 I have a lot of alcoholics and addicts in my life. The majority of them are what I would call non-practicing, but there are a few still swirling around in the madness.
The ones in recovery all have one thing in common: they have taken responsibility for their actions. Yes, they have a sickness of the mind, but they don’t blame any outside forces for their fate. Once martyrs and victims, they now can recognize the active participation they each played in the progression of their disease and own up to it. And when I say “they,” I am including myself in the bunch. (I may get up on a soapbox here for a sec, so bear with me.) I met up with a friend from high school this past week I had not seen since we graduated. We connected on Facebook a few years ago, and he was in town from Washington, D.C. , visiting family here. Kevin is a really good dude, and I was happy to see him. Understandably though, we spent a good chunk of our conversation over dinner chatting about other high school chums. “Whatever happened to …” and “Did you hear about …?”
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 So I joined an online dating service a couple of months back at the urging of a friend who met her boyfriend there. It’s one that requires a paid subscription, which I hoped meant the quality of people on it was a little higher than say, WannaHookup.com.
Unfortunately, that has not proven to be entirely true for me. Early on, I was subjected to guys WAY out of my age range (either 25 or 65), who said only, “Let’s kick it” or “What’s up?” Until I figured out the filters, anyway. I participated in online dating many years ago, when it was still relatively new, and I was not impressed. The men I met did not look like their profile pictures, or they weren’t really single and just wanted some action on the side. Why I thought it would be different today, I don’t know. In two months on the site, I have ignored about 95 percent of the e-mails, winks and favorites I’ve received. In the first week, I felt so inundated and overwhelmed by the sheer number of messages that rolled in, I underwent a complete mental shutdown.  I was chatting with a girlfriend this weekend about the abrupt end to her most recent relationship. We are both in our 40s, better than average looking and college educated.
We take care of our bodies, nourish our minds and souls on a regular basis and try like hell to be good people. Yet we both end up dating the same guy in a slightly different package over and over. It never ends well for either of us, and we are damn sick of it. We both lamented that all the therapy and self-help work we have done does not seem to be netting any new results for either of us in the relationship department, and we wondered out loud why we neither one can seem to figure this shit out. This led me to ask the question, “How do you make yourself change the type of person you find attractive?” Reprogramming myself on the intellectual level has clearly not been enough to override my instinctive physical response to the men I meet. See, for me, there has to be some kind of chemical reaction when I first lay eyes on a man for me to be interested in pursuing him. If I do not feel that magnetic pull at first, it will never be there. Chemistry does not grow on me.  Since he was born in October 2012, I have made a concerted effort to visit with my sweet little (honorary) nephew, Raylan, at least a few times a month. (OK, I go over there to see his parents, too. His mom is my best friend, Whitney.)
During my last visit, Whitney and I were talking about Raylan’s many emerging, unique traits — what makes him giggle like a madman, what foods he loves, and which of his toys and blankets he favors. It’s wonderful to live vicariously through this new little family, because God knows I am done having babies myself. Talking about baby stuff got me to thinking about my son, Ethan’s, favorites back in the day. He’s 18 now, so most of his playthings are packed away in our basement for safekeeping, except for the few he has kept in random drawers in his room.  Here’s the thing with me and dating: I don’t want to put forth the effort required to make it happen.
I am fine – happy, even – as a single gal. Sure, it would be nice to have some male companionship from time to time, but I don’t have any burning desire to seek it out. If it happens organically, that’s dandy. If it doesn’t, well then I have plenty of other stuff to keep me busy and fulfilled. (Get your mind out of the gutter! Oh wait, that was me. Ahem.) Several of my friends have encouraged me to join the online dating services Match.com, PlentyofFish.com or eHarmony.com. But that involves work. I don’t have the time or energy to determine the fucktard quotient of the guys who contact me, or vet hundreds of profiles to figure out whose pictures are from 15 years and 50 pounds ago. Plus, I know from past experience that you cannot judge chemistry potential until you meet in person. But sit me at a table and ask me to chat with a captive audience of 12 guys, all close to my age, each for only six minutes, then note on a sheet of paper whether I want to further the conversation with any of them, all for the price of a meal? DONE. I did speed dating once about eight years ago and wrote a column about it for Business First. I remember it being largely a waste of time in terms of dating prospects, but high on entertainment value, so when a friend asked me to go with her to an event for singles aged 38 to 50 this week, I was all, what the hell? It can't be any worse than what I am doing now, which is exactly nothing.  Rejection.
Turns out that I am just NOT a fan. I know, I know… who is, right? *SIGH* I’ve been reminded on a couple of fronts during the past month exactly how much it can suck ass, and how quickly– no matter how strong or confident I am in my everyday life – it can bring out my petulant inner 3-year-old. And she is a prissy, weepy, self-centered lil’ brat, that one. I’ve written in this space before about how much work it seems to take to attain an active social life as a single, 40-something non-drinker. I’ve lost my key social touchstones to their own recent lifestyle changes (one BFF got married and had a youngun; the other took on a new, super demanding career), so left to my own devices, I’m flailing a bit. Since mid-summer, I’ve been grateful to regularly hook up with a new girlfriend who I adore more every time I see her. We are so much alike, it’s kinda scary. We've bonded over the precariousness of the local social scene, and we both have been actively seeking out things to do together. I am so lucky to have found her (or that she found me, whatevs). She is turning out to be a fantastic wingman on so many levels. This past weekend, my new bestie invited me out to watch the UofL game and then wander the Highlands Festival with her and a random assortment of our friends and acquaintances. It was a beautiful day, and we had a great time together. |
About Amy HiggsA former newspaper columnist, Amy takes her random, slice-of-life stories to the web. After 12 years, she's still just saying. Archives
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