Diagnosis

I started dating with intention about a year ago because of a spectacular one night stand.
Actually, I thought I started dating with intention because of a spectacular one night stand, along with the encouragement of a couple particular friends. One of them was a woman who was enjoying it herself, the other a man who, more than anything, really likes to nudge people toward possibilities, which I appreciate. As for the one night stand, that was a surprise on all counts. Wherever he may be now, we were both in the right place at the right time last January. His vitality and ambition and attitude were a contagious marvel to my maternal single-hood. I credit him for reminding me it was time to renew my appetite for those cravings of youth.

As the year progressed and I met an assortment of men with varying talents, urgencies, quirks, idiosyncracies, agendas and experiences, I quickly found I wasn't in it to uncover the men reinventing themselves, the men high on themselves, or the men with ambition that fueled confidence but relaxed into arrogance. But that's who found me, on repeat. One notable guy had a particularly difficult time responding to No. In fact, he's a guy whose essay could be titled The Man I'm Not Dating Just Broke Up With Me.....Again for all the consternated emails he sent, except that I'm not sure I can fault him his delusions based on the simple handicap of not wanting to believe I didn't want to date him. I'm also not sure I'm not at fault for responding to the guy when he texted erratically over the course of several months, because hey, it's nice to know someone likes you, even when he's a little (or a lot) crazy and overuses emojis.

It occurred to me this week that the real reason I started dating could be summed up as diagnosis. More specifically, that recurring alone-ness that presents itself in force when things like diagnosis come along. The two years prior had carried diagnoses in my immediate family ranging through dementia, anorexia, depression and tumor growth. Most of those things came with accessories of anger, grief, confusion and hardship. They all suck. They all require maintenance and attention and priority at inconvenient times. Friends are good, but friends have their own families and accessories and schedules that always upstage an ongoing emotional drain and drama. The ultimately relentless daily alone-ness was taxing. I was certainly seeking a companionship that could withstand me and conjoin the factor of increasing matriarchy with his own whip-smart, fun, equally human coexistence. Funny thing is, a lot of people that are or seem to be good company aren't on dating sites. They are the musicians taking a set break, bagging my groceries, the servers at the restaurants where dates take you, the bus driver serenading its riders. It's funny how dating re-frames everyone into a context of potential date (and when those good-company folks are on dating sites, they are so often already in professedly wonderful open relationships looking to expand their hearts, which doesn't happen to fit my interests). So I've curtailed all momentum on dating. I opened my profile this month to find I am now liked by 900 people....the majority of whom I will never know what they think they like about me.

Any idea what the apropos diagnosis is for that?