I hemmed and hawed over how to respond to his question wondering if I "actually shook hands with other guys." What? What? I considered responses that might steer the conversation into safer territory. I wasn't even sure what he meant; was this some kind of handshake purity test? Was "handshake" a wink-wink-nudge-nudge code word for sexy times? Then I thought, we are only a few messages in, why am I wasting brainpower trying to interpret this question and come up with a response to reduce the threat? I didn't know this guy, and I didn't want to waste my time entertaining someone with humor that was questionable in both content and quality. I was annoyed with him, and even more annoyed with myself for my initial inclination to try to work with this stranger's lame comedic(?) material. With five decades of life behind me and no real longevity in my family tree, I didn't have time for this. I ended the conversation without explanation by unmatching this dude and blocking him.
I had a few enjoyable chats with other men, but they went nowhere. One guy had gone to an art school in New York and was a graphic designer living in Virginia. We had some fun banter about feeding crows, science fiction and the local women's professional soccer team. When a week passed and there was no movement towards a date, I unmatched and blocked. There was another who was nice enough, but a week went by with no forward momentum so I unmatched and moved on. It wasn't ghosting, exactly, it was the realization that I owed no explanation to people who showed they weren't interested in meeting, regardless of how well the initial conversation started. In addition to eliminating men who didn't seem interested, if 24 hours went by without any messages, I would unmatch. I didn't want to poke or prod anyone into appearing interested for the benefit of my ego, and besides, if it took that much work in the beginning, what would communication look like later on?
My first Hinge date was with A. I initiated the messaging by responding to this:
Okay, he didn't answer the prompt correctly but I was willing to overlook that because his unabashed enthusiasm for reading felt inviting. As someone with bookcases laden with books I had bought but not yet read, his self-described struggle in the bookstore was endearing. I asked what he was reading and our messaging took off from there.
A lived an hour away from me, and in his Hinge profile prompt responses, he also included that he wanted to plan some travel (where to? Vietnam, which conjured up passport bro assumptions, but I didn't investigate further). His photos showed him in an array of activities: hiking, running the Army ten miler, in construction gear at work, dressed in a suit for a formal event, and in a blue button down shirt, at a desk. For spiritual beliefs, he identified as "Atheist," which also felt like a rare find, and relatable. I'm not inclined to say I don't believe in God or a higher power, it's more that I don't buy into Christianity. As a black person in the U.S., I've always felt an oddity for my beliefs, but that's a topic worthy of its own blog post.
It took less than a week for A to ask me out. He mentioned being interested in trying out axe throwing and unsurprisingly, this was his suggestion for our date. He'd seen a place in D.C. and wanted to check it out. We agreed to meet up on a Saturday evening, and a few days before, he checked with me to see what times worked best for the reservation.
The axe throwing spot was in D.C. At my mature age, I've found that I've gotten quirkier and quirkier about driving places -- specifically avoiding city driving (because I don't need to make my nerves go from bad to worse), and parking. If I can take metro and walk a few blocks, that's my solution. The place was in a section of D.C. I had never visited before, but it was on the same line that extended into my part of the suburbs, the equivalent of a straight shot, in driving terms -- no pesky station transfers or other such obtsacles in the way. I would have roughly a mile to walk, so I dressed in something casual,a cute t-shirt, flare blue jeans and converse low tops. What else would someone wear to throw axes anyway?
It was humid, and I didn't anticipate hills or how it would feel to walk a mile in clothes that weren't designed for a workout. I arrived slightly damp, but on time. A was there with a bouquet of red roses interpersed with lilies, an Easter arrangement. We did the two-people-meeting-for-the-first-time hug and the server led us to our assigned axe throwing booth. What I also didn't anticipate was that an establishment would not have air conditioning or sufficient ventilation. Didn't they understand some of us road marched from the metro station would arrive sweaty because we were too
The server gave us a basic rundown of the rules, including how to throw the axe. The "target" was a projection on a wood covered wall, and apparently there were a few types of games available to play with different wall projections to mix things up. I knew A reserved the axe throwing booth for an hour, but I also quickly realized, as we stood beside each other, throwing our weapons at our respective targets, that this activity was not conducive to conversation. We managed a few basics, but neither of us were very good at this -- I kept throwing the axe at angles that caused it to bounce off of the wall and land on the floor in front of the target. We gave up about fifteen minutes in, when I landed a bull's eye (see above). A seemed more enthusiastic about my success than I was, and snapped the photo. I chalked it up to beginner's luck over any real athletic skill or talent.
There was a high top seating area just outside the half-wall of our booth and again, I realized it was not conducive to conversation because it positioned everyone sitting there facing the same direction, into the booth where the targets were. I grabbed one of the chairs and dragged it into the target practice area, so we could face each other and talk.
One of the first questions A asked was, why was I single? I didn't take this as offensive; based on our messages, I took him to be a bit awkward and nerdy, not mean spirited or judgy. I explained that I had initiated my divorce, so in that way I had chosen to be single. When I returned the question for him to answer, he explained that marriage and children had not panned out for him, but he got to be the fun uncle, and had a slew of dad jokes to bolster his standing with his nieces. I had noticed A had a caribbean accent, and he revealed that he had moved from Jamaica at 19. When he jokingly turned up the patois in conversation, I felt compelled to share that my ex was also originally from Jamaica. We had a good laugh over it. I didn't want to hold something against him that he couldn't help; I didn't share that I had blocked anyone on Hinge that seemed overly loud and proud about being Jamaican. Experiencing two plus decades of that flavor of braggadocio was more than enough for a lifetime. A didn't seem overly proud or ashamed -- he did jokingly apologize if he brought up negative feelings.
We shared tacos and I kept emptying my glasses of water, in an attempt to compensate for my metro walk and the lack of ventilation. The place was okay, but felt unfinished, like one of those large warehouse or loft spaces that had been converted into a living space. When we finished up, A suggested a walk around the block to cool off, which I appreciated. After the sun had set, the outside air was cooler and a breeze was blowing. As we rounded the corner, A realized he'd forgotten to pay the bill and we returned to the axe throwing spot. As we walked by a younger couple dining outside, the man exclaimed that A and I made a "beautiful couple." We both said thank you, but internally, I rolled my eyes.
What does this guy know? Why did he say that? Why did he think anyone cared about his split second observation of two people on a first date? I was annoyed that this stranger felt the need to weigh in; the compliment felt more burdensome than flattering.
I waited outside for an extended amount of time as A settled the bill. He was very apologetic, and when I said I would order a Lyft to get myself back to the metro station, he offered to drop me off at the metro station. He respected that, as a woman, I might be hestiant to take the offer from someone I didn't know. I appreciated that, and took him up on it.
The parking garage was across the street and we walked up a few ramps to get to his truck. The interior smelled brand new and he admitted a recent accident had totaled his previous vehicle. We made small talk and hugged across the armrest when we reached my metro stop. I rode home and snapped a selfie with my flowers, and assured the friends who had been along for my dating adventures that the date had gone well.
A and I met up again, this time at a bookstore on the wharf in D.C. on a Saturday morning, my choice because I knew the metro station was a couple of blocks away, well under a mile, and the sun was up but the air had not yet warmed up to late afternoon temperatures. A was already there when I arrived and we hugged when he found me. We browsed the shelves and made our selections. He bought one book to replace one that his mother had borrowed, and I learned that she was living in Jamaica. From what I had gathered, A's father relocated to the U.S. and remarried. A was living with his father, and hinted that he had some financial trouble a few years earlier. Based on my state court system searches, it looked like A had some money issues that had gone to trial.
How did I feel about that? I was relieved there was nothing indicating A was violent or dangerous, but I also felt protective of myself. Everyone was vulnerable to financial problems, but was this a pattern or an isolated life lesson? Could I consider someone whose financial shit wasn't together if they were fine in other areas of their life? My old ways of gazing upon men I liked as if they could do no wrong was long gone. I finally understood men weren't mysterious and special creatures; they weren't smarter than women, they weren't inherently better, they weren't stronger, more capable, or more financially savvy. They were just people. With that realization, my usual tendency to don rose colored glasses was gone.
At this point, I wasn't going to decide, but I filed it away. A offered to buy my books as we stood in line to check out, which was sweet and generous of him, but I refused. We continued on to share an early lunch where he talked about his father and his setpmother, and how their marriage had become more of a roommate situation. "That's not what I want," A declared, and I thought, these are the thoughts of a man who hasn't experienced the ebbs and flows that come with being legally hitched to the same person for decades.
I knew he had afternoon obligations, and my kids, who usually got up later on weekends, probably had things they wanted to do. At the point when I thought we would split -- he drove, while I caught the metro -- we detoured to his parking location, which was located at different metro stop, still walking distance but further away.
This was where I understood I still had some work to do.
Along that walk, A shared that he was grieving a friendship, and how people don't talk about that. commiserated, and shared that I had a few friendships that had ended without much real discussion or mending. His friend had served with him in the Air Force, and according to him, she got tired of hearing about his "high school shit."
I liked that his best friend was a woman, but as a woman, I understood the fatigue of hearing someone share problems they made little movement to solve or change. A said he attempted to reach out to her, but she didn't respond. At some point as we walked up the hill to the further-away-than-I-liked metro station, A reached out to take my hand. This was another moment that showed me I had work to do.
I did not want to hold his hand. I liked A, but I wasn't attracted. I didn't know if attraction was going to change with time. Two dates in, approximately four hours in total with a person who was still mostly a stranger, was enough time to understand what I was not feeling, and not enough time to predict how I might have felt in the future. I took A's invitation and held hands as we walked up the hill, but it felt inauthentic, an act of pity more than desire. I held his hand because I didn't want A to experience the sting of rejection.
We turned the corner and I immediately recognized the Smithsonian museums I had visited with my older daughter a few weeks earlier, and the separate parts of D.C. that seemed so far apart began stitching together. As we walked, A commented that I moved at a pretty decent pace. I questioned this and he said, "well, if we had to get moving, I know you could keep up."
Again, I will chalk this up to awkwardness more than anything judgy or weird. It had a hint of "You're not like other girls," but I didn't press the issue. I wanted to get on the train and go home. When the metro station came into view, I pointed it out and we headed over. Just as I was ready to rush off, A kissed me on the lips, and we said our goodbyes. I descended the escalator fully knowing not only did I not want to hold hands, I didn't want a kiss, either, not on the lips or anywhere else. I was relieved to get on the train and head back home. I wasn't looking forward to a third date.
I reported back to my friend M when I was done with station transfers and settled into my seat for the ride home on the red line.
Not a bad outing. I am not in a place to be dating at the moment. I like A. I am not attracted to A. I have to be honest about that.M replied right away.
I did not want to participate in a ritual that seemed to include automatic kissing on a second date, reminiscent of the way one advances along a path in a board game. I had already been through a long marriage that came with its own societal script. I wasn't eager to jump into a something else that came with expectations I didn't fully examine or agree upon. I didn't want the burden of having someone pay for my meals so I unconsciously or consciously would buy into the belief that my body would be the expected reward. Not only that, I had detoured out of my way to a metro station convenient to A's parking instead of staying true to my original plan. The entire detour, to include the hand holding and the unsolicited kiss, felt like self abandonment and betrayal, which was my work to overcome. The need to be polite and override my own feelings to spare someone else's has never served me well. To make it right, I was going to have to be the one to pull the emergency brake and get myself off this doomed ride.
As soon as A suggested a third date, I said something. I had a long history of being afraid of men getting angry and I hoped I was right about A -- that he was a little awkward, and a little nerdy, but he wasn't an angry man. I came up with a tailored way of replying, "It's not you, it's me" in a text message and sent it.
I felt some sadness and a huge sense of relief. I would like to cultivate a friendship with A -- he seemed kind and sweet-natured, and I liked that he was a reader -- but I didn't want to invite confusion or inadvertently send mixed signals. I want male friends, but I fear the script -- that message that men and women cannot truly be friends, or that any attraction must be acted upon -- will always get in the way.
I deactivated my Hinge account, which also brought relief. No more checking to see if anyone had pinged me, no more scrolling to see which men had minimally acceptable profiles.
These dates showed me I needed to stick to staying true to myself, including when doing so might make someone else uncomfortable, sad or angry. I learned I'm unwilling to follow the script, even for someone who seemed nice enough. I realized I don't want to adhere to some imagined timeline, to go along to get along in the hope attraction will eventually spark. I don't want to move through life bypassing my own feelings in hopes I'll find the type of connection I'm seeking.
I often think of a quote by bell hooks:
We fear that evaluating our needs and then carefully choosing partners will reveal that there is no one for us to love. Most of us prefer to have a partner who is lacking than no partner at all. What becomes apparent is that we may be more interested in finding a partner than in knowing love.I've sought love from men who seemed thoroughly unwilling to connect or know me beyond their impression of me. I've pursued people who looked good on paper and seemed to have enough in common with me to theoretically work out, yet these relationships failed. I think of how often I could not identify what I wanted out of a relationship until I experienced what I didn't want. I consider how I may never find the romantic love I seek, and that the idea that there is someone for everyone is just as false as some of the other societal scripts I initially accepted without question. I think of how to make peace with that consideration with the understanding that no relationship, or promise of a relationship should come at the cost of abandoning myself.
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