The problem with dating is that most people eventually grow to have expectations. I guess with that the inverse would then be to know how to manage those expectations.

I went on 6 dates since I started the inevitable dating game. The first and only guy I’ve been on a date with here in New York City. My friends here have told me that he’s done way more to woo me than most guys in New York do when they date. Since I don’t have any other guy in New York I’ve dated to compare him to I really have no opinion on that. There was a connection and there was definitely chemistry. I thought he was a good genuine guy. Unfortunately, for one reason or another in which I am still confused about we are no longer seeing each other. Even more unfortunate is that I now find myself in a place that is really unsettling.  Not because I’m hugely heartbroken, although I am disappointed. I mean, 6 dates hardly constitutes as knowing someone; even though we’ve seen people get married for less.

What’s unfortunate, (or fortunate depending on how you look at it) is that I got a taste of something I didn’t realize I was missing.

When I went on my first day I had zero expectations. I expected to walk away with a cringe worthy story I could share over drinks and laughter with my friends. I was taken completely by surprised when I found myself wanting to see him again. I didn’t think I even wanted to start dating. I frankly put myself out there because it felt like it was time too not because of a longing I had within me. (Lest I remind you I’ve been on a dating hiatus since around the March time frame)

Now that I’m no longer seeing this British dude I find myself in a precarious situation. I got a taste of the good stuff. No, not sex. Although that is good too. I’m talking about intimacy. And not intimacy in a sexual way. I mean in the way that someone held my hand and it made me feel good, secure, whole, and lovely all at once. That in having a conversation and sharing something private made me vulnerable to someone else while terrifying and exciting me. And his vulnerability only made him that much more endearing and interesting to me. The way that when you are looking into someone’s eyes you just see them completely raw. The truly listening to someone else because you want to soak up their words and the meaning behind them.


I reveled in it. It felt fantastic. I forgot what that felt like. I forgot how whole intimacy can make you feel. Or maybe I didn’t forget. Maybe I wanted to forget because sometimes it’s easier that way. Complacency is such an easy feat. Sometimes putting aside feelings and longing is easier than putting in work.

So now I find myself here in this strange place where I am craving a deeper connection and true intimacy. It’s hard admitting that to myself. Even harder to accept that I’m ready to share my life with someone again. I was told recently by someone I love how much of a loving person I am. I never thought about that before because no one has ever said those words to me. It’s not that I don’t believe it to be true it was just nice to be acknowledged for what I strive to be. It got me thinking about how much love I have to give and how much I want in return. I’ve done the mediocre love before. I’ve given more than I’ve received and vice versa. I don’t want that shit anymore. I want the kind of love that will move mountains and write stories. I want big love.


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