intimacy, without commitment

what do dating apps & the community want from us?

I have spent the last few years wading through the mire of online dating. It has been a combination of horrifying, humiliating, and hilarious. While I have not found love, I have found lore that my friends enjoy hearing after each date. Each man garnering his own special nickname.

Evangelical Ghost. Turkish Delight. The Notebook Boy. Canada. The Husband. Broccoli.

“I think I can understand where Hitler was coming from,” one said in an attempt to show me he was empathetic. After sharing some of my dating history, one slammed his hands onto the bar and shouted, “You don’t know anything about love!” One took me to eat at the “best pizza place in town” (Little Caesar’s, where we sat in the little chairs at the door) and then took me to watch a “romantic movie” (Edward Scissorhands).

Three have blamed me, after the first date, for forcing them to pick up old addictions. I made two cry. One took me to a sports bar to watch xenophobic videos about colonizing religious minorities. One took me to a concert on Valentine’s Day and spent the whole time talking about how hot and bothered he got watching the woman performing. I can recall at least seven dates where something illegal happened (and probably not the crimes you’d expect). One didn’t speak English, and another, I’m pretty confident, is gay. One offered to take boudoir photos on our first date, and another spent 2 hours telling me about how he would always love his middle school ex-girlfriend in Egypt.

One stole my space heater.

One leaned across a shared cheesecake at the Cheddar’s Scratch Kitchen to ask if I had ever heard of Gitmo. He then told me state secrets in great detail, noting that he did not know what was going on at Guantánamo Bay prison until after he had worked there for over a year. Not the brightest crayon in the box.

All of them explained the sport of soccer to me.

One ended things because I didn’t want to sit on his lap at the mall. Another left because his mentor recommended that he give his life to God. One departed because he thought my car was embarrassing (that one really hurt). At least four have ghosted me immediately after asking me on a second date. One who lives in my neighborhood ghosted me after four months of dating and introducing me to his family. The most recent ghosted me with his last message being, “I always love hearing from you and can’t wait to see you again.” Maybe he died in a horrific unicycle accident. Who can say?

To be fair, I have ghosted my fair share of people and cancelled more dates last-minute than I’d like to admit. Some I regret, so Miguel, if you’re reading this and still interested, please DM me.

The date when I met all of his friends and his brother. Never heard from him again.

Of course, there was the 8-minute date that ended with him walking out unannounced and saying, “I’ll send you my address, and you can meet me there.” And it’s possible that with another, I was convinced to enter into a short-term Muslim marriage before I could kiss him. He gave me a Werther’s caramel as the Hadith-mandated wedding gift. I may still be married, as I do not know the Arabic terms to which I agreed. They say it’s chic to be a young divorcee.

So you can only imagine what the conversations with the ones I didn’t go out with were like.

I’m open to acknowledging that I’m doing something wrong, but obviously, I haven’t figured out what it is. If you have suggestions for someone to date or how to improve myself as a datee, please send them my way.

There is no shortage of individuals and news outlets discussing the conundrum of modern dating. Those who had the privilege of finding love in the pre-app era often say to me, “Why don’t you meet someone in person?”

Do you think I don’t want to do that? Do you think I’m not trying that? Do you think meeting up with a stranger I met on my phone is the meet-cute of my dreams?

And while I could write a tome about my thoughts about modern dating, I remain mystified about one thing in particular.

At least this one took me to Gatlinburg before he disappeared

Often on a dating profile, the person notes what kind of relationship they are seeking. Options include short-term, long-term, life partner, marriage, and figuring out my dating goals. The latter is often chosen by men in their mid-40’s who say they want to have children and grow old with someone.

In the last year, the Bumble app added a new option, and it’s the option I see more than any other. The most common response to “What kind of relationship are you looking for?” is:

Intimacy, without commitment.

Now, yes, I know what this means, but I can’t get over this sentiment. It seems to confuse men on the apps as well, as this option is frequently selected alongside “long-term relationship” and “marriage.”

I think this idea is permeating our society. We want intimacy, we want closeness with others, we want others who care about us, and others who see us and accept us. But we don’t really want to commit to them back. We don’t really want to work for our relationships. In a sea of possibilities for our lives and relationships, any person/job/community could be holding us back from something better. Commitment to any one thing could keep us from having it all.

Sometimes I think about my ancestors or my friends in rural parts of the world, and how few people they had/have access to. Their life path is pretty clear and their community is pretty clear. They know what they have to work with, and they know what the options are.

Now, there are some obvious downsides to living in a stagnant place where there are very few fish in the sea of opportunity. But it also means that they have to work for their relationships. They can’t just leave when things get hard. They have to figure out how to get their needs met in imperfect spaces. For better or worse, they’re committed. And when everyone in the community is committed, there is a safe space for intimacy and vulnerability. They can be known and seen.

But the world is my oyster. I can go almost anywhere. And if I really wanted to get into North Korea, I think I could figure out how. Compared to most of the world, I have unlimited resources and safety nets. I can do anything. I have access to any community — runners, book clubbers, Buddhists, leftists, business leaders, and soccer fans.

And from my couch I have access to thousands of people. I see the life updates of a girl I met at an event in fifth grade on Facebook. I get on Instagram to learn how a stranger in Uzbekistan bakes bread. And I scroll left and right through an endless stream of pictures of men holding fish.

I, like so many others, have grown quite accustomed to commodifying these relationships, constantly on the hunt for the things that will give me the best value for my time (and that will feel the same about me). But once things get complicated or uncomfortable or boring or too vulnerable or ask nearly anything of us, it is easy to give up and move on to the next one. Onward and upward to the inevitable better. Even though the chase of it all may leave us with nothing.

People don’t know how to date, but they also have a hard time making friends and building community. (I am people.)

Many of us grew up in communities that were in proximity to us. We didn’t have to work to find those people.

My roommate Tori has been part of my life for nearly as long as I can remember, but we can’t imagine any scenario where we would have become friends if we would have just met out in public. We can’t even imagine where we would possibly run into each other in public. But it’s easy to be her friend because she’s always been my friend. We have deep-rooted shared history, context, and relationships. I suspect we will always be friends, as different as we may be.

But it’s harder to work from scratch. Especially post-Covid, we have suffered a lack of community spaces. The ones that have arisen take a lot of money to join. Very few people strike up a conversation at a bar, a concert, or my neighborhood walks. I keep going to worship services and networking events in hopes that I will have any experience that resembles a romantic or platonic connection. I do what Cosmo Girl taught me to do: smile, have open body language, and put myself out there. But, quite frankly, I haven’t had a ton of success.

Apparently for this to work, I have to keep showing up (or commit) and work through the awkward small talk and practicing vulnerability in order to build relationships. Ugh. But that’s so hard.

People are busy, and very selective in how they will invest their time and energy. If it’s not exactly what they want or uncomfortable for their lifestyle and worldview, it may not be worth their time. It may not be the relationship they imagine, which should be both the best and the easiest.

Tori and I are very different, but we do both fall down a lot

This means that we have to be constantly shape-shifting to be accepted by the equally selective communities we seek to join. Last week, I feigned a great expertise in human trafficking to fit in at a networking dinner, and on a recent date I debased myself by pretending I love to go to the honky-tonks on Broadway in downtown Nashville.

That’s not intimacy, it’s a performance. It’s not sustainable to live in communities or relationships that require us to constantly perform. We will never be seen in spaces where we wear a mask.

It’s impossible to choose which Brené Brown quote would go best here, but I will do my best. She says, “Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen. The willingness to show up changes us. It makes us a little braver each time.” The more we do the hard thing of commitment, the easier it becomes. Then, when we least expect it, those people you barely knew are hearing all of your secrets and coming to your birthdays and inviting you to their bachelorette party and watching reality shows in pajamas while you hold their baby.

Suddenly, we have provided each other with belonging. Brené says, “Those who have a strong sense of love and belonging have the courage to be imperfect,” and, “True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.” Our capacity to courageously show up as we are, over and over again, frees others to do the same and creates the kind of community that is required to build the world we want.

I don’t think there’s a lot of real intimacy without commitment. I don’t think we can show up as our whole selves or make space for others to show up as their whole selves if we’re not committed to them, if we’re not saying, “Even when this relationship isn’t picture-perfect, and when you’re not the ideal I’ve dreamed, I’ll still be around.”

I don’t think we’re going to get the best out of our lives when we are forever pursuing better than the blessings in front of us. And I don’t think we’re going to heal our imperfect world if we can’t put a little commitment toward falling in love with imperfect people like us.

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Thanks for being a part of my community of people loving the world for all that it is, and taking contemplative action toward what it could be.

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