I once described my dating life as dramatic and exciting, but not any more; dull and lifeless are much more accurate adjectives now. Seven years ago, my frequent dater miles could have flown me to Australia and back; now I wouldn’t even be able to redeem them for a gift card to buy a quart of Haagen-Dazs. It’s been so long since my dating card has been punched; I’m starting to wonder if I’ve lost it or worse yet—let it expire.
It’s become similar to one of those great coupons you find and you want it with you at all times—just in case an opportunity presents itself—so you shove it in the secret compartment of your wallet. Only, you forget it’s there … until the opportunity has passed you by. And before you know it, the coupon has expired or mysteriously disappeared. So there you are, consoling yourself and wondering, “Would it have even been worth all the trouble?”
That’s the question I’ve been asking myself lately. Part of me would love to go on dates, but like coupons, are they worth the hassle? Dating requires a lot of research. I don’t want to date a criminal, an unemployed loser, an abuser, a married man, a mama’s boy, an addict, or someone still in the process of “finding” himself—been there, done that. After weeding all of the bad ones out, I’ve found myself alone … for a long time.
Dating also requires a lot of energy, something that is immediately drained from my body with even the slightest thought of a date. I’m sure turning thirty has nothing to do with it. Perhaps because I’ve continually been disappointed, I’ve come to expect it or have no desire to date anymore? People tell me, “Be patient, blah, blah, blah …” But, I think that’s more for their comfort than mine. I’m sure it’s disheartening to see a successful, attractive person still single at this age. Successful, except in one area of life that is, which is interesting.
Typically, as people mature, their skills and abilities do as well. Take cooking, for instance; ten years ago I was subsisting on Honeycombs, grilled cheese and the traditional Friday night take-out pizza (so that’s why I was thirty-five pounds heavier). Now, I host dinner parties and serve grilled chicken with spinach and pine nut pesto, Mediterranean Bruschetta, and chocolate pudding cake. Clearly, as I aged my cooking skills and nutritional knowledge improved.
Reading and learning are other examples. While in college, my friend was reading a text book and came across the word, “insofar.” He asked me what it meant and I, being the word guru that I am, informed him that the publisher made a terrible mistake—it was a typo. I hope by now my friend has learned that the word really is in existence and he does not hate me “to such an extent” that he would never speak to me again. So, now I will never forget the definition of “insofar” and if anyone ever asks me the meaning of a word I am unsure of, I will not be so quick to judge.
So why am I making progress in the cooking and reading courses of life, but failing in the dating one? After as much practice as I’ve had, I should be excelling. Perhaps my math skills are off? Or maybe I need to continually practice—I have taken a bit of a hiatus. I suppose it’s like going back to college after taking a few years off; intimidating, nerve-racking and costly, but well worth it in the end.
