The Anti-Austen: The Dilettante

Showing posts with label The Dilettante. Show all posts

I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them a great deal.

-Jane Austen

Same, Jane. Same.

The past weekend (and the Grant debacle) has led me to a lot of self-reflection, and I've come to a conclusion that was apparently obvious to everyone but me: I only want men to like me once I've already decided I like them.

*Sigh.*

I think, naturally, we all want potential beaus to progress at the same speed we do on the spectrum from admiration to marriage. I'm of the personal opinion that timing is just as important as any other one aspect in finding an eternal companion. After all, don't "He's going too fast," and "I'm tired of waiting for him to be ready," make the Top 10 list of dating complaints?

But really, in the grand scheme of things, isn't that a shame? That you'd lose out on something great only because the stars weren't aligned that day? Perhaps, though, that's divine intervention. Otherwise, what would stop you from ending up with them?

Anyway, no conclusions beyond that one were drawn. I'm still not interested in Grant, though recognized that the above reason was a big part of that. I ended up talking with him and explained that I just wanted to be friends. He was surprisingly okay with that, which I was very excited about. But since, he's only increased his flirting (in a "haha-just-kidding-but-seriously" way). At least he knows now.

Despite the unfairness of wanting available suitors to accommodate my timeline, there's something undeniably beautiful about two people falling for each other at the same time.

And then I want them to like me more than I like them, but that's an entirely different post.

With all the love in my flighty little heart,

The Dilettante

I want to tell you about a moment of utter panic that I had this morning. It looked a little like this:

For alas, I made the mistake of being too charming last night on my date with Grant.

Now, I like Grant. I met him a couple months ago when he was visiting my YSA ward. He thinks I'm funny, and he's really nice. But he doesn't talk. It's like pulling nails to get him to say words.

My response to painfully awkward silence is babbling. About anything. So when I'm with him, I just yammer on like Foghorn Leghorn. My entire life story comes out. It's over, and the silence is still awkward. I start telling my friends' life stories.

He's told me twice now that he loves listening to me talk. Drat.

Last night was our first date, but I'd managed to convince myself we were just hanging out. Grant told me on our walk that he'd recently had to cut ties with his last group of friends, and he was grateful he could just come to the city and do something. Great! I thought. I mean, after all, I was wearing sweats. And hadn't washed my hair in two days. Sorta on purpose. I'm just starting up his next friend group. He'll probably make a bunch more, and we can hang out in groups so there are more people talking. He pointed out his favorite restaurant, and said we should go next week. I agreed, but hinted that we should invite some of the other YSAs. Just a bunch of friends.

Then this.

Tell me, dear friends. What would Jane Austen do?

Clueless as always,

The Dilettante

The thing that drew me the most to UVU Boy wasn't his love for older Pokemon games and Super Smash Bros (though I'm a closet gamer). It wasn't his mission pictures, or his adorable nieces and nephews, or his fake, knitted beard. It wasn't even the fact that when we met, we had a conversation where we planned a real-life Oregon Trail trip, and it was one of the most hilarious conversations I've ever had. It was because he was so laid back.

I hate digital-age dating. As if small talk wasn't bad enough, it's like we have to stay in constant communication to really be close, and that means dragging out the small talk and putting it on Facebook messenger or in texts.

Maybe it's because I haven't been head-over-heels in love with someone since MSN Messenger was still a thing, but for me, what starts out as a fun and flirty relationship often ends up looking a lot like the conversation on the left. Being a good listener is one of my best traits, and I love it, but it tends to draw some pretty needy people. More often than finding someone I can have balanced conversation with, I end up with a guy who doesn't need a girlfriend as much as he need some sort of robot that throws him an affirmation every few minutes.

UVU Boy wasn't like that, though. He didn't feel the need to constantly be talking to me. When we both felt like it, we'd have a really good conversation via text or in person. Dates were fun, and I never felt insecure about whether he liked me or not.

"Great!" you say. "Why didn't you try to start something serious?" you say. Two reasons: (1.) I surprised myself by being really really comfortable with this "Are they, aren't they?" thing, and (2.) just before I met UVU Boy, I wore myself out going after a guy who put in no effort at all, and I vowed that I was NOT going to be the initiator with whoever I dated next.

Months passed, though, and nothing changed about the way we interacted with each other. Our talks, our jokes...they weren't all the same, but they weren't building to anything. I'm no stranger to slow-burn relationships, but Season Seven of our TV banter was still looking an awful lot like Season One's.

Both of us were sitting there under the expectation that someday we'd both decide to be more serious. After all, we got along great, didn't we? But neither of us really felt like we needed to be more serious yet. Even more months passed (nine, to be exact), and we were both still figuring we'd get to it someday.

Then I realized.

We don't want to get serious because we are just. friends.

Operating under the assumption that we were just being casual kept us both safe from everyone else out there. When friends asked if I was seeing anybody special, I didn't have to make up some joke about being a cat lady in training. I could shrug, smile a little, and say, "Well, there is this one guy..." When dates with another guy started to turn sour, I could tell him sorry, but there's someone else.

But we were never going to be anything. We just wouldn't admit it.

Letting go of that expectation wasn't difficult for either of us, ultimately. And the first time I tried to talk with him after that, it felt exactly the same as it always had.

Someday, I'll find that guy who glues me to my phone. The one I talk to constantly without the cursed plague of small talk. The one I'll put down my phone for, because I'd much rather carve out time to go see him face to face than text another word.

Until then, I guess I'll keep practicing my cat lady jokes.

The Dilettante

dilettante (n.) /dɪlɪˈtanteɪ,-ti/ 1. a person who cultivates an area of interest, such as the arts, without real commitment or knowledge.

If there were way to become happily married without ever having to go on a single cursed date, I would be allllll over that. (That being said, I'm probably not as opposed to the possibility of my own arranged marriage as I should be.)

reaction marriage derek odette swan princess

Theoretically, dating should be pretty easy. (If you hate numbers and fun hypothetical situations, skip the next two paragraphs.) Let's go with some really rough statistics. Say I have the entire male population of Utah in one space. Current estimate is 1,388,317 males in Utah. I'm almost 24 years old, so let's say I'm not picky and look at 21-29 year olds. That cuts the number to 190,780. It was harder to single v. married statistic in Utah for this age range--I ended up with a 50% estimate. So there are now 95,390 single, age-appropriate men in front of me.

Here's where the stats get even sketchier. The 2007 statistic says 60.1% of the total population is LDS*, and 41.6% are active members. 23,849 men. But I think people should be pickier than that. So let me put more filters on. Let's pretend that the 30%** of undergraduates who escaped without debt are a decent representation of students who are good with money. Subtract 15% who hate cats. Lastly, I'm going to subtract 35%, because as "spiritually compatible" as we would hope any two active members of the church are, anyone who's ever actually been to a ward knows that spirituality is a very complicated concept. After reviewing the wide range in the many BYU YSA wards I've been to, I think a substantial cut is fair.

I have 1,824 soulmates in Utah.

In one state. And I've lived in two states and two countries. Why is this so hard?

It's my personal belief that dating is both easier and harder than it should be. All these sticky emotions getting in the way and clogging up everything keep us from being engaged.

Why doesn't God just send me my man in a box? I'd marry that boy so fast... In fact, why doesn't God just run my life for me? It would be really nice if He'd just force us all to make all the right choices and end up basking in Celestial glory, right? You know, "redeem all mankind, that one soul shall not be lost?"

Waaaaaaaaait.

As much as I'd love to just have it over with, those pesky emotions slowly make up who we are and give our life a purpose. They make us cry, push us to be brave, teach us to stand up when we've been knocked down, and often turn us to God.

We may as well enjoy the journey, shall we?

Cheers,

The Dilettante

*(If anyone wants to be a little offended by my cutting out non-members, I would add that divorce rates are significantly lowered if your spouse is first, affiliated with a religion, and, second, affiliated with the same religion as you are. Since there's no good way to slap a number on spiritual compatibility, this will have to do. Secondly, More recent estimates of the LDS population are closer to 50%, so let's keep the 60% stat and assume that my spiritually-compatible, non-member men make up the difference.)

**I swear, I'm not pulling these numbers out of nowhere. If you're really curious, I can give you sources, but in-text citations make me want to cut my eyes out, so...

Happy Valentine's Day! I'm enjoying a tropical vacation AND the single life. I'm fairly certain I will have my own fair share of dating exploits soon, as I'll be back in P-town in a couple of weeks. For now, enjoy this guest post!

All of you know a girl like me. I’m the one who doesn’t really date, but all my friends covet the brilliance of my dating advice. I orchestrate elaborate matchmaking schemes for others and then somehow manage to panic and intentionally friendzone myself with absolutely anyone I find attractive. It’s sad, really.

One time, however, I outdid myself. Have you ever been on a date before when you aren’t sure if it’s a date? What about an outing that you are sure is a date, but you’re not sure who you’re on the date with? Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to my life.

There were four of us in our small squad. The Cowboy, Rafiki, Clara Oswald, and me. The Cowboy had been my friend the longest. Despite the fact that The Cowboy was younger than me—a usually fatal dealbreaker—I was completely twitter-pated. I have an incredible weakness for cowboys anyway, and he was a little bit of a bad boy to top it off. I was intrigued, and since Clara and I were always together, and he and Rafiki were always together, the four of us got to be very close.

Rafiki, named so because of his hilarious laugh, was the definition of girl crazy. He fell in and out of love on a daily basis, and couldn’t let a sentence go by without saying something smooth. And while I had known women he fancied more than me, between Clara and I, I always managed to get hit on more often. The Cowboy and I had discussed my total lack of feelings for Rafiki, and The Cowboy found it rather hilarious to watch us together.

Clara Oswald was beautiful and exotic, a Parisian whose sense of humor was just as dry as mine. I hoped beyond all hopes that she and Rafiki would hit it off, knowing that Rafiki would be less into me and picturing the potential for double dates. Sadly, she seemed indecisive.

The day I decided to make my move was like every other day. Sitting together on the carpeted floor of the cultural center after playing glow in the dark tag, Rafiki set me up seamlessly.

Looking back and forth between the two of us and grinning like a hyena, he said, “I sure like going on dates with you two.”

Perfect. I had been waiting for a moment like this. Looking nonchalantly at The Cowboy, I asked him, “What’s your plan for our next date?” It was the perfect blend of I’m-playing-along-with-Rafiki-if-you’re-not-into-it and I’m-totally-asking-you-out-if-you-are.

The Cowboy looked surprised, but pleased. It was the exact expression I had been daydreaming he would have. He smirked. “Well what would you want to do?”

And then everything fell apart.

“Yeah! The Cowboy can buy me lunch and Rafiki will buy you an island.” I tried not to gape in horror at Clara. How on earth had she misunderstood me so badly? First off, as she so clearly did not
comprehend, I wasn’t really joking. Secondly, she so did not just make it seem like she preferred The
Cowboy.

In shock, I sat in silence while Rafiki scooted over and threw his arm around me. “Speaking of lunch, let’s start that up now. I’m hungry.” I locked eyes with The Cowboy and managed a wry smile as we all stood. He shook his head slightly as he grinned back at me.

We were never really able to go on an official date. After that day, Rafiki made sure that every group outing we had was referred to as a group date, but could never decide if he was dating Clara or me. Soon, it became a joke that we could just pick who we were dating for that day. Even if I was “out” with Rafiki, however, The Cowboy and I were always the ones who ended up off alone, talking.

The Cowboy found it funny, and though we continued to flirt, neither of us was ever that bold again. Shortly afterward, I moved, and The Cowboy and I grew apart. A month or so later, I got an old fashioned, handwritten letter (be still, my heart!) that talked about timing, and wishing things were different.

In the couple years since, The Cowboy married his Cowgirl. I sent him a wedding present and still talk to him on occasion, proving, I guess, that our friendship was more important than our feelings for each other. Sometimes, though, when I see those silly little jokes and challenges that I loved so much, I wonder what would have been…