Dispatches from the Front…ier
About a year ago I decided to pack up and head up to Idaho, to a small town on a lake that would make a perfect setting for a Hallmark movie.
A decade and a half and a broken heart in a big city was enough.
Unlike the girl in the movies, I didn’t really have a hometown to move back to. The place where I’m from, in suburbia California, was not exactly conducive to coziness.
But there was this idyllic town up north, overlooking a lake, where it’s hot in the summer and snows in the winter, and I’d spent three years going up there and falling in love with it.
What no one tells you about Hallmark towns in the movies is that, gay or straight, there is not a lumberjack waiting for you with a bouquet of roses.
Almost a year later I find myself sidling up to a local martini bar with a friend. Bartender’s a nice dude, in his 40s, the Jimmy Fallon type who looks way too young for his age.
Two seats over from me is my barber, who looks straight out of central casting as a boyish Irish street tough, quick with a razor or a punch.
Both are doing their best, or as best as a white guy can do in this economy – working hard, their bills are paid, no child support.
And honestly, what more could you ask?
But their romantic lives are a mess.
The bartender regales me with an update on his Venezuelan on again, off again almost-fiancee – they got in another fight, she wanted to get married (for a green card), he finally blocked her and her manipulative ways, it’s over FOR REAL THIS TIME.
Barber next to me is drowning his sorrows in another old fashioned. He’s told me about his divorce – she went on Facebook and trashed him, fracturing their family and friend groups, he got an apartment near the gym to focus on himself and his work.
And if you think that’s bad, the gays are even worse, sifting through faceless rotund torsos before sleep, nixing friendship for hookups out of desperation, or trying their hand at chicks – a bandaid over a gaping identity wound.
Women seem to fare better around here because they get their pick of guys, yet somehow they often pick losers.
The couples I see happiest didn’t find each other here – this is the place they ended up after finding each other.
It’s not just this place either. The meme that you should go on a road trip to find a wife has gained a lot of traction in online circles because it’s boomerdom writ large: people sitting their fat asses on reclining couches telling you that you’re not working hard enough.
People’s idea of rural America having a bounty of unwedded (and unbedded women) is as noxious for men as it is for women that Prince Charming is just a couple Southwest flights (with a layover in that other Phoenix airport) away.
People are people no matter where you go, and thanks to the internet we can now see that people everywhere are weird.
Weirder yet is the likelihood that the internet is the most likely place you’re likely to meet your Hallmark dreamboat.
The problem with online dating is you’re going to find someone who might share your interests, or an algorithm suggests, but you’re as likely to click with them as a coworker.
Also, it reinforces the narrative that happiness is just a swipe away – a gambling maneuver writ large across your future wedding +1 invitations.
The algorithm doesn’t love or care about you, it’s designed to keep you on the platform – in the casino – for as long as possible.
So what’s left? No one goes to bars anymore and God forbid you talk to anyone at work.
And we’ve all seen enough episodes of 90 Day Fiance to know that love doesn’t cross borders after all.
So what’s the recipe to find your Hallmark Happy Ending?
Always start with mutual friends
Gay, straight, or otherwise, the best way to find someone these days is still through friends.
Like online dating, it helps select for interests.
Unlike online dating, it signals social safety.
It’s less likely a person who’s a friend of a friend is a creep, a weirdo, or any other epithet Radiohead could come up with.
RIP GOAT
It also creates a quiet social incentive for you two to make things work.
After all, nothing sucks more than one or both people in the relationship to have to find new friends after a breakup.
If you feel something, make it known
I don’t know when both men and women decided to be coquettish with each other, but it’s creating disastrous outcomes.
At some point, someone has to make a first move, right or wrong.
People are afraid of rejection because it reflects back on themselves, sometimes not in the best way.
It means you maybe misinterpreted something, or deeper, that you’re less than or not worthy.
But to be durable enough to date someone, you have to trust in your instincts.
It projects confidence, which makes you more attractive, no matter how busted you think you look.
It’ll happen when you least expect it
I wish I knew how the mysterious laws of the universe worked, but somehow this is one of them.
People of both genders (but especially women) treat finding a mate like a work project, going into complex analysis with matchmakers and spreadsheets, thinking there’s hidden wisdom in the data.
All of this becomes neurotic and obsessive, because you’re focusing more on the numbers and less on yourself and your own confidence.
When you stop focusing on getting them – or getting them back – you free up space to focus on building up yourself into the person you want to be.
And sometimes, before you know it, your Hallmark dream will come true.
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