How does anyone find the time to date these days?
In a generation where we have to work 24 hours just to hold onto our jobs, make time for friends and find something for ourselves, I’m fast starting to wonder where we’re supposed the time to find someone.
When my best friend Tom and his boyfriend Jim were courting, they, by their own admission, did everything wrong. Their first declaration of love was in a drunken stupor. Yet it all worked out.
The more I think about the reality of relationships, the more it seems an impossible feat of achievement just to find someone and make it work. You have to meet them, you have to click, you have to connect, you have to court, you have to maintain and you have to commit.
When we meet the right person, it’s supposed to be as easy as leaves falling from a tree. With the right person, all of that analysing, obsessing, minutiae of agonising detail is supposed to just fly straight out the proverbial window. It’s supposed to just flow, just be.
But how is it supposed to work when just making the time to make that first meeting seems so hard?
Some days I feel like organising my dating life is like organising my work itinerary. I have to find them on the app, make the date, factor in disappointment time and mentally prepare myself for the misery of a wasted evening. If it does go well, it seems that a disappointingly large percentage of the time we’re gearing up to be rejected anyway. So why do we put ourselves through the pain?
It’s like a video game where the same level has to be played over and over again. The repetition becomes numbing, and we lost all the cognitive powers of creativity. There’s nothing worse than things becoming routine.
So how do we break it out? How do we find that elusive long-term relationship; the person who will not just tolerate all our flaws, but adore them?
Is it just making more effort?
I was out at Ku bar on Saturday night for a friend’s birthday drinks and I couldn’t stand it. The noise, the mess, the fakeness and the forced merriment. The music was too loud to talk but there was no dance floor. It was like being stuck in some kind of purgatory.
We can’t possibly find someone worth having unless we put ourselves out there, but how do we do that when ‘out there’ just seems like everything we don’t want? I don’t want the hot bare-chested bartender. I don’t want the guy downing his 6th drink for the night. I don’t want the guy trying to grope me on the way to the bathroom and I don’t want the guy sending me booty call messages from two miles away on an app.
In truth, I don’t know what I want. But when I think back on the men I have loved, I do know that I’ll know it when I see it.