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The Dating Game 

I recently had coffee with an old friend, and we talked a lot about past relationships. So much so, that I’ve been dwelling on the memories of my relationships for days now. Truthfully, I’m sneaking up on two weeks here. Two weeks of late night insomnia, where my mind instead of doing the nice thing and allowing me to sleep, decides to remind me of every single person I’ve ever dated. Truth be told, it’s a long list, and sleep doesn’t seem to be getting any closer.

When I was younger, you could have called me “boy crazy”. I had a lot of crushes. Although, I was also shy, not having my first kiss until I was fourteen years old. An embarrassing affair at a friends birthday party, with all of my comrades watching hungrily to see if I’d mess it up. I did. Turned my head the wrong way, smashed noses. 

In time I got over the shyness, and in turn learned how to kiss, I suppose. With my seventeenth year came graduation from high school, my first real job, and college. I don’t quite know how or when it happened, but that year I blossomed. No longer did I feel like an ugly duckling, or shy as a mouse. I grew more confident of myself, and finally started to understand who I was as a person. That’s when I started to really date. 

As the World Wide Web grew more and more popular, and I was gifted a computer from my father, I found myself drawn to chat rooms where I could flirt more easily, having a mask of anonymity to hide behind. 

By the time I went to university in New Zealand, I’d found my stride in the dating world. My best friend Carmel and I used to constantly joke that this year or next year would be the year we would find boyfriends. And while we always gave it a laugh, and crushed on numerous, I don’t think we were ever fearful of not finding a life companion. It was only a matter of time.

Fast forward fourteen years, and here I am at thirty five, still single. Not that I haven’t dated. I’ve held two long term relationships in that time, as well as dated countless others. Do not misunderstand me, it’s not that I fear commitment. It’s as they say, I just haven’t found “the one”. 

For the last two years I could have sworn it had to do with my illness. I mean I did have all my hormones turned off due to long term pain management medications. Over a year of no libido is a long time. But now that I’m off them, and my hormones and libido are back in check, I can’t really use that as an excuse. Perhaps it was my insecurities all along that kept me alone. Confidence shows, so of course insecurities and doubt can show as well. Throw in a good dose of self loathing due to weight gain, and you don’t really paint a pretty picture.

So here I was, in a coffee shop, listening to my old friend talk about how they couldn’t find anyone to date who was worth it. And it catapulted my mind into a wormhole of every relationship, crush, sexual encounter, and glance, I ever had with another. Suddenly I was up at night wondering where I had gone wrong, if I should have given one a chance, or if I had wasted time with another. Your mind sucks that way. Anytime you want to sleep, it’s always there to count on with sneaky little unspoken comments like “they could have been the one” or “should have given that guy a chance” or “too late now”.

I hate my mind at 3am.

But despite my mind attempting to screw my sleep pattern, I did learn something of all this. My disease was never keeping me back. It was me. And all those other relationships and crushes and scenarios, well they didn’t work out because they weren’t meant to. My heart was still on reserve for the one who was worth it. 

We can’t judge our relationship statuses on the timing of others. My old friends dating life might not be working because he’s yet to meet his penguin (yes, I am using a Never Been Kissed reference, deal with it). Carmel found her soul mate eight years ago, and married him last year. It doesn’t mean that I will never find love. It just means that it’s not my time. Both of my sisters have married already, one being ten years younger than I. Doesn’t mean I won’t. And it doesn’t mean I will. But I’ve got to stop thinking negatively about dating. 

People say you’ll meet someone when you’re ready. I don’t think I was ready before.  But that was then, and this is now.

I walk alone

I know a lot of people who have a problem with being alone. I don’t just mean relationships, as in they have to be in one always, though that is correct for quite a few of them. I mean generally they have issues with being alone in life. They don’t like spending time on their own, preferring a constant stream of people and activities to keep them occupied. The idea of going to a movie theater or a show without a companion is a preposterous idea, something to not even be considered. They even get antsy if their weekends aren’t filled with a myriad of activities, involving friends, family, and generally a crowd.

I think this is a really unhealthy behavior or mindset to have. I believe that it’s important to know how to be by ourselves, and are even comfortable doing so. A wise friend of mine once told me ‘if I can’t be happy when I’m on my own, how can I expect to be happy with other people?’ And she is right. Where is that fear coming from? What makes people so afraid to be alone, to be on their own?

Well in my case, I’m not. I think it stems from being the only child of my parents. Early on I had to learn to be happy on my own, to be able to entertain myself. I think this is also how I came to have such a vivid and creative imagination. Then later as a child of divorce, being ferried between two parents (including one who moved a lot), entertainments had to be created when playmates were few and far between.

To this day, as an adult, I still enjoy time spent alone. I love going to movies on my own and never having to deal with an annoying movie chatter (a companion who talks throughout a movie, especially during important dialogue), I enjoy shopping on my own as I only have to go into the stores I like (never getting caught in a snobby shoe store for hours on end), and I adore going to the beach on my own ( I can leave whenever I want, which is usually early on because I get bored). I’m comfortable in my own skin. It doesn’t bother me if I have no plans on a weekend. I’m ok with staying in on weeknights with a good book or my artwork. I’m not filled with anxiety if an entire day is spent on my own, with no other companions but my two kitty cats, who can be quite entertaining to watch as it is.

Now, don’t confuse me with being a hermit, or recluse. While I enjoy time alone, I also love being around people. In fact I’m a real people person. I make friends easily. I’m very comfortable starting a conversation with strangers at Starbucks, or the couple standing in line behind me at the local gelato shop. I have no problem asking for directions, chatting with the old biddies in the produce section at the grocery store, or striking up a conversation with the handsome guy sitting two seats down from me in the theatre. I like people. And I like alone time. I’m versatile like that.

But I still don’t understand why others are so afraid, and why there seems to be a negative stigma around people who are alone. There’s nothing wrong with being by yourself. And if I were on the street and saw another person walking on their own, I wouldn’t jump to a conclusion about them. Unfortunately, I’ve seen it happen though. In fact it happened to me last night and I’m still puzzling over it. I just can’t grasp why the sight of me on my own seemed to be such an issue.

After a lovely evening at the season opening of the Hawaii Symphony Orchestra, that I attended with a companion, I arrived home and decided I wasn’t quite ready to turn in. In fact, my sweet tooth was nagging at me, telling me to end my night with a treat. Unfortunately, my fridge and cupboards left me with nothing to be desired and I realized I’d have to go out in search of dessert. Luckily, I live in a great cosmopolitan area with many shops, restaurants, and a fantastic new gelato shop, all within a short walking distance. I grabbed my wallet, my keys, and my whistle (cosmopolitan as it may be, I never go out at night without my rape whistle, there’s no such thing as being too careful).
I walked the three blocks up to a gelato shop that I hadn’t yet visited, but had heard rave reviews about. Local and  homemade gelato in interesting flavors. Even at 10:15 on a Saturday night there was a line, and the shops tables were all filled with hungry people devouring waffle cones piled high with gelato, and hot espresso drinks. It was drizzling outside and I was praying that customers might leave by the time I had ordered so that I could sit inside with my dessert and not get wet.
Luckily, my wish came true, and once I was armed with a small cup of Earl Grey gelato (divine!!) I sat at a large square table where two other pairs were seated. To my right were two girls eating huge waffle cones and sharing what sounded like a very funny story about a mutual friend. They looked to be in their early 20s, maybe college students, and they smiled at me as I sat down, in between loud laughter and boisterous musings at their story. To my left were two other women, in their early 30’s, immaculately dressed to the nines in tight dresses and high high heels, full faces of makeup, and carefully done hair, sharing a kids cup of gelato. I smiled at them as I sat down, a courteous gesture since we were all sharing a space. I did not receive a smile back, if anything, it almost seemed like a look of distaste. Well, I’d be upset too if I had to share a tiny cup of gelato….
As I ate my gelato, and pinned on my Pinterest app on my phone, I became aware of their not-so-whispered conversation. It was loud in the shop, so the fact that they were attempting to whisper caught my attention I guess. Except I could hear them pretty clearly. They were talking about how embarrassing it must be for someone to be alone at this time of night. And how silly this person was for publicly announcing that they didn’t have friends or a date, by coming to a gelato shop on their own. I snorted at the stupidity of their conversation and looked around to see who they were insulting, and then realized it was me. They smirked at me with their painted lips and perfectly plucked eyebrows like how dare I be in their presence. And why insult me? Because I’m by myself? Since when is it a crime to get ice cream at night time? I was struck by their audacity to judge me when they didn’t even know me. And the entire premise was that I was alone. That I had no companion, and how “embarrassing” that must be for me.
I finished my gelato and got up to throw away my cup, aware of their eyes on me, their rude giggles following me out the door. I puzzled over it, the entire walk home, short as it was. Is this really what has become of society? The mocking of people on their own? And I know it had nothing to do with me personally. Those two women were just like many people that I know, who just cannot fathom doing things by themselves. In fact would prefer to stay home than be seen in public alone. And why? Why is that seen as an embarrassment? What is so wrong about being by yourself? Has this turned into the latest faux pas? Be alone and be ridiculed?

The whole scenario didn’t upset me. I won’t be put down by childish behavior and rudeness. It saddens me that there are people out there that feel joy by judging and ridiculing others. I feel sad for them. They only mock what they do not understand. What they can’t understand. Grabbing a cup of ice cream by myself at night isn’t a sign that I have no friends am alone in the world. It just means I wanted some ice creAm so I went and got some. End of story. I walk alone. And there’s nothing wrong with that.

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