On Sunday, I talked with family and friends (mom and dad and a friend from State College). The common theme across all three conversations was that while it’s only been a few months and I still need to find a job, I love it out here.
At times, I’ve wanted to analyze the sensation. I’ve wanted to know if this is just the honeymoon phase of being somewhere new. I’ve wanted to know if this is the joy of being released into the sunshine from the gray deprivation chamber that was central Pennsylvania. To all three people, I think I’ve said that I can’t get over how the act of walking out of my apartment into the sunshine and seeing palm trees and blue skies and water (almost on a daily basis) is, without fail, a wellspring of joy.
In the midst of my enthusiasm, my father asked if the dating scene is what I thought it would be… A reason I had moved here was because it had all of the above things that I cherish (nature, beauty, sunshine, and weather) and it had the population density and progressive politics that would make for a viable dating scene. After years of shelving that aspect of life (companionship), I was bummed that I had so few options in State College. Moving to a place where I might find a like-minded and compatible soul became one of several factors in choosing where to live. To my father’s question, I had to answer that dating and/or meeting people is a little harder than I expected. I struggled to explain why. I had “researched” this before moving by having my dating profile out here. I had even met up with some people when I came out to visit for a week last February/March. On paper, and in the dating apps, the Bay Area seemed like a no-brainer. Compared with State College, there are far more options. There is no shortage of people with whom I might connect. This was the basis for my assuming that dating out here would be relatively easy.
What I grossly underestimated was how little I understood the “vibe” of people out here. And to be honest and fair, I’m not sure if it’s an “out here” issue. It could just as easily be an “age” issue, an “independence” issue, an “income” issue, or who knows what. It’s been a few years since I’ve put effort in to meeting people, and I can’t rule out that those years (and a pandemic) have changed things. Much like running, I’m trying to compare my experiences now to my experiences from a few years ago. Back then, I was a faster runner with better endurance. Back then, I found dating, and more specifically, conversations of mutual curiosity, to be easier. Time has passed and maybe that’s the big difference… nevertheless, having made it one of several areas of focus in life, I feel like it’s a puzzle to be solved.
The biggest difference I’ve noticed between five years ago and now is that back then, it seemed much easier to start and sustain a conversation. I’m willing to accept that it might be a me thing. While I don’t think my conversation skills have atrophied that much, I suspect I’m less willing to wait for someone to match my enthusiasm. I’m also willing to accept that it’s a cultural difference, east coast vs west cost – there might be a language barrier I don’t quite understand. It’s as though there might be different rules of engagement and I’m still looking the rule-book.
It’s hard to generalize, but the sense I get is that many of the people I’m encountering on dating sites are either too busy, or don’t want to be bothered with the getting to know you text conversations that were so much a part of my prior experiences (usually described as “witty banter”). Things here feel far more passive. A typical scenario might be that someone reaches out to me by sending a like on a photo or comment. I’d text a reply to their like in a witty, charming, or philosophical way (that’s my tongue-in-cheek, over-inflated sense of my conversational skills talking). I’d be sure to include a question or a statement that invites a question. They’d reply. I’d reply (usually in a way that could build momentum – questions, funny observations, etc.). Then the conversation stalls – sometimes for days. At which point, I might send a follow up and then drop it if there’s no response. Often, there’s no response.
[Aside: I can’t write about asking questions as strategy without thinking that I might be Jim Gaffigan’s character on Flight of the Conchords. In the episode “Murray Takes It to the Next Level” Gaffigan’s character, Jim, is trying to be friends with the two main characters, Jermaine and Bret, and he asks way too many inane, rapid-fire questions as though that’s the sign of a good conversation and the foundation for building a friendship… NSFW but funny videos here, here, and here.]
To be fair, my sample size is small and my experience limited. This has only happened a handful of times. But those handful of times seem to represent a greater percentage of the overall attempts than they used to. This is me trying to be scientific in figuring out this puzzle. If in moving out here, I had hoped to give myself greater access to scenery, jobs, weather, and potential partners, it makes sense to evaluate where my assumptions were right, and where they were less than accurate. Of all of those domains, connecting with people in that mutual “wow, this person seems awesome or cool type of way” has been the hardest.
After the phone conversations with family and friends, I had an early lunch and went for a long walk.
From my apartment, I walked along the Marina to the Golden Gate Bridge, then through the Presidio to Baker Beach. Baker Beach, to my surprise, is a clothing optional beach. I realized this when not more than 50 feet from the entrance to the beach was a man sunbathing nude and front facing as though he’s the welcome sign to the beach. Fortunately, most people opted for clothing. From there, I walked to Land’s End along the coast and eventually to Ocean Beach where I sat for a few hours until the sun set over the Pacific. The trek was probably about six miles (and another six back), the views were stunning (and I’m not talking about five or six saggy-bottemed gents on Baker Beach). I made my way back through the city stopping at a restaurant for a beer and a burger.
As I hiked, I realized that access to so many parks and places of beauty might be a contributing factor to the different approaches to dating and connecting out here. In some respects, it’s easier to be independent doing your own thing with so many different things to do. I know that I wasn’t feeling terribly inclined to spend my time texting with anyone when I could so easily spend the day (as I did) walking through parks and catching a sunset over the ocean. As I hiked, I thought about how I talked to my family and friends about what brings me joy – and it’s been all things related to my physical environment and the number of activities I have at my fingertips.
A few weeks ago, I sat at a bar watching a football game and talking to strangers. My story is always the same, I’m new here and checking everything out. The follow up questions are often the same, “how do you like it so far?” My responses are much like they were as I talked to friends and family this past Sunday – enthusiastic and appreciative. The one guy said he liked my energy. It reminded him of how he felt when he first moved here. It made him feel good about living here. He admitted that he’s started to take all of this for granted. That too may be a part of the disconnect that I’m sensing and picking up on. I’m new. As such, I’m probably overly enthusiastic about things: going places, meeting people, taking it all in. For people who have been living here for a while, access to pretty people, places, and things might have gotten so routine that it has lulled them into a level of complacency. Relationships with place can be taken for granted just as easily as romantic and platonic relationships can.
Along those same lines, I’m beginning to wonder if climate, by which I mean temperature and seasons, has an impact on how people approach dating. Late fall and early winter have sometimes been dubbed cuffing season. It’s when people are looking to nest for the long winter ahead. A similar but opposite thing happens in the spring – people emerge from winter ready for new experiences and eager to meet new people. Walk around a college campus or an east coast city on one of the first warm days of spring, and you feel a palpable energy and vibrancy from the people around you. But what happens when the weather is the same all year round? What happens when there is no wintering over or spring renewal – no cyclical nature? Could that partially explain a consistent lack of urgency in the dating realm? Without clearly defined seasons, I could see how time might feel slightly warped and easily taken for granted.
For the time being, I’m pretty content to poke at the edges of this one piece of the puzzle as part of my learning experience. As with so many of life’s relationships (to place, to people, to passions), there’s a gradual adjustment that often results in a meeting in the middle. If this (whatever it is I’m trying to describe) is the way people operate out here, I suspect I’ll get used to those paces and that style. I may even adapt some of those habits. The trick, of course, is to do so without falling into complacency. As best as I can tell, a secret to being happy (or finding joy) seems to be in developing a beginner’s mindset and staying curious, and then building connections with equally enthusiastic people.