Do You Have to Be In Control?

As seen in my newsletter.

Is it all lumberjacks and farmers?

My friend Jen was referring to the dating options in the Hudson Valley. I’d recently/finally decided to stop making the two-hour trek to Brooklyn to meet people. To stop pretending I had any ounce of desire to return to my apartment post-pandemic. Really I was just holding fast to the belief that I couldn’t meet anyone upstate.

But that belief felt so real. It was real. I’d tried before.

I’d tried before and was faced with people I went to high school with. People my ego held at arm’s length. People I believed myself to be better than, smarter than, more accomplished than. I equated wading into this dating pool with somehow admitting defeat. Somehow concluding I was less than.

I’d like to tell you I saw right through my insecurities and projections and bullshit. That I came to my senses, realized what a narcissistic brat I was being, and switched my location on Hinge to the Hudson Valley. But that would be a lie.

I tired of driving back and forth so much. I tired of saying, “Um no, actually right now I live upstate but….” I tired of the charade. I tired of trying to hide the fact that I had zero intention of ever going back to New York City, pandemic or not. I’d known for a while that my time there had come to a close.

Recently a client said to me: 

I’m wondering if it would be better to start dating in the fall? My mom thinks that’s a better time to be dating. You know, a better season.

Much like I’d told myself I had to keep dating in the city, that there was no way I’d ever possibly meet someone upstate, she was clinging to a belief that gave her some semblance of control. That dating during a particular season would increase her chances of success. Bring more ease to the process. Mitigate the ghosting and lackluster dates.

We all have our version of this—if I put X in my profile, that will attract more thoughtful men. If I wait 16 hours instead of 12 to text him, that will make me more desirable. If I appear nonchalant, he’ll slowly but surely want to commit.

When I switched my location, it had more to do with the fact that I was done living in New York City and less to do with this newfound belief that it was possible to meet someone outside the five boroughs.

But it wasn’t all lumberjacks and farmers. Not in the slightest. Just beyond the high school remnants were a sea of individuals I wanted to know and get to know. Folks far more intriguing than anything I’d seen as of late in Bushwick.

Immediately my brain jumped to, OMG this.is.it. This is the ticket! 

I’d had similar vibes on trips overseas. Years ago, while traveling in Iceland, in what would later turn out to be my first one night stand, I met a sweet soul named Kyle. Kyle was from Minneapolis. Kyle had a thick Midwestern accent. Kyle spoke of the house he owned, how he was rapidly paying down the mortgage by renting out the additional rooms to friends, how he woke up at 4 a.m. to get to work early so he could then go water skiing on the lake on summer afternoons.

My mind started spinning dreams of living in Minneapolis, working remotely, and joining Kyle on the lake for those summer afternoons. The dream seemed so very real (not to mention financially sound) in the confines of the quaint pub we’d found ourselves in for our first and only date. I’d like to say they were quickly shattered mere hours later following the miserable drunken sex, but I held on, Whatsapping Kyle once we returned to the States. Taking some feigned interest in life in Minneapolis—going as far as suggesting I had a potential work trip there. (<—- Oh.my.girl.)

Clients breathe their own versions of this to me all the time, shuddering with embarrassment.

This is so normal, I say. So very normal.

And really, it has nothing to do with the Kyle’s or the seasons. The geolocations or the profile details. It’s all rooted in control—an attempt to orchestrate intimacy and connection, deep love and partnership.

That same friend who was inquiring about the lumberjacks and farmers recently said in relation to my new upstate beau:

So, how is he? What’s he like?

It’s different, in a good way, I said—a really good way. And I’m wildly smitten. But, you know.

She turned to me and smiled. She did know. She knew all too well that to say anything more at this point would be an attempt to forecast or control something I was still working to understand. Someone I was still working on getting to know.