Self-set relationship parameters & online dating

I was thirty before I finally caved into the online dating scene. 

Of all people, it was suggested to me by my dad. The last person who would ever eagerly pry into my dating life, let alone suggest meeting places. 

That year I had returned to Lakeland, Florida, for the umpteenth time -  a fact I was too humiliated to admit. It was October and I had just returned from living in a mother-in-law suite in College Park, Florida, had gone through one of my longest relationships in some time, which came to an abrupt end before I moved back, and experienced a once-in-a-lifetime debacle of a sexist, hypocritical, financially exploitative workplace (just to later discover there can be more than one of these in one’s life.) I was about as defeated as I had been when I returned to Lakeland after living in New York City for under a year in my mid-twenties. 

Then my dad suggests online dating?

I was devastated.

I’m not the most unfiltered (let alone filter savvy), engaged social media presence. That is, when I’m even present online. I used to wish I had more of a knack for it. But it just always felt odd, unnatural, out of place. Just not me. 

It was probably the same reason I was routinely avoiding any guy who tried to contact me via Facebook or Insta DM’s when they could approach me in person. I used to think if he doesn’t have the guts to talk to me face-to-face, he’s not ballsy enough for me.

So for online dating, I was convinced, “this just isn’t me.” 

I knew my dad wanted the best for me. And being one and the same - both homebody personalities, who can sit on an idea a little too long, wait for others to approach you to know they’re interested and overall just more comfortably on our own - my dad knew I needed a little shove to be actively open for something outside of the NYC meet-cute I had imagined. 

My dad had learned how to break through these patterns in his own life. He had written the book on it - a series of question books for every type of relationship called, “Now we’re talking.” So I knew he saw a resistance in me that needed to be pushed out of my comfort zone. 

Still, at first, I was resentful and frustrated at the thought. Like when someone attempts to set you up with a person you don’t find remotely attractive and all you want to say is, “Really? That is what you think of me?”

I felt however my love story would pan out and define the quality of the love. (This wasn’t a philosophy or some kind of moral code, but more like a suppressing subconscious notion - maybe an ever-so hopeless romantic notion at that. And at this point, I was pretty hopeless.) But, like most times my Dad offers a suggestion that I initially combat, I couldn’t help but wonder if he was right. “Am I limiting myself? Am I cutting off the possibility of meeting someone online? Are there dateable people online?”

Mind you, this was also 2014, months before the more-approachable Bumble was launched and years before friends would shamelessly share they were on Tinder. 

But I knew my Dad was right. So I decided to give it a go. 

And the only option that seemed slightly approachable at the time, if at all digestible, was. . . drum roll, please...

Tada - eHarmony. 

(Aren’t you so underwhelmed?)

I set up my profile, grueling over which three pictures to load, overanalyzed my bio, and hit save. And so it began. First the compatibility quiz, and then the varied forms of communication. 

Initially, I hated every minute. Within the first week, I had a few guys about an hour out of town requesting to meet up, that I continually put off. And about after two weeks, someone I was semi-interested in put me off, which then makes one utterly interested. 

Also, being my very practical self, I had set my location nationwide. Of course, I didn’t want to meet someone in town? Ha, are you kidding? Who would do such a thing when you have the world at your fingertips. (And yes, I did have to refrain from selecting worldwide. I mean I have to be somewhat reasonable here.)

I would give it a month. I was convinced that was all I could mentally take. Because who wants to put down their own money for just another emotionally exhaustive outlet for not finding a relationship? 

Then there was a new match, a semi-pleasing, exciting match. He was tall with dark hair and a beard. A “musician from California.” Something surprisingly felt mutual. The light conversation transpired easily and effortlessly. And within a week he asked if I wanted to Facetime. So, a few nights later, after I refreshed my hair, put on a new outfit (just for the top third of my shirt to be seen) and cleaned my face to put on an entirely new full face of makeup (which, you know, is beautifully detected in horrid lighting once the sun goes down.) I sat at my computer and waited thirteen minutes with bated breath for that call to come through. “What the heck, what the heck am I doing?” (That and a lot of other words raced through my brain.) 

At seven on the dot, the call came through. After an hour of conversation, it went fairly well and even ended with the possibility of another. 

The random texts continued throughout the days - the ones that give you excitement soaked in anxiety, that hoists your stomach up to your throat. And there was more Facetiming.

I was both nervous and somewhat thrilled there could be potential. I worked to be patient, not to hold my breath or let my expectations get ahead. After all, I just met this guy for the first time. So I tried to move with the pace of the texting and Facetiming as it came. There were even the occasional emails. It was a kind of healthy progression that makes you feel at peace that you’re in sync with it all. 

Suddenly it was November, and we were still texting and Facetiming. Things were feeling good, new possibilities were on the way, and anytime someone tried to set me up with anyone in town, I was more satisfied than ever to casually say, “No thanks. I’m good.”

But come the week before Thanksgiving, the Facetiming was suddenly delayed. The texts had come to a bit of a lull, and responses felt uninterested. It was only a matter of days, but of course, I felt like I had already been ghosted. I was embarrassed by any previous enthusiasm, annoyed to be dangled along, and overall generally pissed. 

Every Thanksgiving my family goes away to a cabin in the woods, and given how things were looking, I knew it was exactly what I would be needing. Then I got the text. “Hey, want to FaceTime tomorrow?” I was surprised but wasn’t about to hold my breath. And delayed my response an appropriate length to be certain my decreased interest would be felt. 

At this point, I was so done being hopeful or eager, just when a relationship is about to go sour. I was familiar enough with the feeling. 

So the next day, I didn’t do my hair, didn't have a lick of more makeup on, and didn’t sit down a moment early to concern myself with appearing ready when the call came in. He called on the dot. We talked and I had to work just to look interested, keeping sentences short and my answers infrequent. I just wasn’t about to be the girl anxiously waiting, while the guys played it all collected and cool. I was over it.  Although this time he wasn’t so cool and collected. He seemed more engaged, interested, and palpable. But I had finally got myself to play it cool, so I wasn’t about to give it up.

I looked at the time. It was thirty minutes in and thirty minutes wasted. “Well, I gotta go,” I quickly inserted. “Already?” he said. “Is everything ok? You seem a little upset?” 

“Well, actually. . .”, yeah I let him know, I was upset. I didn’t beat around it. I didn’t feel like waiting around and playing this game if he wasn’t interested. So we could just call it quits if he wasn’t into it, because I didn’t care to waste my time. “Oh,” he seemed surprised. “Well actually, I wanted to talk tonight because I was thinking I’d come out and visit you.”

I didn’t think I heard him right. “In Florida?,” I asked.

He laughed as he responded as if knowing we had gotten our signals crossed over the past week. “Yeah, in Florida.” 

Well, the call went on longer than 30 minutes. I melted out of my ice queen and was kind of floored that this was what he was thinking about the past week. 

I walked into that Thanksgiving trip in the woods on a cloud, in disbelief that this relationship was moving forward after just giving online dating a month. We had begun planning the time he’d come out in the next month and my mind was racing, while I was still managing to work on a magazine publication during the vacation. Thank God I had something to keep my mind busy, and thank God so many questions and doubts could be put at bay. 

I went downstairs one night before dinner, worked on a bit of editing, checked my Gmail and an email had arrived just a few hours ago from him. Pretty much it went, “Hey, so I hope you understand but I just ran into a girl this week I used to have a thing for in high school and I need to see if this could go somewhere. No hard feelings, but I just need to pursue this.” It was longer than that, but all a blur beyond those few sentences. In short, it was nice to know you. Bye. 

After sobbing for an hour over it, having to explain my red face to my family, I just wanted to crawl in a hole. The next day my version of crawling in a hole was a trail run through the woods. (Sidenote: I was never a real runner until these more recent years, but since college, I’d spontaneously become one whenever a guy broke my heart.)

I ran through, somehow converting tears to energy to a focused and steady pace I probably would never attain in any coherent state. Twenty minutes in and I hit an uneven part of the trial, rolled my ankle, hit the ground, and had the wind completely knocked out of me. I had rolled my ankle before, but could at least fool people into thinking I was fine. But by the time we were packing up and leaving the cabin, I couldn’t find a shoe to fit my foot in. 

I swore off online dating after that. But I had also sworn off a lot of things, what cities I wouldn’t meet someone in, what platforms I wouldn’t welcome any pickup lines on and all in all found myself for another year or two yet again determining the parameters of my dating potential. Granted, if I were to find love online or not, those guards were bound to come down. 

Sure, online dating was a brutal experience for me. And at face value, two months of conversation are a drop in the bucket. So when girls ask me today if I’d recommend online dating, I say sure. Go for it. What’s stopping you?

Dating online or not, you’re bound to get your heart broken a time or two. Or maybe you’re bound to find the real deal.

So why limit where and when it happens?