I really liked him, although you wouldn’t have thought so if you’d have read our Tinder convo. I was playing it cool the whole week, waiting for a formal invitation, acting like I didn’t care that much. Chit-chatting casually, following up consistently but not too eagerly. Very humbly, I think I was doing great.
Then Sunday came up, and I had second-thought about this whole date. I mean, a coffee date, really? Was that even a thing? If that was the man I could spend the rest of my life with, what would I be telling our children when they’d ask how we met? That our first encounter happened on a rainy Sunday afternoon at 2pm in a hipster coffee shop on the Main?
I was on the verge of telling him we should wait until the next weekend to get a proper dinner, but finally decided against it, once I realized it was more a matter of mindset than of setting.
Damn, I wore jeans, and even put on mascara. I told you, I liked the guy’s vibe.
I got there, he had just arrived as well. Perfect timing. I didn’t have trouble finding him in the coffee shop: he looked like his pictures. Bonus points for him.
As if I was even in a position to attribute points to anyone. It’s quite the opposite. Everytime time I go on a date, I feel like I’m the one having to perform. In the first few, I thought I had to show up and be exceptional. Nowadays, I feel like I have to be the perfect interviewer, the moon who will make the sun shine brighter.
At this point, I understand the theory. The polarity thing, aka having to act as the feminine pole if I want to attract someone with a masculine energy, thanks to hours of listening to John Wineland. The active listening, focusing deeply on the other person, all this I get.
Intellectually. No matter how many books I read about it, lectures I listen to, Sexy Confidence videos I watch, I can’t get my head around it. I still suck at dating.
So yes, you guessed it. I screwed up again.
I was there, trying to listen and bounce back on what he was telling me without taking too much space. Sharing a bit without overdoing it.
But when I do so I can’t be myself. I’m loud and big and bold. I’m intense and passionate and hyperactive. I take a lot of space and energy. So whenever I’m on a date and holding back, I start wondering if he will ever be able to hold all of me.
You’re right: I’m def overthinking it. It’s exhausting. I can’t even imagine what it’ll be in an actual relationship if the first date is that complicated. But what else can we do about it?
Actually, I think I need to chill the f*ck out. And follow the wisdom of my brother-in-law: if you don’t show up as yourself on the first date, when will you do so? At the second, third one? After moving together? Once you have kids?
For how long can you restrain yourself from being unapologetically, a 100 percent you?
Well, you got the answer. For me, it’s about 30 minutes in any given meeting. I just can’t shut up and not talk about Spirit. I cannot not share about Journey of Souls. The best I can do is to abstain from asking about your exact birth time and location (that I’ll keep for a second date, although I’m quite sure he was a Virgo sun).
There you have it. When you ask for drastic honesty and transparency, this is what you get. After about a year of dating on and off, I’m starting to figure out that there’s no other way. The A-student in me will have to give in and let go of the idea that there’s a right path, a perfect formula to dating.
I’m getting to the realization that I’m just a simple girl living in a lonely world. I’m ready to take rejection over rejection. I’ll toughen up. But I won’t stop believing.