Because I like to think of myself as an overachiever, I started dating last month. I’ve been on my own for four months now — a whole third of a year. Might as well get my feet wet…
I never thought that having a good time with another person could make me feel lonely. I should have thought about it, considering that the loneliest I’ve ever felt was in the company of someone else, but I didn’t. I figured dating would be all fun and cocktails and flirting. And it is, kind of, except it’s more than that. It’s also expectations and chemistry and the upsetting combination of good rapport and zero sexual chemistry. Fantastic evenings would be overshadowed by someone standing too close, or trying to pin down a second date before the end of the first. I am not a platonic person, generally, and I’ve never felt so little desire for people whose company I’ve very much enjoyed.
Ultimately, trying to connect with people made me understand how happy I am on my own. Enjoying my friends, making new ones, letting someone buy me a drink without feeling the need to pay it back with my number (or more), enjoying a little arrangement with someone sweet and fun without trying to make it more than it is. I’m still going out here and there, but the intention is different. I don’t need (or want) more than to enjoy that evening, that moment.
It’s about time.