Forever Alone | Chapter 7: Stories & Skyscrapers (Part 3)
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 I came across Will’s profile, I didn’t have to think. I wanted this guy to know I existed. He was handsome with a refreshingly normal profile—no gym selfies, not drinking in every other picture, satisfyingly good answers to his prompts. The one I responded to started with “bet you can’t guess this” about me—he said only one person had ever guessed correctly. My know-it-all self took over, because what he was betting you couldn’t guess was something about a book; it’s not important what it was. Just that I knew exactly what he was talking about, and I said so.
He replied almost immediately. “Wow, you’re spot-on.” I said, “Yep, I’ve read a lot of books.” We spent the next hour texting back and forth. It was a great conversation—honest and real and funny, all at once. He was a solid conversationalist. Not one of these dudes who just answers your question and asks nothing in return. He was sincere and clearly interested in what I had to say. He asked me if I had any particularly crazy dating stories, and I told him, “Honestly, no. I’m pretty at good discernment, so I’m selective about who I talk to and who I go out with. I’ve avoided drama because I can spot crazy and dumb a mile away.”
He understood. He said, “I’ve had to learn how to narrow my searches and be picky, cuz I mean … I’m not getting younger. But I also refuse to be in a hurry and make a mistake trying to chase a magic that I can only believe will find me on its own.”
That was the first of many times my eyebrows raised of their own volition. I’d never heard anything quite so articulate or self-aware from a guy on Hinge. After we’d messaged for an hour, I told him I was heading to bed. He said that he hoped we could talk again the next day, and I said of course. Then he mentioned, “Oh, but FYI I can’t take my phone into my office, so I’m typically not around until later in the day. Wouldn’t want you to think I was ignoring you.” That didn’t surprise me—I live near DC and that’s common in a lot of government-type buildings. But I was pleasantly surprised by the clear communication. A dude who asked to talk to you the next day, and then set expectations so you weren’t left guessing? Uh, yes please.
The next night, true to his word, he reached back out. Hinge was acting up, so we ended up exchanging numbers and texting normally instead. We even passed a couple voice notes back and forth, when we wanted to share longer stories. We got on the topic of manifestation—I brought it up, after he told me a story where he very obviously had manifested something, without knowing it—and he said, “Oh yeah, I’ve always believed that you can will things to happen in your life.” I told him if he wanted more where that came from, I had a whole podcast where I talked about that stuff all the time. He said, “Well I’m definitely going to need you to tell me what it’s called, so I can listen.” A guy who’s down to talk about manifestation and listen to my podcast?? I meannn, OK. Before I went to bed that night he asked if I wanted to go out that weekend. I obviously said yes, and we planned dinner for Saturday night.
The following night, Thursday, he texted me right after he got out of work: “Ugh, I’m so sorry, and I feel like an ass, but my cousin just reminded me that he and I have plans Saturday night. I don’t suppose you’d be willing to reschedule?”
I was bummed, of course, but what was I supposed to say? “No, don’t honor the commitment you already made to someone in your family?” He ended up calling me since he was driving and couldn’t text. He wasn’t sure when he’d be able to reschedule—he’d have to get back to me about that—but we talked for 30 minutes while he drove, and it was fun to actually chat with him in real time.
On Friday night he texted me to say that his plans that evening had fallen through, and he was wondering if I might be free for a last-minute date? It was 5:00, and he lived a full hour away without traffic. I hadn’t showered and I wasn’t wearing makeup. And I also didn’t love the idea of setting a precedent that I’d drop everything for a dude when it’s convenient for him. So instead, I called him and said, “Nahh, that’s not gonna work for me. What about Sunday instead? I’m free all day.” He hemmed and hawed a little, which I didn’t get. Dude, either you’re free or you’re not free. Which is it? Finally I said, “Alright, how about this? I’d prefer to meet up on Sunday. If you can make that work, let me know.” To which he immediately countered and said, “You know what, OK. Let’s make it happen.”
We ended up staying on the phone for another hour after that. The conversation veered every which way. It was truly wild how much we had in common. Not just surface-level interests, which were many, but deep stuff, too. He said that what he most wanted in a partner was someone who would be themselves, all of the time. He, too, had experience in relationships that lacked real passion and intimacy, and like me, never again wanted to settle for something that lacked heat. At one point I told him that one of my deepest fears, as far as relationships were concerned, was that I’d end up with a partner who wasn’t much more than a roommate. Maybe it starts out intense and passionate at the beginning, but it fizzles, probably because my partner no longer finds me attractive once I’m old and ugly.
He said, “I get that. But … do you think that maybe the real problem is that you and I just haven’t found the right person yet? I know for a fact there are people who still look at each other, years later, just like they did early on. Still totally in love. And there are people way younger who’ve lost that already. I don’t think attraction has to be about age when you’re with the right person.” I may have swooned a little at that.
The next day—the day before our date—we were exchanging voice notes again, and when we got on the subject of kids, and why we wanted to have them, he shared that that was one of the reasons he’d bought his house a couple years’ back. He said that he wanted to be someone who could teach his future kids how to do things—that he wouldn’t feel good about himself if he couldn’t pass on useful lessons—so he was learning how to run a house. I sat back and thought,
“Huh. A King, preparing his kingdom, without consciously realizing that’s what he’s been doing.”
I was very nervous the morning of our date. We’d planned to meet for brunch and, in my anxiety, I’d half-convinced myself that he was probably going to cancel last minute. When I got a text from him an hour before our date saying, “Hey, I’m excited to meet you this morning!” I smiled and instantly relaxed. It was such a little thing, but it made me feel seen and taken care of. Like he’d somehow sensed my anxiety and wanted to soothe it.
Let me cut to the chase and tell you—it was a great date. Everything about him lived up to and exceeded my expectations. He was tall, hot, and in great shape. He had a really nice smile. He exuded masculine energy. I’d been afraid that maybe I’d meet him and wouldn’t know how I felt—that maybe my body would be confused, or that I’d be turned off like I had with Patrick and Stephen, and then fall into my old pattern and ignore my gut—but I had zero doubts that I was attracted to him. And he seemed as genuinely pleased by me as I was with him. We talked for hours about everything—I even gave him what amounts to a presentation about my take on female depictions in superhero movies—and he was game to hear it. We walked around for another hour after brunch. When he said he’d been thinking about doing a Harry Potter re-read, I turned to him and said I’d been thinking about doing a Harry Potter re-read, and naturally, we decided to start a re-read together.
Toward the end of the date he said he wished he didn’t have to cut things off, but he had to go home to get ready for a crazy week. He was about to have family visit, then go on vacation, so he had more than usual going on. I told him not to apologize for that, and he asked if he could walk me to my car. I said of course, but struggled to keep up the conversation on the way there, because I was fixated on what might happen when we got there.
As we walked up to my car, I turned and said, “This was really fun. We should do it again some time.” He smiled and said, “As soon as humanly possible would be my preference.” There was a tentative beat, but we both leaned in. Unlike some I’ve had, this was a first kiss I wanted to lean into. I could have stayed a lot longer, but I had to pull away before my brain ceased to function entirely. I got in my car, pulled away, and promptly FREAKED OUT to my friends. I sent them a voice note on Voxer, positively gushing—not something I’m prone to doing about men who aren’t fictional. I felt … dazed. Giddy! It wasn’t just the existence of Will, though that was wonderful enough. But the fact that I’d just been handed incontrovertible proof that the Universe had heard me. It was like I’d submitted an order form for a man and it had, in turn, spat Will out. And there were things about Will that I hadn’t even thought to ask for! Things the Universe threw in just to surprise and delight me. And the fact that multiple of the signs I’d gotten over the years aligned with Will … it was like the cherry on top of a magical freakin’ sundae.
But I need to pause, and let you know now—like the narrator says at the beginning of 500 Days of Summer—this isn’t a love story.
When I got home after our date, I texted him a picture of me opening up The Sorcerer’s Stone and said, “I’m not playing around.” He laughed and said he hadn’t gotten to it yet, but would soon. We texted on and off the rest of the day … and then, two days passed. And I hadn’t heard from him.
The difference between my mindset on Sunday night—buoyant, enchanted, fully alive; like everything was golden sun and lavender-pink sky—and how I felt Tuesday evening—anxious, confused, spiraling, grey and grim—was stark. The cognitive dissonance was intense. I’d been there on Sunday, and for every conversation we’d had before that. I knew Will was into me. There was zero doubt in my mind about that. So … what the hell was up? I mean, he said he was going to have a crazy week. Maybe he hadn’t gotten a chance to stop and breathe in two days. And did I need to wait around for him to text me, anyway? Wasn’t that an outdated notion? If you like someone, can’t you just … say something?
So, I did. I texted him and said, “Hey, well, you said you loved communication and honesty, so here it goes. Um, I like you. A lot, actually. And I’m pretty sure you’re in the same boat. Though correct me if I’m wrong because that’s gonna make the rest of this both awkward and unnecessary. But if I’m not wrong, and you’re just caught up by how busy you are at the moment, that’s OK. If it’d be easier, we can plan to meet up when you’re back. No need or pressure to chat in between.”
Mostly, I wanted to let him off the hook. I got the sense that he was something of a perfectionist—that he didn’t like doing anything unless he could do it justice. Which I understood, but it would be way easier for me if I wasn’t constantly worrying about when or whether I’d hear from him. I’d much rather have just had a plan, even three weeks out, than have sporadic communication in between.
To his credit, he didn’t want to be let off the hook. He replied right away and said that he was sorry, things had been overwhelming and stressful, and that he very much wanted to go out when he got back, but that he also wanted to keep talking in between.
And again, to his credit, after that, for a couple weeks, we talked every day, initiated at least half the time, if not more often, by him. Our conversations were always this heady mix of fun and interesting and sincere and sexy and serious and light. And there were plenty of references to the future—shows we wanted to watch together, plans we wanted to make. After a while he told me I’d already become the first person he wanted to share things with, and I told him he was quickly becoming one of my favorite people. Since he was going to have lots of time on vacation, I curated a list of podcasts for him to listen to, including mine, of course. He called me once to share the notes he’d taken as he’d listened to Clarity on Fire.
And yet, the entire time, every day to some degree, I was anxious. I don’t know that there was a singular reason. I mean, for one, my brain was overheating. A couple weeks earlier I hadn’t known this guy existed, and now I was constantly extrapolating how very different my life could look in six months, or a year. My mind was so amped up that I found it hard to sleep more than 4 or 5 hours a night for weeks on end. But I was also anxious for more … insecure reasons. Finding someone who felt in some ways too good to be true brought out insecurity I hadn’t known was still there. It didn’t matter how many times he initiated communication, or how many truly swoonworthy things he said that proved how into me he was, every day it was like the ticker reset. Every day, without him knowing, it was like I needed him to prove his interest all over again. Eventually, of course, something he said or did would relieve my anxiety, but it’d always be back the next day. And I felt almost … ashamed of that. Like, seriously? What more does this guy need to do? Can’t you chill out and trust, for god’s sake?
In hindsight, I don’t think I gave myself enough credit. Yes, my brain had definitely been overheating. And yes, the latent insecurity Will brought to the surface was real. But there was a portion of my anxiety that was intuitive—that was picking up on a deeper truth I hadn’t consciously sensed yet.
Two-and-a-half weeks after our first date, we were finally going to meet up for our second date. Two days before that, things changed. Palpably. I could go into the details of exactly what happened, but that’s not what matters. Suffice it to say that I said something I thought was innocuous, and it triggered him, and then I didn’t hear from him for two days. Given the anxiety I’d had every day when things were great and I was hearing from him consistently, you can imagine just how shitty those 48 hours felt.
The morning of our date, I got the text:
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to explore this possible relationship anymore. Getting away helped me realize that I’m not as into this as I may have thought or wanted. There are also some factors that just really aren’t surmountable for me, like the distance. I’m sorry and good luck to you. I hope you soon find exactly what you’re looking for.”
By that point, it was just a confirmation of what I knew was coming. Before I responded, I shared what he’d said with my friend Joanna, and she said, “That’s such bullshit. He LIKES you. He’s clearly just scared and running away.” I said, “Yeah, I know. But it’s not my job to tell him that. And anyone who needs me to tell them that isn’t who I want, anyway.”
I replied and said, “Appreciate the honesty, as always. And hey, no need to cite the obstacles. Truly, I think if you’re sincerely into and committed to something, there’s rarely such a thing as an insurmountable obstacle. So this just means that you and I weren’t going to be enough of a reason to get over that. It’s good to know now! I’ve had fun, and learned a bit, too, which isn’t a bad thing. You know I hope you find what’s right for you, too.”
I really expected that to be it. But Joanna had been spot-on. Two hours later, I got another text: “Why does life have to be so confusing and complicated? I was very, very much looking forward to seeing you today. SO much. Until like two days ago. And then I got in my own head.”
I said, “Dude … I don’t know whether to cry or laugh about this. But yeah, seems pretty clear you freaked yourself out. And you know what, that’s normal. Sometimes you reach a potential upper limit and it’s easier to retreat to the comfort zone.”
He agreed on both fronts—that he didn’t know whether he should laugh or cry, and that freaking himself out sounded like something he’d do. I mulled over what to say. As a coach and as someone with anxiety, I could empathize with getting freaked out and having a knee jerk reaction that you instantly regret. So, I said, “Listen, I don’t want to keep texting if all it’s going to be is lamenting what could have been. No thanks. But if you take some time and you’re like, ‘You know what, that was an anxiety-fueled lapse in judgment, I’d like to step up and give this a proper shot,’ then I might be game. Ball’s in your court now.”
He said he understood, and that was that … but not really. He texted me a few more times in the ensuing weeks. It was clear he missed talking to me, but that he was still torn. He was, probably not consciously, trying to have his cake and eat it, too. Which was hurtful, and I told him so. Like, you miss me enough to want to keep talking to me, but not enough to ask for a proper second shot? No thank you. Eventually, he got the message. I’m not interested in half-assed or half-hearted. If you’re not all in, you’re out.
This was Chapter 7: Part 3 of Forever Alone. Read on for Chapter 7: Part 4!