The Real Thing

I've been feeling like there's a strong juxtaposition from intentional dating and online dating, but I haven't been able to put my finger on it but it sort of just dawned on me in twofold:

I recently went out on a few dates with a guy, we'll call him Andre. Throughout the dates, there were things I didn't like but was trying to be open-minded and go-with-the-flow. After all, the most recurrent unsolicited dating advice I get is to not be so picky (which to me sounds a lot like lowering your standards or expectations, or turning off that little voice in your head that's skeptical). It's not like it wasn't enjoyable to spend time with him, but it wasn't enthralling like the beginning of either of my two relationships. I had moments of not fully liking my time with Andre; he was alright, but underwhelmed me. For having these qualities that interested me, much of the rest of him didn't, and some things even turned me off of him. That probably sounds harsh, but it just wasn't there and I wish I hadn't ignored it when I sensed it.

And therein lies the problem: it seems in online dating I have to let my guard down more because my gut tells me that certain things are yellow flags, which is not very open-minded. When really, I think I've let other people's advice get in my head too much. If it were up to just me, I'd trust my gut, which was usually telling me the right things in hindsight. And truthfully, it is up to just me. It's not anyone else's call, because it's not theirs to live with. For instance, with Coffee Shop Guy, had I better listened to my intuition, I could've avoided some things that were detrimental to our relationship. If I had been better attuned to myself...

Then it's that there's something about just noticing someone in life that works better for me. Online seems to be more about curating, or forcing something to be interesting because you should, if you want it to be successful. And it seems because there are all these options out there, one should be able to find tons of suitable people to date. The reality is that it's rare to find someone you feel intrigued by, turned on by, and excited to be with, and for it to be mutual. It's not like opening an app suddenly presents a huge selection of potentially dreamy, magnetic lovers ripe for the taking. But that's the illusion, which adds a pressure to the process and the act of swiping.

Frequenting an establishment and noticing someone, the way their face looks when they think or how their eyes sparkle when they talk, or how they put on their jacket, – all the while wondering who is this human that's become irresistibly fascinating – found simply by existing in the same space. Or noticing someone who's been under your nose, who you've known for a decade without a clue you could be best friends and that they're quietly so very cool.

It's hard to expect someone's fish and football pictures combined with an extensive three sentence self-description to stir the same wild curiosity that can organically bubble up in you when crossing paths with another human in real life.

It's hard to beat the real thing.

Never Again Mine

My heart broke all over again;
I cracked in half.
I don't know how to love in part
and the dying off is painful –
Being pulled apart
While trying to hold
myself together
But at the thought
again I crumble:
You will never again be mine,
Though always
in my heart.

Keeping Time

I'm the sentimental type. I think about anniversaries, they're etched onto my mind in a way it practically helps me keep time. But it's almost been a year and I'm at least okay now, but I still don't understand what happened. I live with a daily melange of feelings of love and hatred, and no place to put them but let them simmer in me and maybe, if I'm lucky, they'll just evaporate.

See just a year ago, my heart would change in a way I didn't think it ever could – though, truthfully, it also didn't. Maybe some people can do the love and let go thing, but I'm not cut out for that. Just a year ago, in spite of this, I finally managed to let go. Then a mere few weeks later a man came into my life and casually charmed me off my feet. Impossibly cool, but aloof so it didn't seem to matter to him that he was cool...which made him even more attractive. (Yes, I see the cliche.) I usually have a good read on people, I kind of get how we work and how we interact with each other, I feel like I can often see through people to their motivations and values. Yet somehow I got duped.

I tried to move on, thought I was ready and it would take someone else proving to me that not all that's left out there are emotionally stunted men who are so cool they'll break your heart without remorse -- icy. I tried to move on and one mediocre or crappy instance after another, I'm finding myself feeling discouraged and yet with clarity. The good old-fashioned way really knocked the wind out of me a time or two, so I go through these phases of attempting to date the modern way: apps. It always seems to go a variety of ways, none of which are successful. There was the zero chemistry guy, the CSG doppleganger who was also too cool for human decency and communication, and the guy who doesn't know what "no" means, or "owe" or "don't". That last one, left me missing the aloof emotionally closed-off guy because at least he was respectful of my body and my "no". And that left me missing the one that couldn't be. Which then made me realize, I need to get comfortable.

I hate being single, because compared to having someone who knows all about your life, checks in on you and thinks about you daily, and is gaga for you, and on and on – compared to that, being single sucks. I wish there were a more eloquent way to say it, but I don't have the patience and, well, it's a thought for another time.

Almost a year ago I was high and dry in life - no job, broken heart still mending, long overstaying in a place that was meant to be temporary. I can't help but look back at that version of myself and envy her. She didn't know life was just winding up to take another swing the second she'd get back up, that that handsome guy stealing glances at the coffee shop would break her heart all over again, too soon and too carelessly. I envy her because she didn't know it would get so hard again.

The me now? She knows that you don't find the real good stuff all that often and you can't force it where it isn't. She knows that no one's really deserved her since the first one. She knows that was special and to look for something like it. Hoping? That's another story.

How #MeToo Got Real

I'd had enough to say #metoo when the wildfire spread a few weeks ago. Even if you set aside the catcalls or "hey babys" of life in a female body, there was Rome.

A crowded subway car, me in light-airy mediterranean pants, and some guy thought it was his prerogative to touch my ass. At first I thought it was just the tight quarters and an accidental graze. However, as the ride went on, I realized it was intentional. I'd always envisioned myself as some kind of a hero in a moment like this, defensive and vocal. After I exited the subway, heart pounding, I went back to my hostel only to turn and leave on the bus headed to the airport to leave Rome. I sat down on the bus, and that's when it set in. I'd had no control over the situation; I didn't speak the language, I was an obvious tourist and I was trapped in that metro car with someone taking advantage of my body, whom I couldn't even see. On the bus ride to the airport, I cried because my body was used without my permission for the gratification of another. 

No one should ever be made out to be merely a commodity for their body.

Sure, the metro was uncomfortable and I was violated, but last night my #metoo got even more real... 

Apparently by the third date a guy can push a woman's boundaries and do things she didn't agree to. I won't go into detail because it isn't anyone's business whom I don't choose to tell, but my body was a commodity; something to be used, in spite of my requests, in spite of my voicing of discomfort and pain, in spite of my "no's". I didn't realize it until I left that something felt off and yet I felt relief the moment I stepped outside. I wondered to myself as I drove home feeling a little numb, was I just sexually assaulted? 

When I settled into my bed, icing my neck to hopefully reduce the appearance of three large, unwanted, protested hickeys, it hit me the answer was 'yes'. The quiet little strange feeling I had was from being cornered, being stuck in a situation where I felt powerless and weak. I'd generally consider myself a strong, independent woman who doesn't live much of life guided by fear. Still, I found myself in a scenario where I was not being respected and I was incapable of rendering a different outcome. Afraid. Intimidated. Scared. There aren't even many times in my life I've actually felt scared. So, as I laid there with a bag of frozen food on my neck, I cried. 

All thanks to the guy who was self-proclaimed "different from the rest." I'd liked him because he was happy-go-lucky and talkative, he'd voiced how he cried easily at movies, he even made me a delicious dinner. That guy made me feel afraid and ignored my "ow" and "ouch" and "no" and "don't". That guy thought he could text me something cute today about how he gave me three large hickeys (never mind that it was clearly against my will), which I had to cake in concealer and cover in a scarf. My response was a lengthier, more convicting and educational version of "Boy, bye!"

I cried a little more this morning, but mostly at the thought of the fear that I'd had. It was something new, this experience. Getting catcalled feels like a weak threat tied to expectation of appreciating the "compliments" and it's uncomfortable; being touched without permission by a perfect stranger is a personal violation and it is frightening; but being made to feel in fear of your safety, and unable to voice the feeling in the moment, that is alarming and disgusting. Other women have been in that position and had worse, and the thought of what happened to me makes me uncomfortable and angry and scared. 

For some reason, I felt I should write about this although I'm not entirely sure why. Maybe because we need to stop blaming women? Maybe because we need to stop saying that women are exaggerating or being "emotional"? Maybe because men need to face the reality of how much more physically powerful they are than us and not take that responsibility lightly? Maybe because women deserve more respect? All of the above.

So, #metoo.


NOTE: I don't write it to be asked about it. I don't write it for sympathy. But if it should help someone feel like their experience is valid and they should tell someone, or seek help for processing a sexual assault, that I wrote it for.