back yard, and she had said that if things didn’t work out between us, it would probably be the last serious relationship she had (we may have been engaged at that time). I agreed. In the other conversation, I had told the person that I was worried that having pulled up roots once, I might become a tumbleweed that never settles. I didn’t want either of those scenarios to play out, yet years later they seem to be playing out. I’ve never entered another serious relationship (like living together serious) and I’ve pulled up roots two more times since that other conversation.
As part of the self-talk, I tried to examine the things that hold me back (that pesky pickiness). Half of those things were self-criticisms: I don’t make enough money, I’m not well-traveled enough, I’m not ambitious enough. The other half were the more arbitrary barriers I impose: distance, musical taste, they don’t like cats, probably too young, has young kids. Had I imposed a distance barrier or kids barrier before, I would have never met my ex-fiancee (distance) or another woman I really liked (distance and kids).
Unlike my friend at the bar, I don’t mind the alone thing… and yet. I have a lot of “and yet” moments. I can do for myself most of what a partner could provide (I could probably make a killer vinaigrette) and yet…