"Before I met Ingrid, I was single for a six years, my friend Katherine shared, between bites of vegetable lasagna over lunch. "And, during that time, I decided I would be the person I wanted to date. I took myself to restaurants I wanted to try and movies I wanted to see. I even gave myself the occasional massage.”
The statement was so simple, yet obviously infused with a lot of thought and commitment.
Be the person I want to date, I thought. Hummm...Interesting.
Over a year had passed since I’d decided to take myself out of the game. Why? Because, basically, I felt off my game, minus my mojo. Almost two years earlier, I’d rekindled the relationship that had impacted my heart the most. That old adage you can never go back, much as I hoped things would be different, rang-in harsh, disapproving tones— like a buzzer to the wrong answer. Round two, and I was out. Applying my standard recuperative practices, I immediately began to date. Just as quickly, I understood my heart was in shreds. I would have to stop. I’d officially become a bad date.
For the next 48 hours, Katherine’s brainchild kept popping up in my thoughts like that difficult question in a game show—the one with the double points. If I could be the person I wanted to date, then maybe I’d get the answers to the bonus round in that ever-elusive category: The Perfect Partner. So I began to ask myself questions.
I’ll take perfect husbands for 100.
First question. I began by going backwards, revisiting the dates and relationships I’d already had. Although this was unpleasant, there was no getting around it. But, while reviewing the painful facets, it also revived the things I loved in each of them: Steven for his love of books and introducing me to the flea market; CJ for his right-brain-left-brain approach to life and work; Ron for his balls-out attitude and post-it love notes; Craig for his rapid assessment and readjustment to challenging situations. A lot of amazing points were gained.
Next question. I had to acknowledge that, like many of us, I had a fantasy date = the "perfect" husband. Mine seemed to have a lot of the attributes commonly posted on the dating websites: Great bod, sweet, regular guy, likes walks on the beach, eating ice cream in bed, loves all my favourite movies and books, and in between earning tons of bank, has both the ability and desire to be at my beck and call...oh, and of course, he fulfills every sexual fantasy. Yet, oddly, I’d never met him.
Thus, ding-ding-ding.
Next question. I had to acknowledge that, to become the person I wanted to date, I would also have to include (my) character flaws. The query, despite the unflattering view, had to occur. The list was humbling, the question a game-changer. Here’s a prompt: nobody’s perfect. And although we all know that, we tend to easily forget when game hunting.
That, took me to my next question; forcing me to really stop and think. I loved the person I used to be: a social, gregarious, extroverted homo. But, because I hadn’t taken the time to stop and properly question the game from round to round, I’d become a homo with no mojo—losing points with each round of dating. In other words, I’d become an outsider within myself. And nobody wants to date that.
Final round, last question: With all I’d examined, each self-inquiry, how would I (now) contribute as a single, to the collective process of coupledom?
Before I was ready to come out and play again, I took a non-commercial break for that one. The Mating Game wasn’t over yet.
Noncommercial Break: I began to take yoga, took myself to the movies (alone), did some volunteer work, read a lot, wrote in my journal every day, took a meditation class themed around love, spent time with friends whose attributes I loved, and took a vacation to the place that nourished me the most. And while I did all of this, my questioning framed each activity.
Throughout all of my being myself to become my date, I had to constantly remind myself that I was doing it to find (a new and improved version of) me.
This, at times, was challenging when: the boy in front of me at yoga had an ass that made facing downward dog-morph into doggie style-like thoughts; or the man at the art opening became more enticing than what was displayed on the walls. Translation: sexual attraction was clouding my exploration. So I put myself on "“cockdown”—my version of no sex—until one head could properly make room for another kind of head.
The thing is that we’re all looking for that "“perfect” fit, that someone who fulfills all our needs. Me, Myself and I included. But once I chose to play The Mating Game differently—with a renewed view and understanding— although I’ve not won yet, (and I know this will sound cheesy. Trust me.) I fell in love…with my new Me.
And this is what I learned—a few Q (queer) cards for you viewers:
I learned that, when playing the Mating Game, the rules and questions change with every round. I learned that every (past) boyfriend or husband was (and is) worthwhile—even when painful—contributing to my growth and improving my ability to play the next round. I learned that, when a relationship hits you hard, if you don’t take the time to question and re-evaluate, you will only lose the next round. (Translation: put yourself on cockdown, have a non-commercial break from it all.)
And finally, I learned that men are a game and that dating is the discovery of endless correspondence, not only with yourself, but also with the world.
Bonus point: This "game” took place during the final 30 days of my forties. I am now fifty. Mid-century match-game on!
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