You said my last post made you go ‘Ooof.’
I have to say, you questioning whether we use dating apps as a way of coping with our feelings, made me go, ‘Oooof.’ Quickly followed by a ‘Mother fucking Ooof!’
Because, I know you’re right.
What I have become painfully aware of, however, is I try to use the apps as a way to cope with the alone-ness of being single, but it doesn’t actually work. And in fact, it actually turns a not that lonely me into a lonelier me.
So I came across this Tim Ferriss post the other day, where he suggests that instead of making New Year’s resolutions, you conduct a past year in review—a chance to reflect on what you did in 2019 that was positive and led to positive feelings, versus what you did that was negative or led to negative emotions.
And I have to say, many of my positive emotions all involved spending time with people who actually mean something to me: Trips to Calgary and Ontario to visit close friends, deep talks and sleepovers at your house, spending time with my nieces, being the cook for some insane, yet lovable male friends in Scottsdale, laying on the beach connecting with a close friend in Grand Cayman, an oyster and wine festival in Osoyoos, countless Happy Hour evenings sharing laughs with my landlords, and various other events and dinners with clients and friends etc etc….
What did not make the positive list—and what contributed to negative emotions—were evenings spent at home Netflixing, yet only half-paying attention because I was multi-tasking (aka scrolling the social media and Bumble and Hinge feeds).
Bottom line: I have so many great people in my life, yet I feel a pressure to find somebody, so I constantly search to cope with this pressure I feel, and most of the time this leads to feelings of loneliness. Truth be told, I’m not lonely UNLESS I’m scrolling Bumble, which is strange, because the reason to scroll is to not be alone and lonely. What the actual fuck? So messed up, yet I continue to scroll.
On a similar note, remember the dog guy? The one who chose his dogs over me (you can read about him here if you forgot) re-surfaced this week and appears to have re-joined my trapline (as is often the case with the men from the apps) and presented an interesting food for thought.
He said: “The hardest thing in life is not getting what you want; it’s knowing what you want.”
At first, I just wrote it off as some lame cliche he regurgitated, but the more I thought about it the more weight it appears to hold. It certainly got me thinking…
I have always thought, believed, assumed I wanted a somewhat traditional relationship. You know, one where you live together and he does the blue jobs and I do the pink jobs and we function like a 1950s couple.
But the truth is, whenever men come along that seem to want this, I wholeheartedly reject their bids.
Here’s what I know: I like my independence. I like having my own life. I like having my own place. I do NOT need to see my partner every night of the week, and I am indifferent about having kids.
On the other hand, although I like my independence, I also need a lot of communication. This doesn’t have to be in-person communication. Texting will suffice. My love language is words of affirmation (and physical touch), so as long as I’m being reaffirmed through language frequently (and he touches me when he sees me), I’m good. The rest of the time, we can do our own things.
So where does that leave me?
Is it possible I don’t want the traditional relationship I always thought I wanted? Is it possible I have not found what I want because what I think I want isn’t what I actually want?
The dog guy might have been onto something, and as a result, I am giving him another date. Woof. (Feel free to mock).
Big love, Emily.