I find dating painful. Every part of it makes my body, mind, and soul cringe. The initial point of contact, where eyes lock, chemistry is assessed, and potentially life altering decisions are made frightens me. Anticipating whether or not this new date will go anywhere and wondering if a second date is worth it gives me angina. My brains swells with endless flurry of thoughts – Did I ask the right questions? Did I leave the right impression? Frankly, did I even care what this person sitting in front of me thought? I wonder if am I being authentic and true to myself as I navigate this game. More importantly, where and how do I meet men now?
In my 20s, these thoughts didn’t cross my mind. It didn’t particularly matter to me if I had a boyfriend simply for the sake of having a boyfriend. I preferred to lose myself in the moment. Carefree, and more often careless, my goal was to get a free dinner and perhaps a snuggle. During this time of my life, the meeting was easier and there was no room for second guessing. I recall an occasion where I was walking out of a lounge as a cutie was walking in. We looked at each other, grinned, said hello, whipped out our enormous cell phones, exchanged digits, and kept on with our business. This transpired within a span of 30 seconds. Another time, I joined a dating site for three days to see what the hype was all about. In that short span of time, with a surgeon’s precision, I decided on a man because he was cute, lived two stops away, and was therefore the ideal local ass. So I sent him a wink. My “relationship” with Mo, an adorable Colombian man, lasted on and off for two years. We were friends, lovers, and knew there wouldn’t be more between us. Our breaks were straight to the point, and went a little like this.
Ring Ring – I pick up phone
Mo:“Hey babe, want to grab dinner and a drink and come through?
Me: “I just met someone new, and I want to see how this rolls. If it doesn’t work out, I’ll call you.”
Two to three months later, the new guy is done, and I am at Mo’s place, getting it on in his kitchen, wearing shiny red pumps, and nothing else.
Needless to say, I didn’t play by any rules but my own, and have had a great time in doing so. Problem now is, my priorities have shifted, and I want to settle down, have a double income household, find (and be with) my life partner, and make babies. Unfortunately, old habits tend to resurface and have to be unlearned. New rules need to be set, and they have to be ones where I don’t feel that I am compromising my true self. One of the biggest lessons that needs to be figured out, is how to meet men. Men that are men, and not boys, or even dudes. Grown ones, with determination, brains, ambition (I'd say job, but the economy sucks and work looks different for everyone. So there has to be some leeway, just can't live home with momma!). Men with cute smiles and a twinkle in their eyes, and not the cheesy clearly inebriated grin and glazed over look. Men that open doors for you, don't call you "ma", or "son", or "boo", and it's not in jest. Men that are simply, real men.
So, here I am. A white woman, in my early 30s, with a diverse upbringing, who loves universally, and is absolutely petrified with this new dating adventure that I have embarked on. I am clueless as to what this looks like just yet. What I am certain of is these three things: 1- When he and I catch eyes, and I like it, I have to do something and stop being a punk. 2 - I need to venture out of the usual places where you meet boys, aka bars. 3- I have to find them when they aren't surrounded by their friends and putting on a show, so that it's a real and genuine connect.
Let’s see what happens when I hook the bait, cast the line, and fish. Undoubtedly, there will be a few that won't bite and several that I have to throw back in the water. Perhaps I'll get lucky and find a keeper.
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