Game Face: September, 2008

A few years ago, I wrote about how much fun dating was for me. I loved the potency of meeting someone new, where anything was possible, and I enjoyed the many opportunities for interesting conversations, for excitement, for the thrill that came with a first smile or a first kiss. I told my other single friends to lighten up; I said that they were making themselves miserable by setting high expectations for every first date.

Lately, I’ve been having that same conversation with my baby sister, who’s navigating the shoals of singlehood after 15ish years of being with the same guy; reminding her that there’s no point getting wound up about dating when she’s so fresh out of the gate—when a relationship is the last thing she needs or wants right now—and to stop second-guessing herself or analyzing every text message and phone call. To just enjoy the possibilities and diversity and new stories to tell.

Strangely, though, I’m not so much in that place anymore. I’m struggling with dating fatigue. The parts I found really fun—the lead-up from first encounter to first date, the back-and-forth “does he?” “does she?” ambiguity, the game of the unsaid and the lightning-strike heart-skip when the mutual spark revealed itself in the return of a kiss or the mention of future shared experiences—tend to seem more like necessary steps than pleasures of the hunt.

It’s equal portions of past disappointment (when that mutual spark turned out to be fueled by vodka-tonics or was explained away as a brief abandonment of reality), nearly six years on the rollercoaster (it’s not so much the highs and the lows as the changes in altitude that wear a person down), and, I guess, a general decay of faith that the effort will amount anything (I really don’t want to do this forever, but when will I be satisfied?).

My threshold for drama and histrionics is low these days, and my weakness for crazy women with messy backstories has abated (mostly). I’m leaning more toward smart, stable and passionate—someone who complements my own mid-level insanity…someone who can talk me off the ledge.

One of my favorite SpongeBob Squarepants episodes (I know, I know) is all about Spongebob’s beleaguered neighbor Squidward moving away to a gated community where everything seems to be perfect. He spends his days reveling in the self-satisfaction of an egghead existence—riding his bike to the corner store to buy his favorite canned bread, doing interpretive dance, playing clarinet in a quartet. What I love is the montage sequence, where you see him doing these things day after day, the perky music and the smile on his face both gradually drooping over time until all of the things he found so joyful have just become a slog.

Sometimes dating feels like a slog for me. Like, if you did a montage of my face over the last five-plus years, you’d see that grin and sense of wonder from the early days slowly melt into a “here we go again” grimace. You’d see the slow-but-steady transition from a loose, happy, open-faced smile to the tight, forced game face of someone jumping through hoops because there’s no other way to get to the other side.

Sometimes I want to skip from that first meeting, where potential fills the air like the moments before an electrical storm, to the fourth or fifth date, where we both know something important and wonderful has begun, and we’re curled around each other on the couch in front of a movie, the remnants of chicken panang and pad thai forgotten, the bottle of wine nearly empty, we have that easy use of the word “we” in conversations about travel or visiting the newest restaurant in town, and the rest of the evening (all the way to breakfast) is understood with a mix of contentment and anticipation.

But that’s not how dating works—you have to muddle through the doubt and uncertainty, the getting-to-know-you encounters (where you can only disclose so much admiration for each other) and the job interview questions before you can really enjoy the sense that something between you is established and has momentum. I’ve been on both sides of that spark turning out to be weaker than expected, and there’s wisdom in taking one’s time, especially if the initial chemistry and attraction are so palpable that you can imagine a lifetime of shared experiences.

Given the opportunity, I can feel a sense of connection and potential very quickly, and then realize it’s not going to work just as precipitately. And I know the pain of disorientation when I pull that rapid retreat crap, because I’m on the receiving end as often as I’m giving.

I remember an amazing weekend, where everything seemed to fall into place. It was a setup situation where we met and connected immediately. Our first date began in the late afternoon and didn’t end until early the next morning (not what you're thinking — like 2am, no funny stuff). But that didn’t stop us from spending hours and hours together the next day, finally working next to each other on our laptops, catching each other’s eye in wonder that things could feel so good so quickly, before walking into town for some dinner, occasionally even holding hands as we perambulated.

And two days later, it was all done. The sense of connection was questioned and deemed a temporary departure from reality. In some ways, it was the way we allowed ourselves to abandon the rational and just be happy in the moment that actually killed the thing. It was too much, too fast for her, and being in the “real world” of spreadsheets and measured decisions caused her to look back at the weekend in disbelief.

So, yeah, I understand the importance of measured steps.

But, crap, it’s exhausting!

It’s easy to imagine giving in and settling for a certain percentage of satisfaction and calling it good enough. But I’ve never lived my life that way. “Good enough” is a compromise I’ve never been willing to embrace, in love or work (or friends or travel or literature or hot dogs). It’s a principle that has taken its toll on me and those around me. But that’s the way I’m wired.

So, over it or not, I’m keeping my game face on.

Comments

[Hadassah Sabo]

oy! i am in the dating scene for a year now, and already the "here we go again" feeling is there. Hang in there, she will be worth the wait.

[Chassy]

Excellent food for thought. I think most of us have reached an emotional dating drought at one point or another. Personally, I find that a good sense of humor about the situation(s) is everything, and hey if you can live without it, you can blog about it;-)

I suggest you spend some time collecting the stories of your most "interesting" dates and submit to a publisher.