I went on a roller-coaster ride with my 15-year-old mentee, Consuelo, this past summer--the first time in more than twenty years. Consuelo, a veteran rider, summed up the whole experience while waiting in the long, hellishly hot line: "It's like I want to go, but I don't."
"Why do you go, then?" I asked her, thinking we were maybe going to have to wind our way back through hundreds of people to get out of line. "Well, it's really exciting to think about it," she said, "but you have to close your eyes the whole time and then afterwards sometimes you feel like you're going to throw up."
This pretty well encapsulated my thoughts about dating as I wrote my first online profile. I was thrilled and terrified. Putting some version of myself online for hundreds, thousands, or hundreds of thousands of folks to see--it takes a certain amount of moxie. But, never having come up short in that category, I stepped off the wooden platform and into the tiny little cart, strapped myself in, grabbed the lap bar, and held on tight.
In one week, I've corresponded in some way or other with dozens of guys. I've read hundreds of profiles and confirmed what a single gal--who moved from Philly to "Menver"--told me: that a whole lot of guys really like their dogs, their bikes, and their snowboards. Some of these profiles are funny, some are spiritual, but most of them are simple, everyday stuff. These guys are just looking for a connection to another human being.
As a result of this process, I realized two things. First, it's hard to get a feel for someone when they sound like just like everyone else. This is the bad thing about online dating. But it has inspired me to get out my marketing copywriting brain and sell myself while still being myself. It seems to be working fairly well so far: one in-person date and three phone dates with a future date planned. One guy even told me I had a really good publicist.
Second, I don't have to close my eyes and hang on. These are just people, like me. Each one has his own quirks, and yet I find so much in common with almost all of them. As one remarkable gentleman said to me today, "The more we remove those barriers to being one, the more we remember that we were always one." Amen, brother.
I'm going along for the ride. I might hang onto the lap bar once in a while when I go around a wicked curve, but I'm also going to be one of those people who puts her hands in the air and yells with delight all the way down every hill.
