a rosetta stone for modern dating?

well i'll be damned, it really is a small world after all

My mom says my blog posts are too long. She doesn’t actually say that. She says, “they’re loaded, like an enchilada.” Or like a novice comic’s joke that should really be broken into 3 smaller jokes. Or like an SNL skit—okay she doesn’t say that either—she’s not that vicious.

So I’m trying something different today. Something I haven’t fully fleshed out or tied into fashion or whatever book I’m reading. It’s not a full story, it’s a fragment. But it’s a 5-minute read so at least you short-attention-span, dopamine-f*cked losers cuties should be able to get through it.

—

You know that feeling—when you travel to another country and expect to be transported into this magical, exotic wonderland of new and inspiring culture. And then in reality, it’s kinda just like back home except you have to pay to drink water and pay to take a sh*t and everyone is practicing these social conventions that you can’t quite comprehend.

That’s what entering the dating world after college is like—especially if you join Hinge.

I was so excited to get out there and see the world. To meet different types of people, who I’d never come across at my local coffee shop or my aggressively Midwestern office.

At first it was fun. Pretty boys mooned to me about how well we connected. And how rare that was for them. But after a few months of immersion, you realize this actually translates to, “I am going to drop you like hot sh*t as soon as things go a little sideways.”

But hey, at least it’s not ghosting! Sure, they’ve stopped asking you out, but they still text back—just slower, and with progressively less enthusiasm until they settle into a cozy new niche: your nightmares.

As it turns out, the guys in Hinge-land are just as milquetoast as back home.¹

Bear with me—I am a flawed, but well-intentioned main character.

~~**~~ musical interlude pt. 1 ~~**~~

~~**~~ musical interlude pt. 1 ~~**~~

I stayed up late last night. And by late I mean like, 11 p.m. But it was worth it. I had a much needed conversation with my spiritual guide—my ideal president elect—Hingeland’s cultural mediator—AKA my ex-boyfriend.

And he broadened my worldview.

Of course! I’d known every one of my prior guys for at least a year before dating. Those relationships had a strong foundation. Sturdy layers with a wide berth, built brick-by-brick. Meanwhile, these new world dates are supported by a quickly propped up ladder. When something goes awry, there’s nowhere to go except the bottom—and there’s only space for one on a ladder. So the guy steps down and I’m launched off a cliff.

Oh and also, I f*cked up.

I put too much trust in near-strangers. Then at the first sign of hurt, I yank my trust back. When in reality, trust should be progressively earned rather than given, and subsequently taken away.

I climbed too high too quick. Then, I shook the ladder, testing its stability. And while a sturdier structure might withstand those oscillations, a pure vertical does not.

And gosh dang does knowing you f*cked up a little suck.

It’s easier to tell yourself, “if it’s meant to be, it’ll be.” And I think that’s true—if you look at the semantics in just the right light. But I also think there’s merit in feeling the consequences of your own actions. Of reveling in regret just a little bit. So that you don’t forget.

And then give yourself grace. Because you’re only human. You’re built to make mistakes. And even if you’d been perfect, he probably still wouldn’t have been your guy.

~~**~~ musical interlude pt. 2 ~~**~~

~~**~~ musical interlude pt. 2 ~~**~~

I’m sad. But like with the semantics of fate, maybe I can change the way I see my sadness. Can I find beauty in it? Or meaning?

Yes. The moments of real connection were beautiful. To deny those would be disrespectful. And untrue. But that connection—that beauty—was never mine to hold onto. It simply was. Given by life. And life’s to take away².

And would it really be better if the beauty were mine? Something I owned and could control? Isn’t it beautiful because it’s fragile? Joy, excitement, connection, romantic love, and beauty are fragile. Especially on Hinge. But I think real love, learning, trust, and time are antifragile³ .

—

I wanna fix things right now. I wanna go back in time and revert to an earlier commit. Reset the head. Checkout the branch where I go slow and I don’t freak out.⁴ But you can’t roll back a faulty update to life. You have to live with the bugs.

You can’t just heal pain with another person (that’s a bandaid).

Or with writing (that’s the vitamin-E balm that helps the healing process along and softens eventual scars).

Or even with friendship (although it is the most effective emotional topical steroid).

The secret sauce is time.

Oh, what a wonderful exercise in patience!⁵ And in slowly building up the layers of my own life that bring me both fleeting joy and sustained satisfaction.

xx Audrey

P.S. This is my last post about dating. I swear.⁶

1. though somehow, they’re all over 6 ft 🤨

2. yuh yuh stoicism FTW

3. antifragility = becoming stronger or better in the face of adversity, stress, or volatility

4. this is GitHub humor

5. ah, my achilles heel—I was dipped in the river styx and left exposed was my impatiently tapping foot

6. 🤞