Thursday, July 7, 2016

And It Doesn't Include A Post-it!

The dating game is one of those treacherous pursuits of risk that tend to leave us all the product of Medusa's stare. We fight, we conquer, we fight, we lose, we ultimately find our innards made of stone. Or at least we hope we do, because being a female with a real human heart, for lack of a better word, blows. I'll be quite honest with you. I am an emotional lady who prizes love above all, harbors romantic notions of magical mystery, and still to this day thinks that some guy somewhere will honestly believe I am a Unicorn. 

Sadly, for most of us, such declarations are considered a massive faux pas. Even at the ripe old age of 35, we must flirt, act coy, circumvent emotion, and hope like hell that no one tunes into the fact that we actually care. I, for one, have always refused to abide by such rules. You love out loud or you just don't love at all. But after heartaches and heart breaks, that stoney exterior makes its way into our core no matter what we do. It will not triumph. We shall prevail. But we balance on the edge of hope and distrust as if our life depended on it.

I was dating a guy for the past five months. It was great because I thought he was sweet and kind and cared about me and my feelings. There were things I wasn't sure of in the long-run, particularly because when you wait for the right fit for so long, you can't help but seek out the top of the line. On the other hand, the older you get, the more willing you are to compromise and make excuses and think, you know what? A truly good guy is far superior to a paradigm of perfection. 

But sometimes things going amiss can't be helped. Little red flags appear and shifts take place and text messages go unanswered. Because we live in an age of technology when communication that was already hard to unravel, is now impossibly buried in a torrent of media. We all hope that small glimmers of light will allow our silly humans souls to grow and mature and compete against the rage of the machine. I suspect it is truly possible when we take a moment to breath a little oxygen. But more often than not, we forget to inhale because we are staring at our phones instead of into each other's eyes.

On occasion I pull a little SATC action. I am a single gal in my 30s, living in a fabulous city with fabulous friends and a fabulous life. So when my date the other night was canceled via a text message breakup, I couldn't help but channel Carrie Bradshaw. I sincerely hope that we never come to a point in our evolution when technology one hundred percent prevents our interaction. A la the film Wall-E, I cannot wish for an existence in which we stare at computer screens without really feeling, either physically or emotionally. Synthetic anything is the worst, and even more so when it comes to the ways of the heart. 

As Carrie once said, "There is a good way to break up with someone, and it doesn't include a Post-It!" Or in my case, a text message. Take heed, my fellow soul-lovers. I am no paragon. I forget, I ignore, I may even abuse or insult. I distrust and I hold back and I make mistakes. But I also love and I try and I sure as hell feel. So allow yourselves to grow, to listen, and to love: Out loud and to each other. That is what separates us from the machine.

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