My Anti-Date Era

The simple life is good

The best date of my life was spent sitting on a curb. The view was terrible. The vibe was dull. My butt was cold, and sore. Yet, I was laughing. He was laughing. I think it lasted six hours.

It wasn’t planned, obviously — who plans to sit on cement? But it wasn’t unplanned, either. It was the moment I realized that, for me, over-planning got in the way of dating. Back then, I thought planning expressed care, but that ‘care’ wasn’t about love.

I once was a planner. Before I met Joe, I was so busy I couldn’t even fit my best friend into my schedule for three weeks. I squeezed sex into the after-1 a.m. shift, not because of shame and alcohol, but because that was my only free time. Even with a full voicemail, booty’s still called.

As a previous planner, I’m familiar with the joys of a well-researched outing. I once had an iPhone note for my city's best outdoor patios, categorized by time of day, angle of the sun, and seasonal bug factors.

The time I invested in restaurant awareness paid off. I enjoyed show-stopping scenery, braggable bites, and exclusive entertainment. I saw. I was seen. But since then, my values have shifted. I made a family.

I find it’s important to mention that I couldn’t empathize with the 2020s homebody introverts' life satisfaction, nor could I appreciate the “nothing is sweeter than a canceled plan” memes. But both have a point. The good life is simple.

I’m not a homebody, but I now know the value of home. I don’t dislike going out, but I don’t need it. I’m no longer looking for something outside — not patios, or performances. But I do look for something beyond — my relationships, love.

On that best date, my husband and I meant to make it to a music festival. A small thing. Nothing fancy, but something to ‘take advantage’ of my aunt’s time with our babies. Something to show that we were trying. I thought the trying was for our relationship, but I later realized it was about being who we thought we were. Who we once were. Who we wanted to be seen being.

On the way to the festival, the vibe wasn’t great. Not spatially — the ambiance was fine; it was our mood that was off. We were disconnected. It was only natural. Relational debris inevitably gets in the way of seeing each other, especially when we choose to spend time on things other than each other, like researching, like planning, all while raising kids.

I know busy. Full calendars, hardly-enough-time-to-cut-my-fingernails, full-voicemail busy. But nothing compares to new parenthood. We fit in that demographic group known to struggle with finding enough alone time to bang, let alone plan, ponder, or posit to know where people eat or get entertained these days. We manage to screw quite often because we don’t get out much. That great date was the last time we really planned a night out.

And as we walked toward the festival that afternoon, we took wrong turns. We went down the wrong avenue, then the wrong alleyway. I even ordered the wrong drink from a street vendor — something infused beyond my tolerance. So, outside the festival gates, we found ourselves on that cement sidewalk's edge.

Sitting side by side, Joe told me things he’d not felt heard on, and I did the same. We didn’t physically get where we wanted, but emotionally, we went further than I could’ve hoped.

These days, we hardly plan anything. We rarely book babysitters. But not planning doesn’t mean we’re not trying. We do less researching, reserving, and commuting about town, but we simply are together more often.

Our love and connection are major priorities to us, yet we don’t plan dates. I know this sounds contradictory in our “schedule sex” and “date your wife” culture. But, since we care so deeply for each other and not for the other things we could focus our care on (like patios), we know we’ll find time for each other. And we do.

I’m in my anti-date era. And we’ve never been closer.

Recently, we found a surprise opening in our day. Our boys were in school. We left our desks. We sat alone on a metal bench in a park we frequent as a family. We chatted — and it inspired this interview. We laughed.

It was simple. It was good.

One day, we’ll have time again to hyper-fixate on alfresco dining, but for now, I’d rather have impromptu afternoon sex.

Norman Rockwell ‘Fondly Do We Remember’ from Four Ages of Love (1977)

Soundtrack:

I know time is precious to you, too, and so I do not take your attention for granted. Thank you so much for celebrating love with me, here, every Monday.

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