Never before has the title of this blog been so fitting: Romantically Challenged.
What started as an amusing blog title has turned into an eerily accurate fortunetelling tool. I can’t get a date to save my life, but on the brighter side, I think I may have found a new career.
Ok, so here’s what happened.
Prior to October 2012 there was no end of men in my life. Men flirted with me, approached me, and asked me out. They were older, younger, taller, shorter, well-spoken, and ESL students. They were white, black, and fifty shades of grey. I dated them, slept with them, and married them. I know—poor me, right?
Don’t worry, I’m not going to complain about the endless parade of male attention I got. I’m going to complain about the fact that I didn’t know how to say no. My early years had trained me to be a professional people pleaser (which prohibited me from participating in the Olympics) so well that I would say yes to anyone who asked me, well, basically anything. Didn’t matter that they were inappropriate for me or that I was not attracted to them.
Each time I broke up with someone, I felt as though I had been released from prison and sent on my way with just a crumpled envelope of my few possessions. And like any good repeat offender, I’d swear that that time was the last time. I was going to go on the straight and narrow. I’d buckle down and get a boring job, obey the law, and pick up a hobby or two. And then before I knew it, I’d be in a new relationship. I was like an alcoholic who wakes up the next morning not knowing where he is, how he got there or why he’s wearing patent leather Mary Janes.
So in October of 2012 I resolved to get off the manmade merry-go-round.
I promised myself that for one whole year, I would not get into a relationship, not date, and not sleep with anyone. Furthermore, I would not even flirt, since that’s the gateway drug to dating. It was difficult at first, to be sure. I broke out into a cold sweat at the sight of an unaccompanied man in the vicinity. I trembled uncontrollably when I walked into my apartment on a Friday night alone. I peered over the top of my book at coffee shops, scanning the room for a smile or a wink. I’d go to romantic movies and sit right next to couples so I could inhale their love.
And then it all stopped. I had somehow managed to turn off the dating switch inside me like the dimming of the Broadway lights. And during that year, the 8 trillion kilowatts of energy not going to menfolk was redirected to my career, my finances, my friendships—all areas that flourished.
By October of 2013 I was not, as I had assumed, clamoring for the company of a man like a cat in heat. As the months went on, I did start to crave dating again, but in a calm, grounded way. And yet…it was like I was meandering through a ghost town. I went to local bars and exotic Hollywood parties; I got relationship advice from my female friends, male buddies, and the movies; I threw myself into my work and impossibly tight dresses; I wore more makeup and less makeup; I told everyone I knew I was dating again and made vision boards with magazine clippings of George Clooney. And still…nothing. In fact, the little boy from The Sixth Sense walks past me whispering, “I see invisible people.”
Somehow, I turned that dating switch off so well that I can’t seem to turn it back on. It’s like the lid on a damn mayonnaise jar: my palms have circular welts, the lid has dents from banging it on the kitchen counter, and my sandwich is still dry.
Selena Templeton is a blogger with JenningsWire Online Magazine. For more posts by Selena please visit here.
The post is presented by the National Publicist, Annie Jennings of the NYC based PR Firm, Annie Jennings PR. Annie Jennings PR specializes in marketing books for getting authors booked on radio talk show interviews, TV shows in major online and in high circulation magazines and newspapers. Annie also works with speaker and experts to build up powerful platforms of credibility and influence.
