Fireworks

I have been on a handful of first dates: you know the kind I mean. Not the accidental sweetness of an outing of mutual friends that sort of turns into a date, not "hanging out", nothing on the internet or the phone I mean picked up, dropped off, paid for, awkward, scattered conversations and lingering silences, physical contact that feels dangerous in even the smallest increments, fake smiles, reassurances, the wait for the first kiss. The world as I know it (popular culture) tells me that this has been going on forever, this is what has always happened and what will always happen when someone likes someone else they will do this dance, shuffle through the motions, both parties will have to struggle and sort of writhe on the inside trying to figure out if this is worth it, if the interest is enough to pursue. But a problem I have always had in this weird little culture has to do with standards: how do you know when it's worth it? Should I be thinking of budding relationships on a sliding scale, judging by the evening's end whether this is second date-acceptable, third-date possible or long term obvious? I guess what I'm trying to articulate also has to do with fear, and disinterest, and even desperation--let's say we all want it to work out, you go on a First Date because you want to see a future, but it so rarely is either a BAD DATE or an AMAZING DATE. This is an awkward social encounter with a stranger, so if something feels PRETTY GOOD, ALRIGHT/OK, NOT DREADFUL, KIND OF NICE, is it worth following up? This has always felt like a set-up to me, but now I'm beginning to think my standards are too high. You see, I look for fireworks from the very beginning, I dream in passion and conversation and frenzy and the sense of not wanting to end an evening. This is so pretentious, but accepting that average first date feels too rigidly mature, too much like feeding fish and shopping at Anne Taylor and going to bed at 11:30 and the office at 9:00. Why should I settle, I think halfway in, noticing that our conversation has stopped, that we don't like the same movies. But then the Devil's Advocate on my shoulder reminds me I am writing someone off before I truly get to know them. How much does Spark and Instant Chemistry account for in a relationship? How much should we expect from the very beginning? I'd just as soon keep shopping for the person who's car I never want to leave, who's giggle beside me in some dumb movie makes me want to swoon, and who's prickly question or awkward conversational fumble I won't even register, I'm so caught up in the moment of being. First Dates as I know them are too future-oriented anyways, too frenzied, too contrived, as if all the Single People in the world had been sent out on some kind of timed quest by a higher power to find The One, to relax and recoup only when a second meeting was secured. 

What am I doing then? Who am I to whine about loneliness if I challenge every single poor, stumbling gentleman to whisk me off my feet or simply let the friendship fade into harmless flirtation? What I want I can't articulate, I just have the smallest image, the smallest faith, that it exists somewhere. And as much as I don't believe in judging or impossible standards, as much as I hate to complain, as dysfunctional and lonely as I feel sometimes, I'll defer to Carrie Bradshaw on this one: some of us refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies. It's just something we'll all have to remind ourselves, us brave, lonely people, when we're all heading out as third wheels on date night or serving a third sentence as a bridesmaid or buying fifteen dollar watch batteries for our vibrators every week at a store where the sales associates look at you with the most pitying, the most knowing of grins: we are stupid, we are impossible, but we are hopeful and we are waiting.