The Psychological Opera of Early Dating

Dating is hard. Not necessarily because every man you meet is terrible, emotionally unavailable, secretly married, or living in another state despite what his profile strongly suggested.

It is hard because dating requires you to function normally while having absolutely no idea what the hell is going on.

And somehow, this is considered recreation.

First Come The Online Profiles

If you have been around the block a couple of times, you probably know by now that online dating profiles contain a certain amount of… creative interpretation.

Not all of them, of course.

But enough.

And because nobody places a little disclaimer underneath the questionable parts saying, This photograph was taken eight years ago and I no longer own that jawline, you are left trying to determine which parts belong to reality and which parts belong to marketing.

Is he lying about his age?

How old are those pictures?

Will he actually look like those pictures?

Does he really enjoy long walks on the beach, or did someone once tell everyone on the internet that this sounded romantic?

Does anybody actually take these walks?

Why should I believe any of this?

Who am I, a fool?

Naturally, none of us wants to be fooled.

At the same time, we may quietly improve our own profiles here and there because apparently that is different.

Men add an inch or two to their height, presumably hoping women have abandoned the concept of spatial awareness.

Women deduct a few pounds, perhaps trusting that weight is more of a philosophical idea than a measurable quantity.

Everybody chooses flattering photographs.

Everybody describes themselves as easygoing.

Nobody writes, I become strangely annoyed when you take longer than fourteen minutes to text me back.

Which is unfortunate, because that would actually be useful information.

Then Comes The Talking Part

This is where dating begins interfering with perfectly respectable activities like eating lunch, concentrating at work, and sleeping through the night.

You exchange a few messages.

A little chemistry appears.

Possibly a phone call.

And suddenly your mind has opened a private detective agency.

What did he mean by that?

Does he like me?

Why hasn't he answered?

Is he a player?

Is he only after sex?

Why did he use a period instead of an exclamation mark?

Should I text again?

No. Absolutely not.

Unless I should.

It has been three days.

Is three days normal?

Who else is he talking to?

That text sounded strange.

Was it meant for me?

Is there somebody else?

How would I even ask that without looking completely insane?

I don't want to look needy.

Maybe I should wait.

How long?

Four hours?

Tomorrow?

Until the next presidential administration?

Try to eat, work, function and sleep properly while all of this is going on.

Good luck with that.

The obvious solution would be to eject yourself from the entire malarkey.

Excellent.

Except then what?

Dinner alone in front of the television while congratulating yourself on your emotional stability?

We have been through this already.

Back to the madness.

Because eventually comes the...

Actual Dating: Meeting in Real Life

Now things become truly interesting.

Up until this point, you have been interacting partly with a man and partly with your imagination. Then the man walks through the door and reality joins the meeting without having been invited.

Sometimes reality is delightful.

Sometimes reality is wearing a shirt that was apparently not visible in any of the photographs.

And once again, the questions begin.

Hmmm...

He looks nothing like his pictures.

How old is he exactly?

Why is he late?

Is he coming?

How much longer should I sit here before the waiter starts feeling sorry for me?

I think I like him.

Does he like me?

I thought we had a wonderful date. Why hasn't he called?

Did I sleep with him too soon?

Would it have been better if I had slept with him later?

Is it because I didn't sleep with him?

Did he like me?

Should I call?

No, I don't want to look needy.

Maybe I should wait three days.

Why three days?

Who invented three days?

Do I have bad breath?

I wish I knew what he was thinking.

Did he lose interest?

Was there interest to lose?

Is He Interested or Not?

And here we arrive at one of dating's most maddening little truths:

Sometimes there is no way to know exactly how interested a man is because he may not know yet either.

This possibility receives surprisingly little attention.

We tend to imagine that he is sitting somewhere in possession of a beautifully organized file labeled *MY FEELINGS ABOUT YOU*, while cruelly refusing to release the contents.

Meanwhile, his internal file may contain three loose papers, a coffee stain and a Post-it note that says:

Not sure. Had fun. Think about this tomorrow.

Early dating is incredibly fluid.

Feelings move.

Attraction moves.

People reconsider.

One day he seems fascinating; two days later something feels slightly off. Then perhaps nothing feels off and he is fascinating again.

We do this too.

ME: So what changed? Why aren't you as excited about him today?

YOU: I don't know.

ME: But you enjoyed the date?

YOU: Yes.

ME: And you liked him?

YOU: I think so.

ME: Do you want to see him again?

YOU: Probably.

ME: Probably?

YOU: I don't KNOW. Maybe I need another date.

Exactly.

And yet when he behaves with the same uncertainty, we immediately put on imaginary spectacles, gather the evidence and begin analyzing the case.

What does this behavior mean?

Possibly that he is experiencing the exact same human confusion we permit ourselves to experience without issuing an official statement.

A confused mind naturally produces confusing behavior.

I like him, but I don't know how much.

I want to see him again, but maybe not this weekend.

I had a wonderful time, but something is bothering me.

I don't know what is bothering me.

Perhaps nothing is bothering me.

Welcome to dating.

Nobody received the manual.

And even if they did, somebody would immediately lie about having read it.

So perhaps we can finally answer some of the Great Questions of Early Dating.

Q: Does he like me?

A: Quite possibly. Please understand that "quite possibly" may currently be the full extent of information available, including to him.

Q: Will he call me again?

A: He may currently intend to call you again. Tomorrow he may feel differently. On Wednesday he may remember how much he liked you and wonder why he hasn't called. Humanity remains an imperfect system.

Q: Why isn't he calling me?

A: Somewhere between "not interested," "uncertain," "busy," "thinking about it," "terrible communicator," and "has inexplicably placed his phone somewhere in the house and cannot find it."

Good luck.

Q: His profile says he is looking for a relationship. Is he serious?

A: He may be very serious about wanting a relationship in the abstract. Whether he wants one with the particular woman sitting across from him eating calamari is an entirely separate romantic question.

Q: Is he into me?

A: He may be into you.

He may be becoming into you.

He may be into you but confused.

He may have been into you Thursday and less into you Friday because Friday was strange.

Romance has terrible accounting procedures.

Q: Will we go out again?

A: Perhaps.

I realize this answer is deeply unsatisfying, but unfortunately the Office of Romantic Certainty has reviewed your request and is unable to provide a definitive ruling at this time.

That is what makes early dating so exhausting.

Two people are trying to understand each other while simultaneously trying to understand themselves, and both would very much prefer the other person to provide answers immediately.

So we stare at messages.

Study punctuation.

Interpret delays.

Consult friends.

Reconstruct conversations.

Examine the final seven minutes of a date as though a panel of experts will eventually arrive and ask us to identify the exact moment everything changed.

Meanwhile, sometimes nothing changed.

Nothing has been decided.

Nothing terrible happened.

The story simply hasn't reached that chapter yet.

Dating may be the only activity in which two people can spend three delightful hours together, laugh, flirt, share dessert, say goodnight warmly—and then go home separately, just in time for the psychological opera to begin: Did he like me? Was that goodbye strange? Did I talk too much? Did he secretly hate the entire evening?

And somehow we keep doing it.

Which is either enormously hopeful or completely insane.

Probably both.