By: S. Davis
As a teenager I kept a journal. I probably started one around the age of 15 and kept it updated until 19 or so. In my twenties, I thought of starting a new edition but it never gained much steam. Honestly, I don’t find my life that interesting – although I’ve experienced noteworthy moments that qualify for a journal entry (or sixty). Keeping a daily – or weekly – statement of record isn’t something that appeals to me.
I remember I wrote to relieve the clutter inside my mind. Sometimes it helped, whereas at other times it didn’t produce a single benefit. What used to give me a great sense of levity was reading about the women I chased, argued with, kissed, etc. Another reason why the journal ceased is that I didn’t want to risk indicting myself; think of taking a notebook to chronicle a criminal conspiracy that you’re an active participant in. That’s not a sharp move.
Recently I found myself on a date. Ok. People in my life want to know why I’m single. I only have one answer: I don’t know. I’m intelligent, handsome and hilarious; I know I’m a catch but for whatever reason there isn’t a romantic relationship near my orbit. Also, I’m not actively seeking one.
A few months back I said that I’m going to try to date, seriously, as I’ve grown tired of casual dating. I rarely feel that way. I enjoy being a bachelor, but it’s not as exciting as it once was and I wanted to confront it directly. On a personal level, I think it’s pivotal for my emotional and mental maturity to try a stable relationship. (Of course it has to be with the right woman. I won’t settle; if I did I will eventually cheat, break her heart – or both.) The reasons are too deep to dive into now but I feel it’s imperative that I give it a solid attempt.
Back to that date I mentioned above…
Date? It was a great deal of fun. It lasted just under two hours. She was stunning, sharp, witty, introspective and a fantastic conversationalist. She fit the mold of the type of woman I could possibly date. I don’t have a type, by the way.
A few weeks earlier I spotted her – and had to talk to her. I don’t really do much of that anymore as I approached a woman a few months ago and she was 19. That’s younger than my little sister and the ages of 18-34 can be ambiguous in a city such as Los Angeles where women really cater, exclusively, to their physical appearance, naturally or otherwise.
After introducing myself to her we talked for over an hour. That’s not common for me. Usually I kindly ask if I can have a few moments to speak, offer a genuine compliment, I ask their name – offer mine – and ask if they’re in a relationship. That’s it. That’s my approach. After that 30-45 second interaction we’ll exchange phone numbers – or not – and I’ll continue with my day.
I didn’t advance to the number exchange with her until later in the evening as we fell right into a conversation that lasted…an hour. Odd. “Ok, let’s see.” That was my only thought as I walked to my car.
About the date…
I was impressed, truly. There wasn’t a hint of pretentiousness, arrogance or judgment. She wasn’t moved or motivated by material wealth. A rarity in Los Angeles, honestly. There was passion to her; in her dreams and her pursuit of them. Her perseverance was admirable; her conviction was evident and compelling. Her laugh brought laughter out of me. We talked about our respective schedules over the next few days and we both decided we could see each other the next day: 24 hours later. Being the guy, of course, I had to ask. Her response: Yes. A second date booked while still on the first? I am maturing. This is progress, right?
Prior engagements capped my time limit for the date so we walked towards her car. The positive energy continued to flow. I gave her some Valentine’s chocolates that I picked up on the way to the date as I had to make a stop at the supermarket for cereal. She was on my mind so why not? She appreciated the gift. We hugged and held each other for a bit. She smelled terrific. We kissed.
I don’t initiate kisses on first dates. Nope. It’s not part of my strategy – and it never has been. It’s psychological to me. I follow the tenet of always leave them wanting more but more importantly I just favor keeping the physical contact minimal. There are times though, when the moment is there.
She didn’t push for it, neither did I…it just happened. I’m glad it did. Cool.
We exchanged post-date texts. Cooler.
I ran my errands the next day inspired to clear the slate to open the evening – to see her. I left her a voice message to alert her that I was still on for round two. As I completed my last task an hour later and turned attention to actually planning the night’s activities I heard my text ringer.
There wouldn’t be a second date. In her words, she went from “excited to see me again…to anxiety” to dropping the whole thing because of how the anxiety affected her.
What can you say about that? How do you respond?
I asked if she was alright and/or wanted to talk. She reiterated how she couldn’t ignore the anxiety and that was it.
I wasn’t upset. I was confused. What the hell is going on?
It took me two hours to move past it which says something as I brush things off rather swiftly. I was disappointed in myself for wasting 120 minutes thinking about our initial meeting, the first date, her laugh, her eyes and the surge of energy I felt after we kissed and how she beamed directly afterwards. Ultimately, I really wanted to see her again. There’s no doubt in my mind that the second date produces a third date and then…oh well, whatever. She dominated my thoughts well into the next morning. I was frustrated. I had to reconcile it all within myself.
Dating is a murky enterprise. I can’t comprehend it or relationships to be honest. I don’t understand humans either, even though by evolution and my ability to put sentences together, I am one. I don’t feel connected to my humanity at times and when I do I can say that it’s a fleeting attachment. I hear humans say that relationships are an important component of a complete life experience, specifically romantic connections. I guess.
I’m better at one-night stands and casual sex. I don’t understand the machinations needed to foster anything more substantial. I’m single because I can grasp that. This is a journal entry in my thirties.