Dating, part 1: desperation

“I think you should be more social.”

I stared at my mother standing in my doorway from my sprawl on the bed. I regretfully put my book down next to me, forced to deal with some foolishness. I think I was 15, plus or minus 2 years. In high school, certainly, and had been there long enough to realize that the tales of football games and parties Mom shared with me would not be part of my experience.

“Perhaps a therapist could help you through wanting to be alone so much.” She continued.

“Mom, I’m fine. I’m trying to read my book. Perhaps you could see someone about your concern for me.”

So, with a roll of my eyes, I motioned toward the door and sighed with pleasure at being allowed my thoughts and dreams, uninterrupted by other people.

The story begins quite easily. The dichotomy that exists in my head isn’t at all unique, though at one time I believed it to be so. I love to be alone. Much to Mom’s continued concern, I so enjoy solitude.

The problem is that consequence of spending time alone. Sometimes I get lonely, and have noticed and worried over it before Mom even mentioned her counseling plan. The cool thing is that online dating allowed me the illusion of being connected and searching while retaining my distance. So I did that for awhile, throughout my first year of grad school.

At 22, wise as I was (or wasn’t), I had already questioned my ability to happen across the right person. It just didn’t seem likely to run into someone while I was out. I’m not good at going to bars or clubs – it brings out all those pesky insecurities I try mightily to hide.

“You’re not going to find someone sitting home alone!” Mom insisted many times.

“You don’t give off a sexy vibe.” M said more gently. “You have this sweet, kind, polite air about you, which is great! But maybe you could do a bit of a ‘come and get it’ thing too!”

I laughed. “M! If someone was ‘coming to get it’, I’d be trying to prevent it. I need time to warm up, get comfortable, ease into it. I don’t do sexy right away. And someone who wants that isn’t looking for me.”

I’ll give myself credit for a sense of self. But the analysis was prompted by my desire for an excuse – I don’t like the looks I get when I continue to admit to being single. I’m tired of being the odd one out on family holidays and vacations. So it’s nice to have a reason, even if I’m the only one who knows it, as to why relationships are so difficult for me.

Anyway, I’d done blind dates. The first was at a really nice restaurant, where I turned down wine in favor of keeping all my wits about me. Then listened to an engineer drone on about how no one else in the world could do his job. How he was so smart, so spiritual, so special. So painfully boring. Lesson? Always, always, always take the wine.

Then later, there was someone I met on match.com, before it got overly socially acceptable in the small Midwestern cities. I had taken a break, then tried to date a friend. I couldn't let him kiss me though - my stomach turned and cramped rather flipped and fluttered. I remember shrugging at him.

"It's just not there. I want it to be. I love you. I think you're funny and smart and cute. But..."

So he smiled and we hugged and my tummy eased in relief that I wasn't going to force a physical relationship where it simply didn't belong. Sex, and the acts leading to it, are an endless source of fascination to me. And as I'm drafting dating stories and editing others, I think it's the sticking point in many of my near-misses. Which sucks because I don't know what to do about it.

But back to the story. So there was another guy from match.com. I accepted his offer to meet after only 2 emails, wanting to put something between me and this friend situation that to this day bugs me. Because we would have worked on many levels.

The blind date went reasonably well, though he was wracking up deductions in my mind. He didn’t call to confirm plans until the last minute, only reaching me after I had already changed into pajamas and started cleaning my tiny studio apartment. But I got ready and picked him up (another problem – I don’t particularly enjoy chauffeuring men around on the first date). We sat at a diner while he ate, and I drank soda (again with the no wine – some lessons just don’t stick at first). I was warming up slowly, listening to his stories, offering only a frown when he talked about how higher education was a waste of time. But then…

“I babysat my nephew the other night.” The waitress offered. It wasn’t busy and perhaps she was bored. Or maybe I was giving off the not so into this vibe along with my friendly sweetness.

We must have been talking about children in some context, though I can’t remember what prompted the comment from the waitress.

“How old is he?” I asked, only briefly hesitating to try to figure out why she would tell us.

“Four. He’s a handful! He just kept running around and making messes. I couldn’t get him to calm down.”

I smiled, not having much experience with children at that point. I was getting ready to launch into an amusing story about my new Sunday School class, when Date offered his little gem.

“You just want to throw them up against a wall sometimes, don’t you?” He said from around a mouthful of French fries. Waitress laughed. I turned to him with raised eyebrows.

She wasn’t offended, but it bothered me that he would joke about hurting a toddler. So I gave a cue that I didn’t love it. Had he dropped it, we would have been fine. But he didn’t.

“Or throw them right out a window! So you can watch them bounce off the sidewalk!” He laughed and Waitress giggled.

I settled into a glare and wondered if I could just leave him there with her.

“I was kidding. I wouldn’t hurt a child.” He attempted to placate me, seeing that I wasn’t going to ease into amusement.

So that was done – I told him I was tired, dropped him off, and proceeded home. I can deal with listening to boring stories, an endless monologue that indicates you’d be just as happy sitting across from anyone. I’ll deal with jibes against what I do and my goals. But I just keep getting closer and closer to finding the little statement that pushes me over the edge into dismissing someone completely.

Dating is hard for me. Even when easing into a relationship from a friendship or acquaintance. Choosing the right outfit, sending the right signals, wondering if you’re coming on too strong and appearing desperate, or if you’re appearing too standoffish and watching your chance at a good-night kiss slip away in the midst of natural reserve. Putting on darker make-up, pushing past my comfort zone of friendly, sweet me into wouldn’t-you-love-to-be-involved-with-me me.

It’s like interviewing for your soul. Not any skills or experience. But the little facets that form me – what matters, what I listen for in songs or conversations, what I find charming or sexy versus what’s revolting. How I look – and that’s a tough one for me. My family, my friends, hobbies, humor, all the little traits that are tucked inside and carefully protected have to be trotted out and displayed for possible rejection from a guy you might not be all that impressed with anyway.

So, screw it, right? I had friends – spent almost all my free time with M since her fiancé traveled extensively for work. We went out for dinner, took walks, jogged on the rare occasions I was unable to talk her out of it. We talked, shared everything. So I had an outlet. But she went away for the summer.

I met with Violet right before M left. Violet is wonderful - a fantastic friend who I miss dearly to this day. We met one day for Thai food – panang curry – and stretched lunch into a 3 hour marathon of green tea, rice and chicken.

Violet is much of what I hope to be. Smart, educated, friendly, pretty, she owned a house, had 2 dogs, was funny and insightful and kind. In short, she was a lot like how I saw myself in 20 years, as she’d recently eased past her 40ith birthday. So as we sat and talked through the first hour of lunch, I asked her how it felt to be single. Was it a choice? Or did she feel like she missed her chance?

She cocked her head and considered me carefully.

“Life is a series of decisions. Some you realize are important, others you don’t. I didn’t consciously say ‘I’m never getting married. Or having children. Or sharing my life.’ I still want those things. But I didn’t decide to go get them. And the years kind of slipped by, and I made friends, and moved forward in my career, and lived those years. So my advice to you is to consider what you want personally. Then go after it.”

I looked at her – her shiny dark hair and careful make-up, her generous spirit and incredible humor, and was terrified to the depths of my soul.

It wasn’t just her. Everyone in my family – male or female, any generation – has been married by age 21. Everyone. So, at 22, heading into my 23rd year, I was desperate. I’d waited too long. Missed the guy. And everyone who said I was still young? Well, they were wrong! Look at Violet! Time flies by and then all of a sudden, you’re lying in a nursing home somewhere hoping that your life served as a warning for those women who forgot to date. Or decided it was too hard.

I’m worried that I’m reducing Violet to some lesson I learned, which pains me since I think so highly of her. She’s offered me a great deal of wisdom and encouragement, and is one of the people who replies immediately when I send a pleading I need a pep talk email. She’s so great, yet so single. When someone offers that someone will recognize how great I am – smart and funny and charming and cute – I have anecdotal evidence that it doesn’t always happen. It is possible, perhaps easy in some cases, to avoid men and end up looking around wondering why nobody every saw what a gem you are.

So I went home and looked at an email I’d received but ignored. It was from a guy my age, from a town not very far away. He didn’t write very well – the grammar was poor and the spelling was iffy. He said he was shorter than my profile mentioned I wanted. But he was faithful – very strongly Christian. An EMT, with prior military training. Most importantly, he liked me. He wrote of several items I’d mentioned in my profile, telling me how special and smart I seemed.

So I replied, hesitantly accepted his offer of a meeting, and headed down the path to my next decision.

The lesson, if you can't see it coming and don't mind learning it over the next few posts, is that you don't want to make desperate decisions, grasping eagerly for the guy in front of you to be the guy. Sometimes he's just a guy - with great qualities and a few flaws. So if I'm hard on these men, and I'm worried that I will be, I want to point out an underlying knowledge that I enjoy men tremendously and appreciate that dating can be difficult for them as well.

But for now, we wait with a pre-doctoral student for the next piece of her adventure, worried and wanting something she still doesn't have. Poor thing.