How to accept that finding love takes time


Dating is a strange experience.

That’s the best way I can think to describe the experience of dating… strange.

The whole experience makes me feel all these new feelings. I say “new” but really they are just mediocre remakes and sequels to fear, uncertainty, and doubt.

I fear that I may never find someone.

I’m uncertain if I’m good enough.

I doubt that I’m doing anything right.

This is the third installment in my series chronicling my first foray into the dating world at the age of 23. Despite my initial enthusiasm and optimism, this has been one of the most emotionally draining experiences of my life.

One of the few emotions I’m experiencing that I can clearly define is failure. I feel like a failure. I feel like I have failed. Dating takes time, I know that… logically. However, dating, and emotions are anything but logical. So as I sit here and try to understand, categorize and describe what I’m feeling, I’m really running further away from real understanding.

What I’m really scared of is the idea that I may not get something right. I’m not one of those crazy perfectionists but I definitely draw a lot of my self-confidence and self-worth from my ability to do things. This thing is one thing that I have never been able to do.

It is so strange (there is that word again… strange.) that this one thing, could be so utterly devastating. But, I’ve spent the last year and half being purposefully vulnerable while trying to maintain your confidence as a qualified sex educator. In that, I constantly fear the day when someone writes me off as just another person who can’t do; so he teaches.

I have been helping people build and maintain romantic relationships for longer than I’d like to admit. I know what it takes to build strong relationship. I know how to flirt. I know how to fight. I know how to apologize. I know how to be a good sex partner. However, now that I take my take my dance moves to the ballroom, I can’t stop stumbling over my 2 left feet. Now I’m starting to wonder if I am just another guy who can’t do, so he teaches.

I’m trying to find any excuse to explain why I cannot find myself in a successful relationship. I mean, besides the fact that I’ve only been on the market for 2 months. What’s odd is that I don’t believe in destiny or serendipity, yet when I find myself dickless in Seattle I can’t help but blame those faceless forces.

I’m a firm believer that there is someone for everyone. But, to find that 1, or at least a .75 that you can round up to 1, it takes time and work. Essentially, dating is like finding a needle in a haystack. Well… dating is really like finding a miniscule soft spot in a needle stack, but that doesn’t roll off the tongue as smoothly.

With all of this mental ping pong, I feel as if I’ve painted myself into a rather difficult cognitive corner. On one hand, I find my logic yelling at me that 2 months of trying is not long enough. On the other hand, I have my fragile, bruised and battered ego crying for a quick fix. Then there’s just me, sitting in the middle wishing I had a third hand that could potentially hold a solution… and a fourth that could be dedicated to masturbation, back scratching and sandwich making.

That’s always the battle, isn’t it; logic versus the insanity of emotion? Much like a car crash, it would be cool to watch if I wasn’t stuck in the middle. What does one do when they’re stuck? They re-evaluate.

I re-evaluted… it sucked.

What I have found is that… I’m not a failure. Dating is not a failure. There is someone out there for everyone… somewhere in the pool of 7 billion. Two months, not long enough. Vulnerability is terrifying, but you can’t get anything worthwhile without opening yourself to vulnerability.

I guess what I’m trying to say is that this shit: this dating shit, this waiting shit, & this searching shit all sucks. It sucks dry and with too much teeth but it’s just a part how the system works. You do the grunt work and you find yourself with someone (or someones) who is (or are) worth your time. At least that’s the promise.

I don’t think I’m discovering the wheel but it does feel a lot like I’m rediscovering it. This thing doesn’t come with an instruction manual. The best one can hope for is that they don’t screw it up too badly. I hope I’m not screwing it up too badly but one never really knows.

In case this whirlwind of emotional vomit has you confused, I’m not giving up. Instead, I’m going to sit here with my box of Franzia and have a good cry. Then I’m going to get up, put on my big boy britches and get back to searching, because I am a catch. It may quite a while to find the right guy to recognize my potential, but someone will. However, they can’t do that if I’m sitting at home, keeping my awesomeness to myself.

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