When You’re Lonely, Almost Any Train Looks Like the Right One

Loneliness can do something very strange to your taste in men: it can make almost any train pulling into the station look as though it might be going somewhere wonderful.

Normally, you are quite selective. You notice things, you have preferences, and you can tell the difference between a man who interests you and one who merely owns a phone and knows how to use it.

But after enough quiet weekends, empty evenings and dinners where the only person asking how your day went is the waiter, your standards may begin behaving differently.

Suddenly movement feels exciting. A man appears, he calls, he wants to see you again, he seems interested, and there you are thinking, At last, transportation.

Never mind where the train is going.

This is the peculiar danger of dating when you are deeply tired of being alone, because you may stop looking for a man you genuinely want and start looking for a man who can make the loneliness stop.

Those are not always the same man.

The first date can carry an unreasonable amount of responsibility because he is supposed to be charming, interesting, warm, funny, attracted to you and, ideally, proof that your romantic life has not quietly been discontinued.

Poor man. He thought he was coming to dinner; meanwhile, the evening had quietly been given the job of restoring your faith in romance.

You may not consciously expect any of this, of course. You simply notice how good it feels to have someone sitting across from you again, asking questions, touching your hand and suggesting another date.

Attention feels wonderful when you have been missing it, and that is when perfectly ordinary gestures can acquire first-class status.

He calls when he said he would, which is lovely; he remembers you like Sauvignon Blanc, which feels extraordinary; then he sends a message in the morning and apparently we are now approaching Paris.

Meanwhile, there may be things about him you would normally notice rather quickly. He talks badly about every woman he has ever dated, he is still technically married but assures you this is mostly a paperwork issue, and he has the emotional availability of a locked suitcase.

Still, he likes you, and when you are lonely enough, being liked can begin doing some of the work that liking him was supposed to do.

That is where the train starts moving.

You become attached not only to the man, but to the relief he brings with him. Friday night is no longer empty, there is someone to call, somebody is thinking about you, and your life suddenly has little plans in it again.

So when unpleasant details appear, they arrive with competition.

Yes, he can be rude, but now there are Sunday breakfasts. Yes, he disappears occasionally, but remember the lovely weekend away. Yes, there may be another woman somewhere in the background, but the train is moving, and getting off would mean standing on that platform again.

Loneliness can make a bad relationship look surprisingly well furnished, and that may be its finest trick.

You wanted companionship, so you found yourself accepting somebody who makes you anxious. You wanted warmth, and now you are spending half the week wondering why he has gone cold. You wanted someone beside you, only to discover that there are few things lonelier than lying next to a man who is emotionally somewhere near Belgium.

And still, leaving can feel worse because at least this is something, and something is an extremely persuasive word when the alternative appears to be nothing.

Women sometimes say, “But when it’s good, it’s really good,” which is one of those sentences that deserves its own little railway announcement.

Of course it is good sometimes, because if it were dreadful every minute, nobody would stay. Even terrible trains occasionally pass through beautiful countryside.

The problem is that loneliness can make those pretty views feel like evidence that the destination must also be lovely, when it may not be.

There is another funny contradiction here: when you feel lonely, you may arrive at a date hoping the man will bring energy, amusement and possibility into your life, while quietly carrying all your disappointment with you in a very large invisible suitcase.

You want him to be lively because you are tired, hopeful because you are discouraged, and capable of making the evening feel special because ordinary life has not felt special lately.

Meanwhile, he still thinks the two of you are simply having dinner.

This is not because lonely women are difficult or broken; it is simply what happens when one person starts carrying the weight of an entire unmet need before he has even ordered wine.

And then, if he happens to be charming, you can mistake relief for chemistry, attention for compatibility and movement for progress.

By the time you realize the train is heading somewhere you never wanted to go, your coat is off, your luggage is overhead and you have somehow ordered snacks.

That is the absurdity of it: being alone can make almost any companionship look like an escape, but not every man who takes you away from the platform is taking you somewhere better.

Sometimes the loneliest relationship begins with one very understandable thought — At least I’m not alone anymore — and ends much later with another:

How did I get this far from where I wanted to be?