When I have downtime, I sometimes find myself tasting bitterness. When this happens, I feel as if I am one of the few terrible people who can have a great day and still feel upset at the world at the end of the day. I’ll reiterate that this kind of thing is pretty rare, but when it happens, it is indefensible.
But still, maybe I need to complain. Maybe I need a woe is me moment or two. Excuse me while I take it. I’m going to complain about my love life tonight, and I am going to try to do it in a way that is usually hard for me. Instead of talking in very vague language, I’ll try to be more specific.
I have been reflecting lately that I have been single almost as long as I was ever in my last relationship, which, compared to anything else I’ve been in, was the only serious relationship I was in. I don’t know if I ever had expectations on how thing would play out for me after I got out of it, but I think there is big piece of myself that never expected to be by myself as long as I ever was with anyone else.
I haven’t had much else than bad luck, though. When I was adamantly not looking to date anyone, I had more opportunities to than I ever had since I at least became agnostic to the idea of dating someone. Basically, the first year, at least, I was very clear that I would not legitimately entertain the idea. It would be wrong on many fronts, mainly for the other person involved, because I was a mess. Fair enough. Periods of your life alone are a great thing. Too many people don’t take advantage of them.
On the other hand, I have kind of been the opposite. I have had too much time for ‘me’ than I should, and I think it makes me trepidate too much when it comes to love.
Anyway, that entire first post break-up year is a huge gamut of irony. I don’t know how anyone could have found me attractive– in any way. And now, here I am. Physically, mentally, emotionally more attractive than I’ve ever been in my life. The majority of my anxiety problems have not only been erased, but conquered. Yet that’s how it worked.
I had run-ins, some casual (in my eyes) dates, and other weird encounters with a slew of girls. I feel like half of them are now either married, or have had a kid. The other ones were all older than me, and I hate to sound shallow, but I quite simply cannot seriously date anyone older than me.
So let’s transition to that. I’m entirely shallow. I think I might have a facade that I am not, I personally call it having very high, maybe unrealistic, standards, but I can’t deny, if I objectively look at the qualifications, I am shallow. So I’ll put it out there. I can only entertain the idea with someone if they are either extremely cute, very pretty, very well put together, or just plain hot. And usually you need things in tandem. For instance, you’d either better have a great metabolism, or at least exhibit a tremendous amount of work into staying fit. And let’s say that is looking a little shaky, I can see past that in certain cases, but it can’t slip too much, and then in combination, a girl would have to probably both be gorgeous and also very well put together, or maybe just very… curvy.
I don’t like that this is the case, and even speaking about this so bluntly (and it is still softly.. really) makes me uncomfortable, but I think the older I get, the more OK with the ugly truth I am. Especially because as I get older, I still stay fit. I put a lot of work into how I look without being flat out vain, and I don’t feel so hypocritical about it anymore. For the first time in my life, I feel like I’m somewhere in the higher echelon in the looks department. It might make me a bit of a dick, but I am less of a hypocrite.
So now that I threw the whole visual vapidity out there, let’s also mention that I won’t retain any of that initial attraction to someone is they’re an idiot. Actually, no, that’s wrong. I won’t retain any of that initial attraction unless you’re flat out smart. If you’re brilliant or sharp then we’re really talking. If you look good, but you’re mentally not tall enough to ride the big boy ride, then I might be able to consider using you, at best, but I also stopped doing that in 2011 when I felt terrible about it after a few times.
Stop is probably a generous word. Those few experiences had more of an effect of permanently putting my brakes on. So even if I’m trying to pedal as hard as I can, I can’t properly pursue, because the brakes are locked, and I am always struggling internally.
Am I really interested in this girl? Am I really even that attracted, or am I just longing for someone in this moment? Would I date her? Could I date her seriously? Could I see myself ever marrying her?
It’s a.. weird procession of thoughts. I suffer from a subconscious perceptual ability, or supposed subconscious perceptual ability. I generally think I can size a person up in a few moments. I become disinterested in 90% of people from those initial moments because if I think I can glean enough in the long run when initially appraising someone, no matter how much of a future disqualification it would be, I do it. There is not much upward mobility in that 90% purgatory. Five percent of that is an uncertainty thing, which is the preferred stage I like to deal with, and the other five percent are the type of girls I end up having huge crushes on.
Those never end well.
So basically, let’s size up my shallowness to three things: my physical expectations are probably way too high and carry too much weight, my intellectual expectations are even worse (plus it makes me feel very competitive and threatened– that’s rarely a good thing), and I believe I can properly assess all the long-term critical factors in a person within a few exchanges.
And that’s how you set yourself up for bad luck.
Like I already said, I have had more run-ins with older women that I could never truly have anything long-term with simply because I need someone younger and also now-taken girls than I ever thought possible over a couple of years (especially for someone like me, who can easily go 6-8 months with notable developments in that part of my life), but beyond that, over the past couple of years, there have only been three cases where I have really been interested in someone that I actually knew or got to know.
One was an old tie, who probably falls in an out of my life as some sort of love interest merely because we both exist, and both end up single, and sometimes you get weak and maybe a little desperate. This happens to me, and that’s how you get this. I also get turned down all the time by this person. Luckily, I don’t think either of us could have a long enough moment of weakness to do anything stupid as to try and date.
Then there is the first girl that I was interested in post break-up who I hadn’t pre-disqualified. Granted, she was never considered before that, but somehow was. Then there was that whole close friend trying to date her drama while I was trying to work through the fact that she’s pretty much insane and my feelings were as volatile as a flame at a gas station (which meant I was more insane at the time), and having ties cut off since then, and well, yeah, I don’t think anyone can make a case that my luck isn’t bad in that case.
Then there is the girl who was my first hard crush post break-up. The co-worker who had a boyfriend of 4-5 years. The one that I kept at a distance because she drove me crazy. Who was gorgeous, fun, and friendly. Who was definitely more ‘there’ intellectually (but in retrospect, obviously was better at giving off that impression than actually legitimately being as smart as I thought in my head). Then, of course, there was that whole instance where we got drunk together and she tried to cheat on her boyfriend with me, and I turned her down.. somehow. Then there were those following days, where I somehow was expected to function properly at work, and lost seven pounds from not being able to eat from anxiety.
I don’t get in crazy situations like that often, I try to make sure I don’t. But somehow, I end up in them. After all that, she is engaged now, and she also cut off all ties with me.
Then you have all the other crap luck things. Like the girls who do come around and are interested in me. It isn’t that I am totally disinterested. It is a bad habit from high school. See, I almost always greatly like them as friends, and I also could have some sort of fling, but for whatever reason, I have too many doubts I could ever have any interest beyond that, so then it is hard for me to stay friends, because there is that part of me that just wants to give in and use them, even though I’ve opened that edition of Pandora’s Box too many times.
Then you even have the bizarre. For instance, the times I get bored and troll online dating websites, and actually talk to a person on there, then we have interest in meeting, but then somehow one of my biggest insecurities gets brought up, and we run each other off, but we still chat via text for two months (the entire time, me being convinced she loathes me but wants to talk to me out of lack of anything better to do), then randomly end up at the same small party.
Oh, and of course, I don’t recognize her until I get the text message from her that says, “awkward”.
This stuff is real life.
It’s my life.
It’s not terrible. It’s just annoying. It makes me annoying. I can’t pull the trigger on anything because I have just enough elasticity threatening to rubberband me, and then I have to spend my downtime coming to grips that I might seem to have it all together so well, but on these deepest, darkest levels, I must still be a mess.
Woe is me moment aside, because my life is really not that bad. I get plenty of attention, and I have plenty of opportunities, even if I subconsciously won’t let myself take them, the bigger part of it is the dichotomy of myself.
See, I have the dominant me, the one who has a natural tendency to consider others first. He lives a frustrating life and rarely gets what he wants. But at the end of everyday, even if he wants to be pouty and throw his bitch fits (the best term I was introduced to this year), always feels good about himself.
Then there is the me who wrote this. He’s an asshole, but I know he can get just about anything he wants.
I just don’t like him.
I don’t like what I just wrote, but it is also part of who I am.
Just being honest about it.