I really liked our date but I'm a confused man

Sorry for messing you about

Maybe one day I’ll regret writing about my dating escapades. Not today, though. Unfortunately, writing is the way I process such interactions – and aren’t you lucky, reader, as you get to share them with me.

The above messages are in fact, real. That’s a screenshot to prove it. I wonder if any of you are surprised by them or just rolled your eyes with exasperation because those kinds of messages are to be expected in today’s dating world.

I received them after confronting a man I was meant to be going on a second date with. A few days earlier, he had returned from a stag do in Europe, a weekend of many beers I am sure, and asked me if I was around for a ‘hug’. And yes, he knows I’m a smart woman. Though, I actually don’t think it requires intelligence to understand what he meant.

Do better, I said. Grrr, he replied.

Radio silence followed. Now, it was my turn to say Grrr. Patiently, I waited.

Wednesday came around, the day of our scheduled second date and I had still not heard from him – but made peace with the fact that I could have a night in with my best friend watching rubbish tele.

But of course, I couldn’t let him get away without having a conversation first.

Hi, I wrote. I assume we aren’t going on a second date after all?

Profuse apologies flooded my phone. I’ve not been myself since the stag, he said. Would he have told me that had I not messaged, or left me in the dark? A looming white ghost plaguing my thoughts.

Right, enough about him. I’ll leave you wondering what he was confused about.

Instead, these are the lessons I’ve learned after six years of being single:

• Communication is everything and is a basic sign of respect of someone’s time and energy

• Words are meaningless. And that’s difficult for me to say as someone who’s life revolves around them. It’s true – actions speak so much louder

• Dating isn’t always fun (it may feel like it at the time, but can be frequently tainted by behaviours that follow). In fact, it can actually be hard work – hard to be vulnerable, hard to put yourself out there, exhausting to present yourself

• Being at peace with yourself will carry you through any tough experience

• Friendship is everything, absolutely everything, and will set the standard for a good partner

So, you could say it’s been a while now since I’ve been in love (romantically) with someone. I almost don’t remember how it feels anymore.

But love is EVERYWHERE. Love is my parents telling me they’re proud of me, my friends telling me I’m a priority, lying next to each other in bed in silence, scrolling on our phones, no conversation necessary. Love is laughter and kindness. Receiving voice notes when I need to know people are there, the act of listening, devotion of time, a willingness and want to show up. Love is cooking and sharing food. It’s the golden sun beaming down on the glistening ocean and flowers swaying in the wind.

A couple of years ago I was walking with a friend, speaking about her and her long-term boyfriend. She said something along the lines of: when you think about it, our lives are set up for us to meet someone and to build a life with them. I felt sad.

More recently, I spoke to another friend about how I’d like to move back to the Peak District in a few years.

“Alone?” she replied. Well, unless I magically meet the love of my life and they would like to join me. Yes, alone.

There is still a certain disbelief or scepticism, or fear, maybe, that we could all be building our lives for ourselves, not with the intention of meeting someone to share it with. That’s not to say we can’t yearn for romantic love, of course – but more so that if you meet someone and they compliment or add value to your life, then fantastic. If that doesn’t happen, then that’s fine too. I’ll be okay. In fact, I’ll be more than okay.

My parents have set an incredibly high benchmark for what romantic love and marriage should look like. Mum is a primary school teacher and drives nearly two hours each way to my grandparent’s house every week to help around the house and take them out for some fresh air. My dad has a project-management-like-consultancy–job-which-I-really-don’t-know-anything-about-sorry. I know he’s good at it, though. When I was younger, he would call our landline on his way home from work to ask us how our days were, even though he’d be home in twenty minutes and we would likely have that same conversation all over again. When my mum couldn’t find a job in Belfast after university, she moved back to Birmingham, and my dad followed her.

I’ve been witness to their shared mutual respect, the affection they show, their desire to spend time together simply because they get on and have a laugh. I’ve watched them push and pull, dependent on the needs of the other. They have found their rhythm and it allows them to move gracefully through the good, and challenging times. As they have grown older, they have become even more sentimental – my dad now writes longer messages in birthday cards, throwing in the odd Seamus Heaney poem. My mum framed the poem Scaffolding, for him as a gift.

I digress, this Substack was meant to be about an annoying interaction with a man. And yet here I am reflecting on love. I don’t even really know how to end this – other than maybe I’m grateful for what I have.

So while a man may succeed in making me feel like I need to pour my heart into a mediocre and far too personal essay to stop myself from feeling like shit – it is all temporary, and will by no means last forever.