I went on a date a couple of weeks ago. I’ve only been on a handful of dates since about 2018. I had decided to stop dating, because it was getting to be too much, and I needed to just be with myself for a while.
There was a moment in early 2017, when I was visiting my long-distance sort-of-boyfriend in Auckland, and we were at an arcade: playing games, driving bumper cars, having a great time. I was struck with sadness thinking of my little boy, back in Wellington with his Dad, who would have loved to do those things with me. I didn’t have much money back then so it wasn’t like I could do it all. I was choosing to spend money on a trip to Auckland and a fun day at the arcade to explore a relationship with a man that, as it turned out, didn’t last. (Although we’re still friends, and he even helped me move recently, five years after we broke up.)
And I should say here, that mothers deserve to have time to ourselves, away from our children. I wasn’t beating myself up for being away from my son, because that bit was important. Parenting can be so consuming, and it can be a mindfuck to be constantly in the sphere of children.
The kiddo and I at Orana Park during a lovely trip to Christchurch to visit friends
It was simply that I realised I didn’t do those fun things with my son very often. He was (is) the most important person in my life, and he was growing up fast. I was tired of spending my time and money and emotional energy on relationships that didn’t last, and that sometimes wreaked havoc on my emotional stability, which meant I wasn’t always as present with my son as I wanted to be. I don’t regret the time I spent dating, or the lovely men that I met - many of whom I am still friends with. But as with everything, there is a cost-benefit analysis, and dating was starting to take too much of a toll for too little reward.
By the time my trip to Auckland was over, that sort-of-boyfriend and I had broken up. After that, I had a short but intense relationship with someone who broke my heart in a way that I didn’t expect. I thought everything was great, and then I got dumped, which meant that I was wrong. I didn’t know how to trust my own feelings after that. I could tell when things weren’t great, but how am I supposed to accurately judge anything when I thought it was all wonderful, and then it was suddenly over? I was hurt and confused, and although the heartbreak faded, my lack of trust in my own perception about what’s going on remains to this day. Now I am suspicious of good things. I dated one more man after that, and when that ended, even though I wasn’t particularly hurt, I grew weary of it all and swore off dating.
I had intended to take a break for a year or two. Focus on my son, focus on myself without the context of who I might be to someone else. But then the pandemic happened, which was certainly not an ideal time for dating. I was studying with people who were usually at least 10 years my junior, and working exclusively from home. My situation didn’t lend itself to meeting people naturally, and I got older and fatter and more tired, and I noticed that men didn’t even seem to notice me anymore. I was fine with that, until I started getting lonely.
I tell you this not because any of it is remarkable - everyone who has dated has dating stories (and I have more interesting ones than these). It’s just the context for the next bit. Which is that I’m not sure it was loneliness that made me dip my toes back into the dating pool, so to speak. (The dating pool being Tinder.)
Here’s the thing: I very rarely get lonely. I like my own company, and I like having a lot of alone time to do what I want. There are limits in my life but few compromises. I’m fortunate to have a lot of wonderful friends: friends I can have fun with, who I can be myself with, friends who have known me for a long time. We understand and support each other. I have a sweet son who gives me cuddles and I have a sweet dog who follows me around and sleeps sprawled out on my bed at night. I have kind and interesting colleagues and acquaintances. My life is full and valid without a partner.
My quiz team and I
The times when I feel hopeless and alone, which I’ve often mistakenly interpreted as being lonely, are the times when there is some challenging situation. Whether it’s the recent $1400 car bill that I had to pay out of my baby savings account that is meant to be going towards a house deposit, or when I’m knackered after commuting into the office and working all day and all I can do when I get home is sit on the couch and watch TikTok and instruct my son to make himself some cup noodles for dinner, and I wish there was someone else who could make dinner.
What I’m really after is someone to share the burdens of late-stage capitalism with.
It’s an unromantic notion, I know, but I think more and more people are feeling this way. It harks back to the origins of marriage as an economic alliance. While I wouldn’t advocate for going back to a ‘traditional’ household where the wife raises children and cooks and cleans, and the husband goes out to work, there is something to be said for a partnership that meets practical needs without the complications of basing it on feelings. Our society was never set up for a single adult to have full responsibility for running a household and earning an income, and the fact that so many of us do it is testament to the endurance of the human spirit.
It’s hard not to despair sometimes when the cost of living is increasing so much more than wages, and for those of us who started off on the back-foot financially it’s hard to claw our way up to any kind of security. It would be nice to have someone else who is invested in a shared life and who can ease some of the strain of our capitalist society.
It’s possible that over the last few years I’ve developed this opinion because I’m afraid of being hurt again. Perhaps the heartbreaks of my twenties combined with the years I’ve spent alone in my thirties mean that I’ve just forgotten how nice it can be to fall in love. How affirming it is to have someone who thinks you’re all that. But when I think about a relationship these days I mostly think “wow it sure would be nice to have someone to split the bills with and share the housework.” (My younger self would be horrified at my cynicism.)
The few dates I’ve been on in the last few years have left me feeling nothing. One became a good friend, the others didn’t go past a first date. There is no drama. The most recent date was an enjoyable conversation and a yummy dinner at an Ethiopian restaurant where we ate our curries with our hands, but not a single glimmer of feeling. It’s possible that I just haven’t met the right person, and that in the past I dated men even while I knew they weren’t the one for me. I think that’s true in some cases but not in all. It’s possible my standards are now so high that no one can meet them, but in the past when I’ve lowered my standards it’s gone as poorly as can be expected.
I can’t help but think I’d rather go to dinner with my friends, because they are guaranteed to be good company. Or I’d rather put that money towards a book, or in my savings account to buy the little house I dream of that I’ll then be paying off on my one income for thirty years. It’s possible that being so focused on buying a house, working full time, spending time with my son, and everything else I like to do, I just don’t have space for someone new in my life, and maybe my body knows that even when I tell my mind I’m open to it.
I don’t want to give up on the idea of romantic love for myself. A good relationship is enriching. It would be nice to feel like I don’t have to survive on my own for the rest of my life and to have someone to share the small and big moments with. But it’s hard to get excited about. It’s hard to tell if I were more financially secure if I would then have more head-space for a relationship, or even less need for one. Perhaps it would be both.
For now I have deleted Tinder off my phone again. It seems likely that if I invested more time in it I may have different results, but it doesn’t feel worth it right now. I tell myself that I am only 35, there is still time, for all of it: the house, the partner, the travel - maybe even the retirement. (Just kidding, I’m a millennial, I’ll retire when I die.)
It seems more worthwhile to continue building community rather than hoping that one person might come along and somehow fix things. That’s a lot to put on one person anyway, and I’m not sure I’m in a position to reciprocate that right now. There are many adventures to have and relationships to nurture, even if they’re not romantic. And thus I have again talked myself out of dating, and I’m fine with it.