As of Saturday afternoon, I thought I was free of all the ponies.
[What? Confused by the analogy? Well, a month or so of learning the ropes made me realize I need to be more casual about this thing. Each meeting or discussion was agonizing and upsetting, because I either felt so insulted when it seemed they were probably talking to others, too, or when the rejected me, and I stewed endlessly when I met and didn't like someone. Stupid guilt. But eventually, I realized this is an altogether different beast than normal dating (I guess), that rejection isn't a reflection of either one of us at all--it's merely a recognition nothing clicked. And really, god knows the men who're doing this aren't actually putting all their, uh, eggs in one basket, regardless of what they said, so I needed to realize it was okay to shop around, as well. Enter the horseracing analogy. I decided to view it like I was the distant (wealthy and stunning, of course) owner, who had people managing her ponies. I could buy and sell them, sight unseen, or I could go watch them race, or I could even just keep them around the stables for a bit, to put off a decision and to see whether they developed any potential. And there wouldn't be any stress, because promising new ponies were always going up for sale, and I could always sell the ones I wanted to cut, without concern over the loss, because there would always be the potential for a big payoff later. Caught up now?]
But alas, one of the ponies I thought escaped appeared at the barn again. And there's another for sale, who doesn't seem too dreadful. Maybe. And another, uh, untested steed that seems so ill-suited for racing that I feel guilty for trying to sell him. Which I am, so he doesn't really count. But it just proves I'm not entirely heartless and casual.
So what have I learned? Mustang is right--you can't be too picky. I went into this thinking I just wanted to meet someone decent with whom I could hang out. I just wanted someone to pick me up for a date, take me somewhere decent, pay for it, take me home, say something nice and leave. For once. But I've found there have to be qualifications.
I learned men who think they might possibly look like a heavyweight wrestler, but who haven't actually exercised in years, will still describe themselves as athletic-looking. Heck, I don't like the tiny little waifish ones; I like a man of some physical substance, but there's no sense claiming to be something you're not. And there's plenty of that going on.
I've learned the wolves attack fresh lambs. And that if an e-mail sounds so impersonal it could be sent to just about anyone, it probably was. And that's not always bad. But it's telling.
Common interests are actually important, unless you're both such brilliant conversationalists that you find whatever the other says to be compelling. Maybe a strong attraction could trump all differences, but I haven't seen it.
If someone confesses that his coworker describes him as pompous, self-centered or anything along those lines, cut it short and leave.
Sometimes bluntness is called for. I don't like to leave things untidy and have these fellows popping up again after a month, thinking they can try again to convince me we should be together. But e-mail is so impersonal it seems nearly without consequence to be blunt.
But most of all, I've learned I'm tired of having to lead. What's with these timid, indecisive fellows, the ones who make me do all the work? Sure, it's good to feel like you're in control of a strange situation sometimes, but just because I'm an Aries doesn't mean I want to make every decision and move. In fact, being forced to do so just makes me glad I'm alone.
Ooooh. I see. Maybe that's what all of this was about.