I went out with a whiskey distiller, a few investment bankers, a bunch of comedians, a carpenter who hung all of the shelves in my apartment, a tugboat captain (seriously), and spent an entire summer dating Australian men exclusively.But I also was wasting my time with a lot of people who weren’t looking for what I was trying to find: a real connection that could grow.
In some cases, they may be in open, or polyamorous relationships where dating outside the relationship isn’t considered outside the boundaries.It was then that I realized why I found these men so boring — we had nothing in common.They were men who I wouldn’t have given a second glance at two years ago.But all four of them had one thing in common: They looked like they were relationship material.They seemed like the types of guys who would easily fill the role of “boyfriend.”In this vulnerable time of my life, I’d unconsciously reinstated my “type,” but this time, it only involved one requirement: Seems like he’d make a good boyfriend.Since him, I’ve felt a little uneasy, since that breakup coincided with the death of my grandmother and the weddings/engagements of three of my cousins.
(Life has a way of shitting on you all at once, doesn’t it?
This led me to the therapist’s chair, and then to eventually delete my dating apps.
Of course, I’ve made my triumphant return to the dating scene and have had many lovely experiences since — including a two-month long relationship with a guy which ended in a total clusterfuck.
It was around this time that I created The Naked Test, a test in which I had to decide by date three whether or not I wanted to ever be naked with the guy.
It was a way for me to avoid feeling guilty over not dating “nice guys.” But that still didn’t help my dating fatigue — and I couldn’t figure out why.
) But I’ve continued to date, lest I become the last female cousin in my family to get married — a fate all of my now-married-or-engaged cousins tell me is “no big deal,” but they’re not eager to swap places with me.