Warning: if you’ve never had the unique and exceptional pleasure of personally experiencing online dating for any length of time, this phenomenon maybe a tad surprising for you. Or not. Fyi, living in a POF world, it’s a pretty big fucking bummer to write about but then, that’s my job as Lucy – to breathe and bleed intell from the front lines, just for you. You're welcome.
To be on the same page, some definitions of compromise are:
- a settlement of differences by mutual concessions
- something intermediate between different things
And my personal favourite:
- to expose or make vulnerable to danger, suspicion, scandal, etc.; jeopardize
And why am I talking about compromise in the first place? Because it’s the backbone of my dating life and I’m not sure whether I’ve got scoliosis or just really poor posture but sure as shit, I’ve got SOMETHING and I don’t know what to do or feel about it. I'm jeopardizing my self worth, dude #thatsnevergood
So. Here’s what MY definition of compromise means:
- anyone who is not the perfect trifecta of effortless chemistry, conversation and ATTRACTION.
And how many times have I encountered my holy trinity? Less than a handful. THAT’S IT. And how many dates have I had? Honestly, no fucking idea so I’ll just say: a fuck load. Now let’s do that math. 3ish/ too many to recall = 3+ years of concessions. Small. Medium. Large. It’s fun, like the stand at the ball park! Not.
Why am I writing about this right now? You got it – because I’m recovering from Danny 3.0, my latest and tbh favourite trifecta so far. Sigh. And since it’s happening during a mini POF messaging frenzy, I’m doing my best to schedule diversification after distraction after diversion. If it works for toddlers, it should work for a sad heart, right? Yeah no #fuck In fact, it’s backfiring. Badly. All I think about during the looonnngg awkward pauses is Danny. Go, me! And it makes me really question whether my constantly compromising position will be the death of me, as in bored to. Not for the first time.
Why was Danny 3.0 THE trifecta? First of all, he was handsome. Sigh. And FIT. I have a known weakness for handsome men whose hobbies include gym-ing it. Hello. We met and looked at each other and it was like: CHECK. That he also turned out to be thoughtful and sweet and fun and funny made him the trifecta of them all. Kaboom.
We talked details and interests in a stream of shared consciousness that was as easy as Sunday morning and it was a given that we wanted to hang out again. And when we did, again – super chill, fun, talking without having to plan or fill, listening raptly instead of dutifully. Everything was enveloped in the glow of mutual desire.
Our first real kiss was in Stanley Park in the dark. Danny took me into his arms suddenly Susan and it was tres romantic and swoon worthy. I LOVED how he kissed me…and that is one compromise I’ve made sooo often and sooo sadly that when I don’t have to, I’m gobsmacked. And smitten.
I won’t go into more detail than to say we had four dates in eight days and our naked chemistry was even more intense and matching. Danny 3.0 was obviously all the way in…until he was all the way out with no apparent reason. Do I have a feeling it was because he never planned on being serious with someone so much older than him? Because he was only 36 yo. But. Danny messaged me, knowing my age and being 100% sure he never wanted children, it would appear to be a perfect match. But. Then. No #heavyheavysigh
And though it seems like I was BMXed all over again, I have to say Danny was much more easy going, much less emotionally complicated and just lovely period compared to the previous trifecta boyz. No damage. All good. Well, except for changing his mind and bailing hard.
So what’s my point? That Danny 3.0, in or out, is now the boy standard and when I look back at 98% of my dates, I can see that they ranged from maybe within arms’ reach to not even woefully close. WHAT. I mean looking back 3+years and then TWO DAYS AGO!! When I had a 1/10 first meet. And he only got that because he drove in and was on time. That. Was. It. I’m basically all giving and barely taking allofthetime.
So what I’m asking myself and y’all now, at what price compromise?
It’s not like I haven’t grappled with this before. This has existed as long as my very first POF account, the six weeks that felt like six months. I’ve talked about it in my “Wheelhouse” post. It turns out the “something intermediate between” are the dates I’ve gone on and the different things being who I’m attracted to and who’s attracted to me. Basically, I date in the name of compromise.
Now, before you think I don’t know what accommodation is, I remind you I was married for 18 years. Okay? I understand how long term relationships ebb and flow, requiring stamina and flexibility and a long game POV. That was for a relationship. With a kid.
But. Now I’m trying to meet men via computer screen. Just connecting with someone meetable and getting to a first date is a time gobbling chore. A. CHORE. Then we’re IRL and I’m carrying the conversational ball, looking at someone who’s not nearly as attractive as his profile pic and I’m doing my best to stay open but it’s fucking WORK and I’m longing for my home and my wine and yeah. Over and over and OVER again.
To compare all of that with the effortlessness of my connection with Danny 3.0 is to make me deeply question my whole fucking dating MO. Fuck open. Fuck compromising before it’s an actual relationship. Fuck having to strain at topics to ward off awkward silences. Fuck working on my days off!
I’m at the point yet again where my own company is looking and feeling better than 98% of my messages or meets. And this time, I’m going to honor that. Dating in the name of compromise is like being given a vacuum cleaner for your birthday. It sucks.
My scoliosis is killing me so fuck it; I’m just gonna raise that POF bar. If I’m not actually attracted to you, I’m not going to reply. If there’s no actual chemistry OR flowing, fun convo, I’m going to cue up Suits and enjoy my evening ALONE so if and when my next trifecta contacts me, I’ll have plenty of time to meet. And excellent posture with which to meet him.
How far have you bent over, how hard have you squinted one eye and how much have you given up in the name of dating compromise only to look and feel like the fucking witch in Disney's Snow White? I'd like to know it's not just me and her out here in POF half hearted hell.