Love is a Battlefield

No promises. No demands.

Note: I wrote this three months ago and left it unpublished for reasons I can’t recall. Likely, I was embarrassed by what I wrote, but whatever. Here it is, my assessment of dating after five months on the tinder.

I knew when I got myself on the tinder that it would be an adventure. Any sort of online dating in 2018 is bound to be risky, and to set high expectations on the tinder, of all apps, would be setting oneself up for failure. You never know what you’re going to get.

That is an understatement.

Honestly, it’s frightening. It’s sort of like entering yourself as a contestant on some sort of game show. You don’t really expect to win, and you’re well aware that you’re probably going to make an ass out of yourself (slash have to witness others do the same while you shake your head in embarrassment for them). Yet, despite knowing it defies all logic, you can’t help but find yourself experiencing bouts of excitement and random hopeful moments based on nothing more than a mutual love of Parmesan cheese with the poor fool on the other end of the text. But you can’t judge him because you, too, fell for the lure of this stupid game. You even went to great lengths to choose your best photos. Personally, I put a few of just myself mixed with a few of me with friends. All I do is talk about my friends anyways, so they should at least be shown off.

Them and my dead husband, but I didn’t think it would be particularly appealing to put a photo of him on my dating profile.

I regularly debate whether or not I should mention being widowed. It’s weird avoiding it, and I’ve only once not mentioned it to someone that I met. While it was a fun night out and I sometimes enjoy taking off the widowed mask, I didn’t really feel like myself. Aside from that one time, it’s usually mentioned in my profile, which I edit periodically depending on my mood. I don’t shy from bringing it up when asked why I’m on the tinder. Lying takes more energy. I don’t always bring up the cause of death unless asked, though at times mentioning it has been a great conversation starter and opportunity for the guy I’m texting to share about his own experiences losing someone to suicide. So, there are perks to being so open. I’m primarily interested in connecting with PEOPLE, not in finding ‘the one’. So, I’m happy just to have nice conversations. It just isn’t exactly typical talk for a dating app.

Disclaimer: What you put out there will come back to you. I’m fully responsible for the fact that I’m not looking for a serious relationship right now and that the results I’m getting are directly correlated to the effort I’m putting in and the vibe I’m giving off. I might bitch at times, but I don’t honestly expect to find my next husband here, nor am I looking for him.

I’d likely have the same experience on any other app, and I like the low key nature of the tinder, however frightening it may be. I get freaked out at just the thought of somebody catching feels, so for now, I’m happy to confront something as simple as answering questions about what I’m looking for. A few weeks ago I had a minor meltdown about my answer to questions like, “What do you do for fun?” Why it was so hard to answer that question is beyond me, but I really had to think about it and found myself engulfed in the midst of a mild existential crisis. Once my panic was over, I realized that the tinder is actually the perfect place for me to discover what it is that I do and don’t want, so let’s not pretend that some other app would do me any better if I get that messed up over answering a simple question.

One thing I know is that I would very much like to not be so afraid of and distrusting of men. I intentionally keep myself on the tinder, swiping right and chatting with men to stay ahead of my idea that they’re all idiots without whom I’d be better off. I’m well aware that thinking that way won’t get me very far, so I shift my context each and every day and keep myself open to the possibility that there are great guys out there.

I also text my besty, my roomies, the widdas and some of my Marines a combined total of about 20 times a day about how much I hate all men and am destined to become a crazy fish lady (*I’m allergic to cats.), but that’s beside the point because once I rant about the madness of this whole dating thing, I usually get myself back in the game and start swiping right again.

It would also be nice to not feel I need to drink to go on a date. I’m not particularly proud of that, but it seems to be the case right now. I’m also not THAT worried because I’m not a total booze hound. I noticed after a few weeks that I couldn’t handle going on a date sober, and that became an important insight. I’ve since taken a step back and a few weeks off of this whole dating thing, though that might be because I was sick. But that’s beside the point. It’s all an opportunity for growth, you see. But you have to get out there and in action to be able to notice these things and let the opportunities arise.

So, I’m not really sure if you could call what I’m doing “dating” so much as swiping right, texting and possibly meeting, though more likely making, and then cancelling, plans. I’m very good at cancelling plans. The way my PTSD is set up, I tend to have too much anxiety and imagine the worst in people.

*Now that I’ve read this over, three months after penning it, I wish I still felt this way about dating. I am proud to say I have gone on more than one sober date. There have also been some doozies, along with meeting a guy I liked enough to talk to on the phone MULTIPLE times. It was a big deal for me. Then something happened with him a few weeks ago that threw me back a few steps, and lately I just feel sad. But I started swiping right again this week, and my profile holds back nothing about my relationship status. Let’s see what comes of it.