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Dear James,
I’m worried I may no longer be capable of feeling. Melodramatic, I know—but hear me out.
I am 26 and have been single for seven years, after two short-lived, emotionally tumultuous college flings. And my single life has been great! I’ve improved relationships with my family and friends, built a career I’m proud of, traveled, tried new hobbies. Over the past three years, I’ve been dating super intentionally; I’ve been looking for a relationship that’ll add to my life. I do want to marry, and I want a relationship where we’re both invested in exploring long-term potential—no situationships. My hope is to find someone kind, respectful, and confident (a fairly inclusive set of criteria), which has allowed me to keep an open mind in meeting different kinds of men and not sticking to a “type.”
Some guys have been immediate nos. Others have been nice—our conversations are okay, and we seem aligned on priorities—so I’ll go on a couple of dates to see if a spark develops. But the spark simply isn’t developing. I know not to expect fireworks right away. But after a few dates, I’m not excited to see them anymore. If I sense someone is feeling a connection but I’m not, I’ll usually end it so as to not lead them on.
I have felt sparks and attraction before. I know I’m capable of wanting romance. But I’m so confused, and I can’t help wondering if my expectations are unrealistic. Am I waiting for something that’ll never come? Is “When you know, you know” a fallacy? Or am I missing some feelings that are usually present in these situations?
Dear Reader,
I’m picking up a lot of front-brain activity here, a lot of planning and problem-solving, a lot of executive function—which has its place, of course, but I don’t believe that the core of our existence, the great mysteries of love and spirit, are accessible by thinking. In the areas that really matter, the intellect has limited range.
Certainly, in my case: I can see now that the major decisions in my life, however they might have appeared at the time, were made not in the well-lit boardrooms of my frontal lobes but down in the darkness of my raging, whining, babbling, and despotically sensitive amygdala. (This brain stuff is all metaphors, by the way. In terms of actual brain function, how it works, I have no idea what I’m talking about.)
And then there’s Eros, also known as Cupid, who flies away with his little buttocks clenched at the least hint of a rational process. Dating consciously and intentionally, with a checklist of desirable qualities and a determination not to hurt anyone’s feelings—what a great way to keep him out of your business. It sounds to me like you got rather scorched by those early romances, and since then you’ve been doing a very good job of regulating your love life. In the past seven years, no one’s run off with your heart, blown your mind, challenged your identity, or trampled your self-respect. On the other hand, no one’s been very interesting, either.
I don’t want to be a cheerleader for the forces of irrationality—we’ve got quite enough of that going on these days. But I wonder if you could make yourself a little more available to the unlikely, the unpredictable, the downright unsuitable. Take your aversion to situationships: I mean, they’re all situationships, aren’t they? From the randomest hookup to the most heavily layered entanglement. Put two people together, in any context, and you’ve got a situation.
Am I an expert in dating? By no means. But it seems to me that you’re in a great position. You’ve looked after yourself, which is no small thing, and you’ve been steadily exploring. Now you’re feeling the flickerings of an as-yet-obscure romantic destiny. Let it happen!
From a sleeping bag in the hippocampus,
James
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