Practice

It’s awkward to begin one’s dating life at twenty-five, but unfortunately for some of us, it happens that way.

To say I began my dating life at twenty-five is not completely accurate. Starting at seventeen, I began going on “dates.” This usually involved going to a movie, or bowling, or some other out-of-the-norm activity with a guy who was very nervous, and made me nervous, and the whole experience was uncomfortable. I went out with guys who asked me and who seemed nice, never feeling any genuine interest in them, but hoping interest might develop despite the fact that I was not interested in boys or dating in the least. But I went on these dates because that was what I was supposed to do, because friends pressured me to be “normal,” because I received positive affirmation when I told people, “I have a date.” However, nothing ever developed with anyone because I wasn’t invested. Looking back, I feel badly for the boys I went out with, boys who presumably hoped I would like them, and who did not know that the world was much too big and exciting for them to hold my attention.

Around age twenty-four, something changed. I went from a complete lack of enthusiasm for dating to suddenly wanting a relationship, and not the kind of “relationship” where people self-consciously hold hands and nervously call each other a few times each week. I never wanted that high-school romance. I wanted something more; I yearned for emotional intimacy.

So when I finished grad school, I set up an online dating account, figuring this would be a good way to meet people and make friends, and possibly find the kind of relationship I sought. Six months in, I was demoralized; one year in, I feel defeated. I have been on dates with close to twenty different men, ranging from lawyers to Army officers to men finishing their bachelor’s degrees, but with every man something is lacking. And so I’ve let online dating taper off; I reply to fewer and fewer messages I receive, often not even bothering to check the messages, and focusing more on my jobs and friendships—doing exactly what I had done before, seemingly no closer to what I want.

Two weeks ago, I had a date with a man I’ve exchanged messages with for many months. A few nights before the date, as I was lying in bed, I began having doubts. I texted Lindsay, asking, “How bad would it be if I canceled?”

“Very bad,” she replied. “He would be very disappointed.”

“I just see no point,” I said. “We live too far apart, and I really am terrible at this whole dating thing. Do I want to give up another Saturday and drive all that way just to feel awkward?” My reasons went on and on.

“Those sound like excuses,” she said.

“I just don’t want to be disappointed again. I know I’m just not meeting the right men or something, but after a while of meeting people and not connecting, not feeling attraction, it starts to feel like I’m broken. I don’t want to feel that way any more.”

“I think you should go. Maybe he isn’t ‘the one,’ and maybe you won’t even like him once you meet, but how do you know? Maybe you’re supposed to be there. If nothing else, it’s practice.”

I reflected on that last statement for a while. “It’s practice.”

Everything is a matter of perspective. I’ve been telling myself that I’m deficient, that something’s wrong with me because I don’t enjoy dating, and because I have a string of first dates that never led anywhere, and half a string of second dates that were perfunctory as well. I’ve been tallying up my “failed” dates and letting them reinforce the idea that I’m a failure. But Lindsay is right. These dates didn’t go well for reasons beyond my control—lack of chemistry, lack of common interests, lack of human DNA in a few cases—but ultimately they were not right simply because they were not right. It’s no reflection on me. And that’s ok, because practice is where you’re supposed to mess up.

Dating is hard for some people. I am one of those people. But changing my perspective will be important to staying in the game. So now I’m trying to see each new date as an opportunity and I’m redefining my definition of success. I go into these situations mostly blind, but I always come away having learned something about myself or mankind. So long as my goals are to keep learning and have fun, there is no failure; all that stretches before me is opportunity.