My Existential Dilemma

A few weeks ago, I went out for drinks with some friends. D1 is a couple of months out of a 4-year relationship. D2 is happily married. C is two years out of a 7-year relationship.

And then there's little ol' forever single me.

C was praising her (relatively new) single life. She's one of those people who has always been in a relationship, and this is the first time in her adult life where she hasn't been a part of a couple. She's enjoying creating a home for herself, enjoying dinners out with friends, enjoying catching up with books and movies and solitude. For her, being single represents freedom.

I snorted. "Yeah, you're only two years in. That's the fun time. Talk to me after you've been single for a couple of decades."

All three of my friends looked at me, their jaws dropped. What was I talking about? I'm the independent single gal!!!! I'm Mary Tyler Moore! I'm Carrie Bradshaw! I'm Liz Lemon! I'm free!

I said, "Well, yeah, I'm free, but after awhile, that freedom gets sort of boring. That freedom gets (dare I say it?) kind of lonely."

This conversation has stuck with me over the past few weeks. It's not a feeling of sadness or unhappiness with who I am. It's not a feeling of self-hatred. On the contrary. I'm happy with who I am. I'm aware of all that I've accomplished and done, things that I probably couldn't have accomplished or done were I not single. But it's more an overwhelming feeling of...Have I missed the boat? Am I supposed to be doing something different? Have I made choices in life that have destined me to a life of solitude? Am I trapped in this existence?

And, as I said (though the Independent Girrls' Club of America will probably take away my membership card for even thinking this, let alone saying it) the freedom of being single gets kind of boring after awhile. Perhaps, in part, because that freedom is an illusion. I'm not spending my weekends dancing wildly at clubs (that was Years 21-29 of being single) or jumping out of airplanes (Year 33). I'm not picking up and flying to random foreign countries (not with a mortgage on my single-person's salary). No, as virtually the only absolutely single person I know, I'm spending my weekends much like my coupled friends are spending their weekends: Sitting on my butt watching DVDs and eating delivery. The only difference is that there's nobody to refill my glass.

Sure, I know exactly what I need to do to make my life more exciting. I can sign up for classes, join activity groups, go to singles' events, post a personal ad, etc. etc.

Been there. Done that. I desire genuine intimacy, not more activities.

The difficult thing, though, is that I don't feel like anybody gets it. They say things like, Oh, you're the type of woman who will be single forever, or, I just know that you'll meet someone. This is your year. My coupled friends all idealize my freedom. They stare at me starry-eyed, talk wistfully about my exciting social life, and ask when I'll organize another Girrls' Night Out. My recently-single friends are all celebrating in having control over the remote and being able to have cheap, one-night-stands. They see me as the eternally single gal, and they seem to think that I revel in this role.

Signs of a good first date (???)

The number one search term that brings people to this blog is, "What are the signs of a good first date?"

In my eyes, the answer to that has always been obvious: you both show up; you have good, easy conversation; you laugh; you seem to have some stuff in common; nobody's rude to the waitperson or to each other; nobody's staring at their watch every five seconds; nobody picks up the cute guy (or girl) sitting alone at the bar; there's usually talk of a second date.

Blah, blah, blah. That is what a good first date looks like.

I had my first date with the non-drinking, Buddhist vegetarian last night. We went for tea. We talked. We laughed. When I had to leave to meet a girlfriend for a movie, he immediately asked me out for dinner.

Apparently, I was on a good first date.

But the thing is, I know what a good first date looks like, but what does it feel like? Truth be told, for all that the conversation was easy and could have gone on for quite some time, I felt nothing. Nada. Zip. Zilch. I suppose it's worth another shot. NDBV is a nice man, relatively attractive, interesting, educated, funny. And I hear from friends that this thing called chemistry doesn't always appear in an instant, that sometimes it doesn't show up until days or weeks or even months into a whatevership.

But thinking back to my first date with Mr. Nice, in fact, thinking back to everything that led up to my first date with Mr. Nice, this was about as exciting as standing in line to buy stamps at the post office. Maybe I'm still nostalgic for Mr. Nice, still wishing that things could have turned out differently. But I can't help but think that the bar has been raised.

And I can't help but worry that this bar is entirely out of reach at the moment.

Ten Days Later

I've been e-mailing with Mr. Nice. We aren't getting back together, but it has brought some clarity to the situation. Ultimately, this is a case of him not being ready to be in a relationship. There is nothing about me or us that was problematic. He has no problems with me. He tried to make it work; he wanted to make it work. But something was pushing him to end things, something inside, something intangible, something he needs to work on away from me.

I told him that I think it's best if we cut communication for awhile, that we're talking in circles and neither of us has any real answers. I said that if the thing "wrong" with our relationship is that he isn't ready, I'm not about to beg, nag, or plead him to stay with me. I know that I cannot force him to be ready for something he's not ready for.

I told him that this would be much easier if I could hate him. The one thing I've never questioned is his kindness and his sincerity. It just sucks that something so promising has to end because one person isn't emotionally available.

In the meantime, I'll force myself to move forward, to not cling to that glimmer of hope that someday my Mr. Nice will be back for me, ready to make things work.

As we all know, things like that only work in the movies.

Are we all just crazy?

I've been dating Mr. Nice for about two months now. When we're together, things are effortless. We are both so into each other, it stuns me.

But that doesn't mean all of the baggage from relationships past is gone. All of that is still there, all of that still needs to be worked on. I find myself, in the days between our dates, totally and utterly freaking out about, well, about nothing. In my brain -- and I know where this comes from; it comes from the men in the past who did this -- I conjure up this twisted fantasy where Mr. Nice will all-of-a-sudden reveal his true colors, that he'll lose interest in me over, well, over nothing.

What's helped is to talk to others, to talk to people who are in solid, committed relationships. And do you know what I'm learning? That every single person I know was infected by the crazy in the early stages of their relationships (and the crazy even pops back into the picture from time-to-time years into the relationship). I suppose it's a natural thing to go through when one is making oneself vulnerable and exposed in front of another person. Trust -- and intimacy -- takes time to build, but it's easy to let the crazy take over entirely, to let it consume us and destroy our perspective. The Crazy is simply our attempt at protecting ourselves; but in the end, if left unchecked, it leads only to one thing: sabotage.

But in the end, when I'm left alone in my protective shell, I have to ponder, "What am I missing out on?"

The other day, when I was spinning my wheels over, well, over nothing, a wise friend said to me, "OK, this is when your dear friend sits you down (virtually) and tells you to CHILL...THINGS ARE FINE! Stop looking for them not to be!"

Wise words, indeed.

Book Review -- The Girls' Guide To Hunting and Fishing

A few years ago, I picked up a copy of the popular: The Girls' Guide to Hunting and Fishing, by Melissa Bank. I wasn't all that impressed with it at the time, blasted through it in a few hours with a casual, "Shrugg. Cute."

But a couple of weeks ago, after talking with a friend about expectations and dating, I found myself picking the book up again when she suggested I read the title story. In it, the narrator, a relationship-challenged woman named Jane, finds herself struggling with what "rules" she should follow when she meets the man of her dreams. She receives a copy of a book that outlines strict guidelines for her behavior, and enters her new relationship following every bit of advice. As she contemplates her every move, the writers of the book whisper in her ear: "Don't accept a date less than four days in advance!" "Make him wonder a little!" "Don't be negative!" "Be mysterious!" "Keep him guessing!"

Essentially, be everything but what you are in order to get the man. You can be yourself only after you've gotten him.

It's advice that we've all heard, advice we've all read, and that most of us struggle with because on some level, we know that playing these games "works". For Jane, the advice obviously works at first; she lands the guy and he courts her with enthusiasm. But -- and I know you saw this coming -- in the end, it backfires. Her man pulls away, and she finds herself at a crossroads: Adhere to these "rules" or return to being myself?

I won't spoil the ending for you, but I found myself at a similar junction this weekend. Mr. Nice -- you know, Bachelor #2 -- had turned down my invitation to go hiking this weekend because he had the flu. But yesterday afternoon -- you know, Saturday afternoon -- he called to say that he was feeling better; he asked if I had made new plans and then said if I hadn't, he'd love for me to come over for dinner.

I paused. The voices started in my head. Don't accept a last-minute invitation with him! Don't be so available! Don't let him think you've been sitting around, waiting for his call!

But the truth was, I didn't have plans beyond watching a movie and taking a bubble bath. The truth was, I wanted to see him. He knows I have a life outside of him; my independence and sense of self is what attracted him to me in the first place. I looked inside of my self and said, "I refuse to play games with him."

So I took a deep breath and said, "I'd love to have dinner with you."

I won't spoil the ending for you.

Nice guys....finish....

I was talking with a single friend of mine about Bachelor #2 this afternoon. He's the sweetest guy, I said to her. He's just so nice.

He is nice. He calls me on a regular basis. He gives me a ride home when I've missed the last train. He listens and helps me into my coat and has offered to help me buy the missing cables so that I can (finally) hook up the printer I've had collecting dust for the past ten months. I can't really explain it. He's just nice.

But, I went on to my colleague.

You're waiting for the other shoe to drop? she said knowingly.

Sadly, she's right. I'll catch myself not believing that he can possibly be this nice, as if niceness comes in limited quantities, and once it runs out, asshole emerges. After decades of dating losers, when nice enters the picture, it's hard to remove our cynical armor.

The thing is, though, I really think he is this nice, that he's just a nice guy. And the more I think about it, when I sort through my mental list of controlling, patronizing, distant, unavailable (but Interesting! Artistic! Mysterious!) relationships past, I realize that nice might be the most-important thing. I'm learning to push aside my cynicism and see Bachelor #2 for who he is: Nice. I'm learning to believe in nice.

A month or so ago, right when I was starting to chat with Bachelor #2, I was out at a dinner party to celebrate my friend A's birthday. After years of dramatic break-ups with complicated and distant men, she had just started dating a new guy, who had come along for the evening, and when a couple of us started asking her about him, she said with a tiny smile on her face, I don't know. He's just nice, you know?

And right now, dating my own nice guy, I'm left thinking that maybe my friend, A, is onto something.

Nice is nice, isn't it?

Dating in Triplicate

This is my dating philosophy for 2008. Perhaps it seems obvious, but what this means is that my goal is to always have three men in rotation at once (and if I happen to only have two or even one, I'm always looking for replacements). They don't have to all be men I'm actively dating (though that's the ideal!) but simply men who are possibilities for dating.

Dating in Triplicate isn't about becoming a player; no, that was my life in my twenties. I've come to the recent epiphany that I want a real relationship, a grown-up relationship, a stable relationship. But my problem has always been dealing with the first few weeks of dating. Either I get so frustrated with the process of dating that I wind up acting cynical (or I step out of the dating world entirely, for we all know it's much easier -- much safer -- to just return to the known, even if the known means spending Saturday night watching Dirty Dancing for the 103rd time while drinking champagne and eating chocolate in the tub) or I throw myself in so quickly because I've spotted what I think is a good thing that I wind up hurt in the end (see: "Dodged a Bullet").

No, Dating in Triplicate is about seeing dating for what it is: Not a whole lot in the early stages. It allows me to relax when I'm meeting new men, perhaps to be more of myself. Because when Dating in Triplicate, if a man rejects me, it doesn't matter; there's always another date on the horizon. When Dating in Triplicate, I hope to be more open to the signs that a man isn't right for me and less apt to cling to him, just because the alternative is being alone.

We'll see how this new philosophy works out. So far, it seems to be working well. I have two men on the plate (and a third, unknown bachelor is out there somewhere) and I've been fairly chilled out about seeing them and even more chilled out about whether or not they want to see me.

Run, don't walk

Away from "Therapy Guy."

Let me start by saying that I have no problem with a person who chooses to go to therapy. Anyone brave enough to recognize that s/he has problems that are too tough to handle alone deserves kudos. However, I have learned there is a huge difference between "Going to Therapy" and becoming "Therapy Guy."

At first, Therapy Guy seems like a grounded, healthy person. He is upfront and direct in stating what he is looking for; he is upfront and direct in recognizing the problems in his past, and he tells you that he is dealing with these problems. He is attentive and communicative and talks about things like personal responsibility and recovery and process. He will treat you in a way that no other man has treated you; he is available and doesn't play games and behaves like he genuinely wants to be around you. He is ready for a real relationship, after all, and he is not afraid to admit it.

Ordinarily, a man with mother issues, trust issues, relationship issues would be a big red flag; but Therapy Guy is aware and he is working on himself. You think, Outstanding. A guy who is honest, sensitive, and not afraid. A guy who is "evolved." He may not have the perfect past, but who among us does? This one, he's different. He's working through his past, not being defined by it.

But then, the cracks start to show. Like a recovering alcoholic who looks down her nose at someone having a drink or an ex-smoker who coughs the second someone lights up, Therapy Guy isn't all that. You can't have a conversation without analyzing, Who, what, where, when, why? Why? Why? Why????? Life doesn't seem to exist outside of his head. Every situation warrants analysis. He cannot simply appreciate the moment. When you have a feeling, you must immediately own it; you cannot just have it and process it later.

But most important, when things get sticky, Therapy Guy will deconstruct you, dissect you, tell you exactly where you went wrong. Because he is the Supreme Authority on all things psychoanalytic, you will be left feeling shattered, destroyed, but the echo of "Take responsibility for yourself" will make you feel guilty and insecure about feeling these things in the first place. Therapy Guy, after all, speaks the Truth about life. He knows. He knows.

For Therapy Guy, recovery defines his life. Therapy isn't a way to get to a healthy existence; it defines his existence. It gives him an answer for every question that life presents; it makes him feel safe, secure, justified, right.

You know he isn't a terrible person; you know he is still figuring things out; you know that all he said to you, about you, had less to do with you and more to do with him. Maybe, hopefully he will eventually figure things out. But for now, run, don't walk away from Therapy Guy. Don't let his analysis of you define your life.

I know I've said this before

In fact, I know I've said it more than once.

Hell, I know I've been there more than once.

But I will never understand why some women simply cannot face being alone.

I have a dear friend, D, who has been traveling for the past few months. She unofficially left behind a dysfunctional relationship, so I know that the trip was a way for her to reconnect with herself. But now she keeps putting off her return.

Every couple of weeks, I get an over-the-top e-mail from her, squeeing about some perfect guy that she's met, one that's "different" than the rest, one that might be "the one." Then a couple of weeks later, she'll send an over-the-top e-mail of frustration about how the whatevership has flatlined and that she can't figure out men.

Now, as a traveling kind of gal myself, I certainly understand the romanticized world of travel, how everyone you meet is new and exciting and how because you're removed from reality, you give yourself permission to act like a naive teenager again.

I get that.

But in this case, what I really think is going on is that my friend is afraid to come home. She's afraid to face her not-officially-over relationship, afraid that without a new lover stowed away in her carry-on, she'll fall back into a relationship she can't bear to let go of if she's alone. Maybe more travel is best; maybe it will eventually lead her to herself. But I can't help but fear that ultimately it is only leading her away from her self, leading her away from confronting the complexities, the good and the bad, of her reality.

Sunday Musings

Funny how few people understand the happiness a gal finds with being single. Funny how many of them worry about my being single as if I were dying of cancer or suffering from addiction. Their intentions are almost always good, so I don't get too irritated by their concerns; I just keep on living and seeing where that leads me.

But it continues.

For a couple of years now, C's boyfriend, F, has been auditioning (yes, that is the right word for it) potential dates at the neighborhood Peet's for me. F has very high standards for me. Too high. No man seems good enough. He's been talking about this one guy, Bachelor X, for several months now.

I keep asking, "When's F gonna deliver the goods?"

"Soon," C will say.

Now, apparently, F has some new potentials in mind. Let's call them Bachelors Y, Z, and AA. I said, "Why doesn't he just line them up in front of me, cattle-call style, and we'll get through them far more quickly?"

For all that I'm flattered by F's dedication, and even more flattered by his standards (far higher than the standards I had for myself in my 20s and early 30s, when men with pulses and high libidos were good enough for me) I feel like saying, "Yo, F! No man is perfect!"

But I must remember my patience. It's taken me 35 years and 11 months to figure that out. As F has only been looking for me for two years, I guess he's got some figuring out left for himself to do.

For the first time in the history of humankind

(Yes, it's been awhile; no, I haven't gone and gotten married!)

Friday night, C and I decided to do a little bar-hopping. We were at one of our favorite Mission bars, Dalva, when these two guys approached us. We were having a good time talking and flirting with them, when one of them suddenly says:

I moved to San Francisco two years ago, and pretty much all I've done is have casual sex. Now that I'm 32, I'm ready to find the woman of my dreams, settle down, and have babies with her.

I said to him, do you really want children? Or is it simply that you think that's what a 32-year-old man should do?

He said that he had never given it much thought before. At this point, he and his friend ordered fresh pints. Just as he was taking that first, satisfying swig, I said:

I find it interesting how many men make that decision so abruptly when they hit their early 30s, as it's just so foreign to me. Though you're sitting here with two women who have pretty much decided that they don't want children.

He puts down his beer and turns to his friend and says, "You about ready to go?" and then turns to us and says, "Bye." They immediately leave the bar, full beers abandoned on the counter.

Very strange, indeed.

A New Space

It has been awhile, hasn't it? I'd like to report that I've been spending the past couple of months having wild sex in a wild jungle with a wild man....



But that would be a lie.



No, I've been in a state of not-dating. Or perhaps I should call it non-dating. Or simply dating myself. For awhile, I was worried that I had reverted back to a state of bitterness and cynicism, but in the last few days I've realized that I've arrived at a place of post-cynicism. I'm not cynical. I'm not bitter. I'm actually quite content with things the way they are.



For the first time, I'm fully embracing not dating. Not even trying to date. I've been enjoying hanging out with friends, having dinner parties, hanging out solo, nesting. They say that when you arrive at this space, that's when you meet someone. But in my case, I tend to disagree.

Sahara

I was out to dinner the other night with E, C, and K. We were having our usual girlish chatter about life and love, and the recently-turned-29 E was talking about her wild escapades with a 24-year-old (ah, to be 29 again). C and K are happily coupled, and didn't have much to offer, but I somewhat tearfully said, "Oh E....my little girl's all grown up....you remind me of myself when I was your age.*"

But then the conversation took an unexpected turn. Mid-sentence, E started saying things like, "I want to have a baby in the next two years. I want to get pregnant soon."

My understanding of E fell off the table. Why have a baby when you're having 24-year-olds?

Then she said, "Do you know how long it's been since I've had sex? Since Thanksgiving!!!"

I paused for a moment's thought. Wasn't Thanksgiving just four weeks ago? "Thanksgiving of what year?" I said.

Then it struck me that this is the thing that separates single women in their late 20s from single women in their 30s. Four weeks seems like an eternity in your 20s, and it's merely a series of trips to Blockbuster in your 30s. Four weeks? I could do four weeks in my sleep! (Preferably in high-thread-count Egyptian cotton.) But it isn't a shift in desire or desireability; I know I'm entering my sexual prime; and I know I could get sex in a matter of days (hours, hell, minutes) if I really wanted it (see: Bachelor #1; also see random drunk friend who was hitting on me in the restaurant for the third time). But the thought of ripping off my clothes in a drunken haze with someone I don't really like -- and we women in our 30s know that, contrary to the movies, drunken one-night-stands are almost always dreadful -- leaves me feeling a bit queasy. You wake up feeling more lonely and lustful than you were the night before.

The next morning, I was talking with my friend, L, over coffee. L is an attractive single woman in her 40s. I told her the story of E, and she said, "It's closed for the season. What's the point of opening up shop for a few hours only to have to close it back down again? It's not worth it for one quick sale."

As tempting as the thought is of going to the pub round the corner for a little action, I know she's right. So I'll let my 20-something friends live my former life on my behalf and find contentment in my present life on my own. Even if it's at Blockbuster.

*Note: The second such ideas start spilling from your cocktail-filled mouth, it is best to go out and get yourself a date, a haircut, a new pair of shoes, or failing all of that: a puppy.

Indecision

Date #2 with Bachelor #1 went just as good as the first one. We met on a rainy Bay Area night at the always fantastic Luka's for delish food and delish cocktails and decadently delish conversation. Bachelor #1 is so kind and easy to talk with, and it's pretty clear that he's very into me.

And yet, I hesitate. I contradict myself, mid-thought.

My stomach flips when he sends me an e-mail the morning of our date just to tell me that he's looking forward to seeing me; yet I can't muster up the energy to get ready to leave my apartment. I'm sitting there at the bar, one second totally into him; the next second I can't wait for the date to end. What is at the root of this indecision?

I talked with D about it this morning. He, of course, just laughed and called me neurotic and told me to shut the fuck up and just date the man. (Okay, he didn't really say it in those words.) On one level, I know he's right; things don't have to always be so difficult. But I also told D that I don't have to like someone just because he likes me. In my twenties, I might have behaved that way, but in my somewhat-more-stable thirties, I don't want that to be the reason I date anyone.

And I also reminded myself that this is the first person I've dated in months and that I haven't dated anyone even remotely seriously in over two years. It's a scary thought, getting back out there, letting go of these walls that I've constructed around myself. Every step away from my barrier makes me want to race back home to hide. That, of course, has nothing to do with Bachelor #1 (or #2, #3, #4, when they arrive) but only to do with me.

Ah, things were so much easier when I just went to the corner guy, got drunk, pointed, and said, "You, buddy. You're coming home with me!"

An Interesting Observation

I just back from dinner with my friend, A. I was talking about my date with Bachelor #1 and mentioned that we split the tab. She was a bit perplexed by this, but said I should go out with him again as it's clear I'm way into him; however, if he doesn't pay for dinner this time, give him the boot.

Now, I'm a bit of a non-traditional gal who feels that if I reach for my wallet on a date (which I did) I should expect to pay my share. But even so, I listened to her advice, and we proceeded with dinner.

A few minutes later, as we were getting ready to leave, we were approached by two men. They shared their bottle of red with us, and we got to chatting with them about relationships; the subject of my date entered the conversation. I again mentioned that we split the tab, and both men immediately gave me the thumbs down sign. No if's, and's, or but's with these two. I should NOT give Bachelor #1 a green light for a second date.

Of course, I don't take advice so quickly from strangers in restaurants; Bachelor #1 and I have a second date scheduled for this Friday. However, it's gotten me thinking whether this seemingly-outdated rule of courtship is still the norm. After thinking about it, I realized that I can't think of the last first date I've had where the man didn't pay, even though I've always taken my wallet out and offered my share. I figure I can't judge Bachelor #1 when I initiated paying, but it is interesting to observe that my 3-person research sample all had the same reaction: Kick that man to the curb!

Hmmmm....question

What is it about dating that causes otherwise sane and rational individuals to turn into quivering masses of insecurity, spending hours on end deconstructing one late phone call or one cancelled date or one confusing e-mail?

This isn't a criticism, for I've been there just as many times as the next gal (heck, or even guy). It's more an observation and perhaps one of the primary reasons why I fled from the dating world for the past few months.

An Introduction

I guess I should start by explaining how and why "A Dater's Life" was born. Though now that I'm sitting here thinking about it, I don't even know if I can explain.

It was the summer of 2006, the summer before my 35th birthday, and I received a "Save the Date" e-mail from my years-younger friend MM, telling me that she was finally getting married. On my 35th birthday. It was the quintessential Sex and the City moment, but I didn't find myself laughing. Sure, I could make jokes to people about the absurdity of going to a wedding alone (well, with a gay man) on my 35th birthday when I hadn't been in a real relationship for over two years, hadn't even really dated anyone in that time period. I could search for the perfect outfit, drink copious amounts of champagne, treat myself to my favorite foods and then dance like a madwoman until 3 a.m. But on the inside, if I'm being honest, it was painful. Over the months that followed, I came to the realization that I had simply given up on dating. Dating was exhausting and frustrating and confusing and stressful, and I found myself totally clueless as to how to approach meeting men, now that I had grown up and stopped picking up random strangers at bars (which was how the vast majority of my dating life had gone). I found myself sitting at home alone more nights than I was going out, and while I found myself enjoying the quiet, the solitude, I couldn't help but feel it was a resignation to a state of being single and not true acceptance.

Like I said, I had given up.

Now, perhaps I am destined to be single forever. Let's be clear: I don't view being single as a failed life; there are countless things that I have accomplished -- that I will continue accomplishing -- as a single woman, and I am proud of the life that I have lived thus far. And if my future is to remain single, that is something I can learn to embrace. However, to quit trying is not the way I want to go. Quitting would be the real evidence of failure, and that is something I cannot accept in myself.

So I find myself, eight days after my 35th birthday, ready to challenge myself to go out there again, to find new ways to take risks for the possibility of love, to not just give up because a dater's life is difficult but to keep going because through that same difficulty the life of a dater can also be beautiful.

Thus the birth of "A Dater's Life."