Forever Alone | Chapter 7: Stories & Skyscrapers (Part 1)
In which I consult with a fictional Board of Directors, download Hinge, go on a date with a hot man, and finally answer the question I posed at the beginning of our tale.
I published Forever Alone: One Introverted Millennial’s Half-Agonizing, Half-Hopeful Journey Through Singledom in 2021 as a 7-part podcast miniseries. I’m re-publishing it here on Substack for the first time in written form! Start reading from the beginning here.
When you’ve been single for almost nine years, it’s inevitable that you tell yourself stories about why that must be. You’ve heard me work through a lot of the stories I told myself about not being enough, in some way—not pretty enough, not worthy enough, too broken. But when I finally believed that maybe I was enough, that didn’t mean I relaxed and did nothing and just waited for the right dude to show up. I was still telling myself a story, except this time it wasn’t about any deep personal deficiency, but instead, about what I was and wasn’t doing—my actions, rather than my identity. So, like you heard in the last chapter, I acted; I stepped up and took responsibility for meeting my own needs.
But when six months had passed in my new home and none of that massive action had led to me meeting someone, I started asking myself, again, what still needed doing.
I was ruminating on that question in the shower one evening—the best place to brainstorm—when I thought, “I wish I could poll a group of men that I trust and respect about what I should be doing differently. It’d be nice to have a new perspective.” But the problem was, all of my friends are women. Finding just one grounded, evolved man with a lot of healthy masculine energy and a high level of emotional intelligence was a difficult task, let alone a panel of them.
But then I thought—why do they have to be real? I’ve spent my entire life reading books and watching movies that feature that exact kind of man. There are characters I know so well that I could probably sit down and write out precisely what advice they’d give me. Why not take all of that time I’ve invested in good stories and turn it back on me, for my own benefit? So, that’s what I did. I created a fictional Board of Directors full of characters who I would trust to give me excellent guidance about relationships.
They had to have a few major qualifications to be accepted to my Board: First, they had to exude healthy masculine energy. Second, be a solid and supportive partner to their significant other. And third … they had to be hot, of course. There were some characters I loved, like Nick Miller from New Girl, that didn’t make the cut, because they weren’t evolved enough as men to have earned the right to give me advice.
I ended up with a nine-member Board. Most of them are, unsurprisingly, characters I mentioned way back in Chapter 1, when I listed all the couples I’ve ever shipped. We’ve got a couple guys from the Star Wars galaxy—Han and Ben, which makes for drama, since they’re father and son and not on great terms—Hades from Lore Olympus, Patrick from Schitt’s Creek, Jamie from Outlander, Cormoran from the Cormoran Strike series, Geralt from the Witcher (I mean, it just felt wrong not to include some version of Henry Cavill), and a couple classics: Gabriel from Far From the Madding Crowd and, of course, Fitzwilliam Darcy. In my mind they always sit in the same seats, arranged around a boardroom table.
So, I convened my very first Board Meeting in January of this year, and the results were … fascinating, and kind of hilarious. I present to you, a transcript. And yes, I’ll try to do it … if not in their voices, then with their accents, at least:
Me: I’ll dive right in. Lately, I’ve been feeling foolish. There’s no better word to describe it. I’ve been single for more than 8 years. And even that metric rings false. It’s not like I was happy or satisfied in any relationship I’ve been in, few as they are. In fact, I’ve never had a truly fulfilling romantic relationship in my entire life. Just … placeholders. More because I thought I needed the experience than because I wanted it. It’s no wonder I leaned so heavily on all of you throughout the years.
Pangs of empathy cross a few faces.
Me: And in the past 5 years or so, it seems like the Universe has been encouraging me. I’ve gotten plenty of signs and synchronicities, which, for a long time, felt good. But the more time passes without anything having changed, the more maddening that encouragement feels. Like an endless series of carrots on sticks—
Han: What the hell’s a carrot?
Ben: Don’t interrupt her, Captain Solo.
Han: Captain Solo?! Would it kill ya to call me Dad?
Ben: This isn’t the time—
Hades: A carrot is a vegetable. Mortals tie them to sticks and dangle them in front of horses to motivate them to keep moving.
Han: And what’s—
Darcy: A horse is a large, four-legged animal used for riding and working the land.
Han: Oh, like a bantha. Coulda just said that.
Ben: Deeply sighing. Can we please get back on track?
Me: Anyway, I’m tired of feeling like the Universe is messing with me. Like it hasn’t been telling me what will happen, just what could happen. It’s depressing. And I feel like an idiot for believing it this whole time. I have more thoughts, but I think I’ll wait to share until I’ve opened up the floor to discussion. What feedback do you have for me?
Hades: You’ve been single for more than 8 years. Would you say that you could have met the right man for you—a man this board would approve of—any time throughout those 8 years?
Me: No, I have to say I probably couldn’t have.
Hades: And why not?
Me: I probably wasn’t—no, definitely wasn’t—emotionally mature enough for at least half of that time. If I’d met a man like you … I probably would have been very insecure and clingy. I might have lashed out at him or gotten scared he’d leave me. And I think that would have eventually turned him off.
Jamie: Mmphm. We’re no strangers to hellcats, here. But a man has his limits, and his pride.
A round of nodding occurs around the room.
Me: Also, quite frankly, I didn’t have my shit fully together in a financial sense. But whether or not I wanted to, I did get it together. I got a part-time job! I bought a condo! I’ve worked hard for a while now.
Cormoran: Around what time would you say your financial shit was together?
Me: Some time in 2020, probably.
Cormoran: So, less than a year?
Me: Yes.
Geralt: But that wasn’t the only thing standing in your way.
Me: No, it wasn’t.
Geralt quirks his eyebrow as if to say, “Out with it, then.”
Me: Until July of 2020 I was living with Kristen. Obviously, that wasn’t a romantic relationship, but—
Patrick: It took up the space of one. For all intents and purposes, it was a partnership. You lived together, worked together. Figured out who was cooking and buying groceries. Even walked the dog together sometimes.
Geralt: And then you moved out.
Me: Yes.
Cormoran: Less than 6 months ago.
Me: Yes.
Hades: It would seem the real question is, “How long have you actually been single?” Not in name, but in what we might call … energetic reality. You might have been technically available to a man at any time in the last decade, but you weren’t in most ways that mattered. Not to the kind of man you desire.
Me: So, I’ve been single for less than 6 months?
Jamie: Aye. And you’ve had to grieve for some of that time. Life’s changes must be honored. It wouldnae have been right if ye had met a man such as ourselves after a week.
Patrick: So that means you’ve really only been single and emotionally available for what, a month or two?
Me: I mean, if we think of it that way, then yes… but it’s going to be hard for me to forget about the past 8-plus years.
Jamie: No one’s asking ye to forget, lass.
Han: Nah, just think about it differently. Girl like you could have had any old nerfherder, but that’s not what you wanted.
Me: No, if the goal was just “not be single,” I could have achieved that any time. But I was never interested in anything besides someone like … all of you.
Listen, I know that journaling with my Board of Directors was just me, talking to myself. But having to get into the mindset of those characters unlocked a realization I’d never had until that moment—that sure, one way you can count how long you’ve been single is by how many years it’s been. But another, more accurate way, is by how long you’ve actually been ready for the kind of person you sincerely want. I couldn’t deny that my Board was correct—in some major ways, I’d only recently become well-and-truly ready. And that was … freeing. It made me feel less frustrated with my progress; more normal.
So, still trying to find something productive to do about my situation, I asked myself,
“OK, what would a normal person who’s gone through the emotional equivalent of a big breakup do after they’d healed?”
My first thought was, “They’d probably start dating again.” Which, of course, wasn’t a thought I wanted to be entertaining. But on the other hand, I was so tired of wondering whether or not I should actively date. I couldn’t deny that my past attempts at dating had been half-hearted. Technically I’d dipped a toe into the pool, but I hadn’t really dived in. I’d only ever been on Match, never one of the newer apps. And I’d barely even done the work myself—I’d let Kristen do the screening for me. Every few months, like clockwork, the question would bubble back up again. And every time, I’d have the same maddening internal dialogue:
“Is my refusal to really try to date a cop out? Am I bullshitting myself here? Dating is a vulnerable, awkward thing. It would give me a ton of anxiety. I’ve seen very few people like or enjoy it. I have no desire to subject myself to it. I don’t believe it has to be the way I meet someone. But am I just avoiding something hard-but-good for me? Something that would get me out of my comfort zone. Desensitize me a bit. Get me interacting with men. Sharpen my discernment. Ugh, but all of that feels unnecessary! I’m already good at discernment! Wouldn’t it just would be a TON of mental and emotional labor for no real reason? But what if I’m blocking myself by refusing to do it? Should I just get over myself? There’ve been other things in my life that I could have gotten past sooner, had I been less stubborn. Am I just making my journey longer and harder by being adamant about not dating?”
I still wasn’t sure. But after how hard 2020 had been, my tolerance for doing hard things was higher. I’d become more resilient. And I thought, fuck it. I’m tired of wondering if this is the reason I’m not getting what I want. As long as I don’t do it, I’m going to keep having this worry pop up. If I do it, at least I can cross off this one big, remaining thing that I fear could be blocking me. And if there’s anything I’ve learned in the last year, it’s that there’s a lot of freedom and relief on the other side of doing something you thought you were too scared to do.
So, in late January I downloaded Hinge. It’d been over two years since I’d had any kind of online dating profile, but that same visceral fear that had reared up every time I’d logged into Match over the years, was still there. Logically, I knew there was nothing to be afraid of. I mean, for an introvert, this was the easiest way to date! You get to do it from behind the safety of a screen. You don’t have to talk to anyone, if you don’t want to. But every time I logged in, it was like I was breathing through panic; trying to prevent myself from a full-on spiral. The only way I could stay the course was to give myself permission to approach Hinge like a casual experiment. I was just going to hang my proverbial shingle—“Hey, I’m here. Technically open for business, but I’m not going to be manning the counter or anything. And I’m definitely not going to be on the sidewalk handing out fliers. If you want me, you can come in and ring the bell, and maybe I’ll come out of the back for you.”
In other words, for my mental health, I needed to approach Hinge with a lot of feminine energy. I wanted to be like a magnet, pulling in the right person if they happened to be there. I was not going to spend any time in the masculine mode of seeking and hunting. So, I chose to avoid scrolling through guys and sending likes and messages. My only job was to react to the likes and messages that came to me.
The morning after I activated my profile I had 40 likes and messages, which made me want to throw up. I took a deep breath, started scrolling, and … dismissed all of them. It wasn’t nearly as hard as I feared. I quickly discovered that when someone is a clear “no,” for whatever reason, they’re easy to dismiss—Not attractive, bad grammar, answers that lack depth, no pictures that show your actual face (take your sunglasses off, your morons!), too many shirtless pics, too many gym selfies, holding a goddamned fish, thinking that your most controversial opinion is whether you prefer pineapple on pizza or not (every fourth guy on Hinge thinks is an original, funny thought) quoting The Office ad nauseum (listen, I and almost every human loves The Office. But in your limited real estate, if you can’t say anything more interesting, you’re a no).
But a day or two later, I got a message and a rose from a guy who seemed … nice. For those of you lucky enough to never have been on Hinge, there’s a section where they curate “standouts” for you—people who their algorithm calculates you’ll be most interested in. If you want to “like” someone in your standouts section, you have to send them a rose. It’s a way to let the person know they’re extra interesting to you. And of course, because Hinge is a business that exists to make money—as are all dating apps, don’t forget that—you can always buy extra roses if you want to send more than your weekly allotment.
Anyway, this very nice guy named Elijah sent me a rose and a very considerate, thoughtful message. I tapped on his profile and scrolled. He was decently good looking and a little nerdy (which isn’t necessarily a deal breaker for me). He’d put effort into his answers. He’d clearly taken the assignment of creating his profile seriously, and was looking for something serious in return. There was absolutely nothing wrong with him, and plenty to like. But I felt … deflated. It was the exact same sinking sensation I’d had with both Patrick and Stephen well over a decade ago. The similarity of the feeling stoked my panic—I instinctively wanted to run away, but I also thought I was being unreasonable. You downloaded Hinge to date, after all! How will you know if you like this dude or not if you won’t even reply to his message? I was frozen in panic and indecision. But I knew who I could turn to for answers—it was time to call upon my Board again.
This was Chapter 7: Part 1 of Forever Alone. Read on for Chapter 7: Part 2!