Getting back on that dumb, stupid, dumb horse

I’m starting to think that ‘moving on’ isn’t a result of the healing process, so much as a final step of it. There comes a point where you finish digging out the cracked foundation and you build up scaffolding in your mind to help you traipse around this massive hole. But the hole remains. And you know how things go – all it takes is one inattentive schmuck to fall in, break something, and sue you out of your own mind for damages.

So don't wash off those hands, because the work’s not done. You’ve gotta fill in chasm, not just bit by bit, but by willful and sweaty labour.

I am, of course, talking about dating.

I’ve been holding off on it for a few months now, under the guise of “I’m too busy” and “It wouldn’t be fair to her to start so soon.” There might be some truth in both of those things, but I think the underlying and unavoidable reason is that I’m afraid of trying. Afraid of failing. Afraid of getting hurt.

Alas, the whole world is worried about those things, so what’s my problem?

I writing this on a bus as I travel home for the holidays. The mountains are incredibly, vividly, overwhelmingly white. The snow is magnificent. Everything’s beautiful when it’s under a coat of soft, silent ice.

I have a friend who’s all about this new-wave gender equality and respect. No kidding, the thesis project for her Master’s degree was an illustrated compilation of anonymous stories about various incidents of sexual assault, as a way to draw attention to and humanize the issue (powerful stuff… it certainly made for a bleak read, though). She’s shared with me the many stories of her weird encounters and the creeps that create them. It’s kinda scary. As a result, it's made me hyper-aware of being a creep.

Like, is it even okay to approach a girl out of the blue, give her a compliment, and ask for her number? Or is that some kind of unwelcome invasion of their space for courting purposes? If I pay for a meal and hold the door, does that mean I’m confining a girl to their gender role? If I don’t do those things, will I be seen as a self-centered schmuck? Do girls want to be approached if you think they’re attractive/interesting, or do they already get more than enough of that? I want to be a respectful/decent guy, but I think if I follow every single piece of fine print I’ll never get off the launchpad.

Women, man. Magnificent creatures, and somehow utterly mystical to me. I have no idea how this stuff works, so I suspect a lot of trial and even far more error will be required to get anywhere. It’s scary. It’s almost as if I need to measure my progress not by successful dates, but by the amount of rejections.

The truth is that I’m afraid of girls. Or rather, I’m afraid of how easily I can be hurt by them, and that fear prevents me from approaching them.

I was chatting with another friend, and the topic of dating came up. They mentioned a friend of theirs in their mid/late 30’s that was trying to find someone decent, and how difficult it is. “It’s hard, because most of the single people at that age are single for a reason.” Oof. I mean, yeah, it’s easy to talk about the faults of the dating pool at large, but things go both ways.

I kinda hate this idea of how anyone past their 20’s are somehow second-tier stock. Divorcees, momma’s boys, druggies, douchebags, single parents… Everyone has baggage and needs to be approached with caution.

What are my problems? How come I’m still single? What do other people need to watch out for in me?

I’m really afraid of finding out I’m just as boring as I think I am. I don’t climb mountains or paraglide or play in a band or backpack around south Asia. I’m a white dude that watches some movies, plays some video games, reads about cars, browses some internet. I don’t enjoy partying, I’m not well traveled, and my wit isn’t particularly sharp. I think part of why my last relationship fell through is because she realized I wasn’t quite as stimulating as she needed from a partner.

I’m a ‘nice guy’, which is about a bad of an insult as can be had in this context. I’m nice, like a bowl of freshly steamed rice. No one gets offended at rice, and nobody is surprised by it either. It just does its job in the most unremarkable way possible. Never unexpected, always… there.

But I’m not that bad looking, am I? I’m by no means buff or built or whatever, but I’m kinda fit. I try to dress well and take care of my appearance a bit. Mind you, under those clothes I’m also covered in the dermal equivalent of perpetual surface rust. Everywhere that isn’t present has been lovingly painted over in scar tissue. Mm, yes, I sound like quite a stud.

Do I even stand a chance? Who would want a boring AND unattractive person in their life?
I read an online comment by someone who was lamenting that they weren’t good boyfriend material so much as good husband material. Not that exciting and different, but honest and respectful and hardworking and caring. Something about that resonated with me, and I wonder if I’m of a similar make and model.

At the end of the day, if I’m going to convince myself to do this, I need to do the equivalent of plugging the ears of my inner consciousness and going ‘LA-LA-LA-LA I CAN’T HEAR YOU’ while my insecurities and self-doubts hold a heated conversation inside my own head. Just gotta get out there and pretend to be… What, smart and handsome and interesting?

Pretend to be worth loving.
-Cril