The Best of Dating

Dating is not always horrible, I was reminded by a close friend in Seattle who has been with the same man for eight years and is having a difficult time adjusting to her new roles as a wife and mother.

"I wish we could just trade places for a week," she sighed, "and I can go out dancing and meet people and have casual sex with different men...  It's so much fun when you're getting to know someone.  There's no mystery to my husband.  We can't even take the time to connect with each other any more because our relationship has become putting all of our energy into a child we made.  At least you have the hope that you can start the process of falling in love with someone again, and that will keep you happy for a few years when it happens."

The grass is always greener, and you give up one lifestyle to get another.  At this point, I'd like to recall men I've met who brought meaning in some way to my life, while I have not been falling in love or gestating.

There was K in Brooklyn, who I think reads this blog.  He gave me his copy of Let the Great World Spin, which is one of my favorite books I've ever read.  Our two-night-stand when he was coked up and stoned and briefly decided to move to Seattle to date me made that literary event possible, and I passed on the book to another man several months later.

There was N, also in Brooklyn, who has no idea that our one-night-stand was one of my best dates ever and chronicled in a blog entry.  After sleeping with a hot mid-40s yoga guru, I saw a nutritionist and kicked up my workouts, inspired by the thought that when I am in my 40s, I too could attract men 14 years younger than me.

There was S who brought me to his favorite rock ledge in the Tatoosh Mountain Range, an area of the state where I had never climbed.

A man whose name I don't recall told me about a ferry that leaves from Washington and goes to Alaska.  It takes the same route as the cruise ships at a fraction of the price, and you camp on the deck.  I saw him only twice, but my friend and I bought tickets to take our first trip to Alaska this August, on the ferry.

Another man taught me about the role of forest fires in sustaining ecological balance.

I learned nothing from E, but the sex was great.

The man who obsessed over taking my anal virginity last year took me to his sister's farm in rural Snohomish County.  We kept it G-rated, played with his adorable nieces and ate cake.

M and J played guitar for me.  Mr. Polyamory jammed on his didgeridoo while he was stoned into oblivion.  A different S read me poems in Hebrew.  B and C showed me their photography.

A physical therapist who I went on one date with and never saw again encouraged me to run a half marathon, so I did.  I kept running long distances, and a year later I ran another ten minutes faster.

There has been meaning, I just need to look for it.


 

I May be Old and Childless, But...

Word on the street, from a mutual Facebook friend, is that the fiancé of the exboyfriend who inspired this blog, ("youth and I really love her kid"), posted a picture of her new tattoo:  a garter belt around her thigh.

Winning!

Felicidades a Todos!

On July 11th, one month before my 32nd birthday, I started my ascent of Mount Adams with my brother.  Hiking has taken on a special significance for me as a single woman; I don't have a go-to for a climbing partner, and I often head out into the mountains on my own.  On my hike the previous weekend, along a ridge facing the Saint Helens blast zone, I passed about thirty men.  I was one of only three women on the trail, and I was the only one unaccompanied.  "Are you hiking solo?"  I was, as always. 

At the summit of Mount Adams, the second highest peak in Washington state, there were again three women.  One was with her boyfriend, who pulled out a ring and proposed.  Another was the only female in a climbing party of six.  "You go girl!", we high-fived, noting that we stood out among the twenty + men on top.  Mountaineering is a male-dominated sport, and we held our own.

That same day, a baby was born in a hospital in Guatemala.

"Hola R____, te cuento que hoy nació mi hijo, al final fue cesárea, mi pareja y el bebé están estables."

A healthy baby boy for my ex-boyfriend and his fiance!  I was touched that he emailed me the news on arguably the most important day of his life.  Four years have passed since we last saw each other, and our worlds have twisted and turned in ways we couldn't have imagined.  But the foundation- a love that transcended cultures, religions, and languages, that broke through a bloody history of a civil war funded by my parents' tax dollars and resulting in the murder of his father, that taught me how to salsa dance and shoot tequila and speak a second language- the foundation is still there.

When people ask me what I'm looking for, that's the best way I can describe it.

 

That's Right, I Cried

Well, I got over that quickly.  How do I know?  The day after it happened, I got a full night's sleep, ran eight miles, had breakfast, and headed out to Oregon to meet friends for three days of camping and hiking.  In other words, it was a totally normal Pacific Northwest summer weekend.

During my last heartbreak I lost twenty pounds off of my 5'1'' frame while surviving on Mexican sodas- the only calories I could choke down.  I dreamed about driving my car off a cliff into the Columbia River and took Vicodin before going to bed to make the dreams go away.  I had to quit a job that I loved, relocate cities, and fly to Asia to try and get over the last man I had serious feelings for.  This time around, I'm good.

I felt stupid for crying in front of him, a man who I'd been on seven dates with.  Then I thought about the past three years and realized why the tears were completely justified.  Let's rehash what I count as my "success" stories again:

1)  Man I dated for six weeks who spent five of them trying to convince me to have anal sex with him and then broke up with me with a text message, while I was on vacation in Hawaii, because I "talk too much."

2)  A one-night stand with a 45 year old who lives 3000 miles away.

3)  Most recent dude.

And my almost-success stories, the men I dated where we tried and ultimately failed to have that connection:

1)  Jewish law student who, when I ended our relationship, physically shook me until I broke into tears, covered my face, and begged him not to hit me, then told me he loved me as I got out of his house as quickly as possible.  See why I prefer text message breakups?

2)  Downstairs neighbor who knocked on my door at 4 am going through alcohol withdrawals, asking me for Xanax.

If three years of dating landed you ZERO relationships that lasted more than two months, you would probably cry too.  My standards have dropped from a Jewish, financially-stable vegetarian who climbs mountains, is passionate about social justice, and wants a family to... any fun man who I enjoy having sex with.  Those standards have been met exactly three times.

F.M.L.  Hard.

 

The Conversation I Kind of Wish I Never Had

Things were going great.  I was having the best series of dates I've had in three years in Seattle, and because the stakes were high for me I had to know, to get clarification about whether or not he was feeling the same way.  So I asked, and he answered.

I don't remember his exact words, but his response was essentially a kind and thoughtfully-constructed rejection.  He was having a good time and there was a connection, but it wasn't THE connection that we are all looking for.  Whatever piece that transforms casual dating into a full-fledged relationship was missing for him and that, as I know too well, is not fixable.

I could tell it hurt him to hurt me.  We were laying down together and he avoided eye contact, looked up at the ceiling, and exhaled.  "Wow, that was really hard to say."  I told him it was okay, and it was.  I have been in his position more times than I can count, telling a partner that I knew our relationship wasn't going anywhere.  Being honest is the hardest part of dating, but it is so, so necessary.  I cannot fault a man for honesty.  To the contrary, it earns my respect.

We sat up, heads spinning, wondering where to go from that moment on.  "Well this has been really fun!," he laughed, and I agreed.  Truthfully, the experience of getting to know someone and see if a relationship could develop is the best part of dating.  I was sad that it would never progress the way I had hoped, but I was also SO FUCKING GRATEFUL to have been briefly excited about a person and have had our paths intersect in this dear city of mine.  I will never, ever regret having a fun time with a man, even if there is no future. 

I did however regret- as I think he did too- that I brought up the topic before we had sex.  Once my tears fell it was clear that the evening had to end, and I wished it had ended in the same manner of previous nights- sweaty and naked and physically fulfilled.  Note to self: initiate conversations about where relationships are headed after orgasms.  It is a learning process.

Sex with each other in the future is still on the table, which I always enjoy, as I maintain that just because a relationship won't work doesn't mean that there is no connection.  I love friendship sex in a lot of ways:  It is considerate.  It is comfortable.  There is no ambiguity about the status of a relationship.  If it's done right no one gets hurt, and both parties find meaning in each other.

But goddamnit, there will be a 66th first date.