I'm Not That Special

Before I begin, I would like to inform the public that Wen hair products have possible hair loss side effects; a frum little girl was one of the victims. Find thyself alternative means for co-washing.

"My father would like me to settle and just get married," I said somewhat jokingly.

Her wrinkled face crinkled all the more. I know she has two single granddaughters my age. "Sure, you can settle," she said quite seriously, "but you pay for it down the line. You are spending the rest of your life with this person." 

 

I was pleasantly surprised. My usual interactions with the senior generation on this topic go the way of the picky. "In my day . . ." "The problem with this generation . . ."   

I'll take sweet vindication wherever I can find it. 

Frustration with spouse-seeking often makes me feel like an isolated freak; that's why it's perversely delightful to read stories and realize, "Oh. I'm not that special." 

Like "The Entire Netflix History of Us" by Tonya Malinowski, whose emotional reactions sound nearly identical to my own experience.

Our conversation was brief, or so it seemed. I had no concept of time.

I refrained from asking him why and therefore seeming desperate, a perception of collectedness that came at the expense of my gaining any real answers . . .

What I did manage to gather made me realize that as I had been floating along on a river of bliss, he had been mentally cataloging evidence of my flaws. . . 

I worried that I may never again feel as completely safe and at ease as I did making funny voices for a French bulldog with him by my side, but you can’t control how someone else feels. Better, in the end, to focus on those few things you can control.

Sarah Moses shares her dating hijinks with quirky characters in "Single Woman Seeking Manwich." How many times has my date done or said something rather odd and yet gives me the "she's crazy" look? 

Some say the definition of insanity is repeating the same behavior over and over and expecting a different outcome. While dating does make me feel crazy at times, I keep at it in hopes that one day the outcome will be different.

At the same time, I also try hard to accept that it may never happen for me. I tell myself that I don’t need a partner to lead a happy and fulfilling life. Then one morning, I’m on the Q train, across from a cute couple who look hipsterish in a nonannoying, unironic way.

I imagine that he is in a band and that she does something cool and creative. He says something funny to her, and she laughs, then puts her head on his shoulder. When they get up to leave, he holds her hand and they just look so stinking happy.

I want to cry, feeling creepy for staring at these strangers and also envious that they seem to have what I want. I get off the train at Union Square and give myself a little pep talk on the walk to my office. I won’t give up on dating, at least not now.

"Putting Love to the Stress Test" by Jasmin Jaksic relates her finding someone (when she wasn't even looking) who was practically her twin in preferences and personality. 

Our ridiculous lack of differences worried me. My idea of a successful relationship had been that of a Venn diagram with a healthy intersection, not two mostly overlapping circles, and that the best match was one in which you complemented, not replicated, each other. Perhaps I was missing something.

If I share a surprising amount of likes and dislikes with a candidate, I, too, get nervous, recalling that the Chasam Sofer said couples should balance the other's extremes.  

But then I remember there are all sorts of marriages, and probably my main rabbi was trying to mellow an irritated husband. After all, not everyone is made up of extremes. Some of us make a point to prance in the middle. 

Ah, the balm of stories. No wonder I love reading.