You’re almost 30. You shouldn’t feel this way. You shouldn’t have a border line anxiety attack when you want to text a girl you really like in fear that she’ll reply with “oh hey. So i’m in a really weird place in life and I think you’re a really great person, but I just don’t think we’re compatible.”
I tell myself.
I can’t blame her. She’s probably heard the same thing before. We all have. Yet we all write and share other blog posts about not getting the right mate. In fact, she may still be getting over someone that she really liked only to have them tell her a variation of the same thing.
I’m sure said girl got all sorts of wrong signals from a guy and she’s just as frustrated as I am by getting turned down by her.
Welcome to Millennial Dating 2016, where everyone is totally eligible and we all want each other yet consistently turn each other down and feel like we’re unloved. But such as life, I suppose.
But I’m almost 30. By this age I should already know how “attractive” I am. I should already know at 6’3 with (supposedly) Cam Newton-esque features I’m a stud and that I’ve got a “slew of women in my life”. (paraphrasing from what someone told me.)
But I suppose the girl should also know that at 5’7/5’6 blue/green/brown/hazel eyes, slim/full figure frame, graduate degree and executive position at prestigious firm in Midtown that she too is the most desirable mate on the market.
But we don’t know. We never do. No matter how gorgeous we are. Because we’re not used to it.
The girl doesn’t know how amazing she is because, like everyone else, she’s a human. And like all humans she has her insecurities. At 27, it’s only now that she’s getting this sort of attention when in her college years guys never approached her with legitimate intentions.
The tall black guy is completely oblivious of his looks and attractive persona because most of his life was spent figuring out “what kind of black guy” he was and his social circle consisted of mostly white/ eclectic/hipster demographics and such environments are hit or miss when it comes to girls “liking black guys”, including other black girls.
We should all be shoo-ins, us beaus. We’re not. We’re still getting over ourselves, our insults, our shortcomings, our not-good-enoughs. We’re still coming to grips with the fact that other attractive people actually like us. We’re still getting over the fact that that girl/guy actually can’t get enough of us and they actually do want to see us again on a regular basis.
Why? Because they are us. In some form or fashion. That gorgeous brunette has no idea she really is as beautiful as you see her because thanks to a change in her diet and a recently converted marathon training enthusiast, she’s now at the “ideal” size that turns heads, having gone her entire life as being “the big girl” or the “you need to eat more” girl.
The weird asian/black/white/indian guy in school is now the Bruno Mars/Idris Elba/Jake Gyllenhaal because, thanks to his GQ subscription he got for Christmas and a consistent gym presence, and not to mention the years of quantum physics and quantitative data studying landed him a six figure salary, he’s now the one that got away.
Heads up, humans. The point is this: we’re all beautiful. We’re all amazing. Yet, we’re all losers and misfits. And that’s called humanity. Beautiful, beautiful humanity. The same marathon running brunette actually has severe depression that her eventual mate has to contend with.
The six figure ex-nerd is work obsessed and has anger problems that sometimes leads him to lash out at people unannounced..
The Cam Newton kid is so used to being seen as the loser that it kind of becomes his default persona and without it he wouldn’t really know who to be or how to be it…and again, erratic depression.
That’s where love comes in. Love is a choice. We have to make a decision on a person and just do it. (Word to Nike.)
With so many dating apps and social environments that warrant meeting other beautiful people, the options are endless on who and how we meet people. There are more than enough ways to “look good” now. (I feel like being “unattractive” is really something you have to try to do now days.)
We’re going to get turned down by beautiful people. And we’re going to turn down other beautiful people. And those people are going to turn down other beautiful people. And etcetera, etcetera. Until we make a decision on a person, imperfect, yet amazing.
The truth is, we’re all jacked up. And since we’re all beautiful, the best relationships are based on compatible insanity. You’d be surprised at how two morbidly depressed people can make each other happy.
So suck an egg, Tinder and Bumble. We’re all swipe right-able.
Go humans! Go.