Campfire in the Cosmos
The first great conversation I had on Hinge was with a teacher from Aurora. At the time, I was on a ranch in Wyoming. I was pretending to be a cowboy part of the day and working on code the other part of the day. I’ve been lucky to do a lot of cool jobs, from therapist to university instructor to researcher. But programming makes me feel like some sort of alchemist or wizard, powerful. This must have shone through, I was telling her about what I do and she said something like "hey, confidence looks good on you."
Looking back, it is very possible it was just a simple compliment. At the time, I found myself thinking about my vibe. Was I projecting a lack of confidence otherwise? Leave it to someone talking to a girl for the first time in years to overthink things, but there might have been some truth there.
I genuinely loved the conversation. It was exciting to finally talk with someone like that. It felt both grown up and playful at the same time. She sounded very cool and we chatted for a long time. We talked about that feeling you get when you find just the right GIF. There are a lot of beautiful sounds out on the ranch—rolling thunder, coyotes, meadowlarks—but the Hinge notification became my favorite thing to hear.
Before that, I had been on Hinge for several weeks and there were only a few matches and nothing that went anywhere. There was one that got as far as talking about what we do for fun. I mentioned that my favorite kind of date is going to see a play. She said that she did not enjoy plays. It's funny how awkward silence can still be possible in a text exchange.
I started to suspect that finding a match in Wyoming was going to be a challenge. So I tried changing my location to my hometown, I was going back in a couple weeks. Within an hour, I heard my phone chime the match notification several times, and one was the teacher from Aurora.
Men. We are supposed to be confident and sure of ourselves but not full of ourselves. Part James Bond, part Jim Halpert.
Of course, it is possible to be too confident. Or, to put it another way, pretend confident. Insecurity has a way of outing itself, in spite of all the effort, or sometimes because of all the effort.
I have always felt like a different kind of man and I usually like that about myself. Growing up, I remember being a tad grossed out looking at my older brother's muscle magazines. I've never been into sports or competition unless we are talking about the kind you play at a picnic. I enjoy watching sports when someone can explain things. I've always been a hopeless nerd and I've been pretty much fine with that. I like hopeless nerds.
When I was in high school, I had a close friend who seemed much better at scoring man-points. He played rugby, he had real muscles, and he had an impossibly deep voice for someone his age. I remember being a little jealous, but not a lot. We had a friend group, and it seemed like we each had an important place in that group. We treated each other like brothers and we were friends for a long time, even after he stole my girlfriend that one time on the camping trip.
I suppose I believe there are all kinds of different men, and all kinds of different women, and all kinds of none of the above, and we all have our place. Most of the time I'm not trying to be manly, I'm just trying to be personly, I'm just trying to be me. I think it is a common experience for people to see the masculine or feminine ideal and think, "Ugh, that ain't me." In my day-to-day life, this feels fine, not important. Just about the only time I worry that I’m not enough is when I am dating.
Now, if I was being mindful, this kind of insecurity would probably not be a deal breaker. I think just about everyone struggles with some version of this problem, and they get through it, and that is how it begins to fade. The problem is, I'm not always aware of the little creature whispering in my ear. The ability to fly under the radar is what gives these thoughts and doubts their power. But if we pay attention, we get clues they are there.
I met another woman through Hinge while I was still on the ranch. I mentioned on my profile that I love when someone reads out loud to me, like the newspaper or a book, and maybe even does the different voices and accents. She sent a voice message, reading something aloud with accents and all, and I was smitten. We chatted for hours, we exchanged songs, we had the best banter.
After exchanging a lot of text and voice messages we decided to just talk on the phone. As we were saying hello, I was so nervous that I said her name wrong, the way I had been saying it in my head before she told me the right way, and she thought I might be one of her friends pranking her. But the ice thawed very fast and pretty soon we settled into the same banter from our messages. This whole time I was standing on a hill with my sidekick Nelly, the ranch pup. It was the only place on the ranch I could get cell reception.
It was beautiful to be out under a big blue sky, on a hill where I could see for miles in every direction, among the rocks and grass and cactus and meadowlarks, talking to a girl, with Nelly leaning against my leg and looking up at me.
Maybe because it felt a little safer from a distance, we shared ourselves on a deep level. I told her about my divorce and being alone for too long and finding the spark to look once more. She told me about the experience of losing her home to a wildfire and about the trauma from her last relationship. She was empathic, beautiful and fun. Maybe my favorite thing that anyone has ever sent me is a video she took doing her impression of those floppy windsock guys you sometimes see outside of gas stations. I remember she transitioned to slow-motion at just the right moment.
We talked about how weird dating can be. She told me about a first date she went on the other day, jogging in the park. It started out very nice but ended with the guy obsessively planning out their entire lives, including IVF. At that point she was basically in tears and trying to get away. It helped me understand how risky it must feel sometimes to date men.
I told her about my life growing up and my marriage and what it meant to me. I told her how much I hate the sound of “ex-wife” or “ex-husband.” We brainstormed and decided “first wife” sounds better, but that kind of sounds like I’ve had a lot of wives. She told me she thinks I have a soft underbelly. That’s something that had never been a part of my self-concept, and it surprised me. I think I understand, now.
Although we did not meet, she opened me up. One of the pictures on her profile was an illustration of some magical looking creature. I asked her about it. She told me it was her spiritual form, and that she is an ancient being. After growing out of the faith of my childhood and spending many years in academia, I had become a bit of an overly-rational soul, comfortably detached from metaphysical beliefs. She told me about how frustrating it is when people feel the need to apply skepticism to her story. I could really understand that. I worried that I might do it on impulse. Part of me wondered how it could ever work. But she was wonderful, and over time I’ve come to realize that part of me should open up.
We shared many songs. In fact, half of my playlist from that time came from her. One song we connected through was If We Were Vampires. She told me it was a song she would love to share around the campfire when she returns to the cosmos. We stayed in touch for months, and then we drifted apart.
I don’t have the answers, but here is where I am at.
The fixation on masculine and feminine ideals, it is much too common and it can lead us to believe that we are not enough. It is healthy and more interesting to just be whoever we are. And yet, if we dig deeper, we might find we are missing something that would help us feel more whole, if we came to terms with it. As a child, I faced a lot of aggression from the grown men in my life. I began to hate men, on some level, and feel uncomfortable with that part of myself.
All my life, I have been patting myself on the back for being a different kind of man. And yet, it is possible that has kept me from growing in ways that are important. If I look deep enough, I still see myself as just a boy. I still feel weird walking into a restaurant or bar, like I'm not sure if I’m allowed. I've always had a bit of Neverland in me, a lost boy. Maybe that is fine, but maybe a part of me wishes to be more.
It didn't work out with us, but thinking about her makes me happy and gives me a little more courage. Even when we don't find The One™, we may still find another kind of connection, maybe the kind we needed even more in that moment. We may learn something important about ourselves, like maybe we have a soft underbelly or maybe we still have room to grow. There’s no reason to see this as bad, just seeing it is enough.
That first time we talked up on the hill, she told me about a vision she had of us skipping stones together some day. That night, I went down to the river and found a few good skipping stones, just in case. I hope she is out there somewhere, at some happy place, skipping stones. Maybe we will meet again, somewhere out there, around a campfire in the cosmos.