After the election, I took a month off from dating.
Like many others in the country, particularly here in my delightfully liberal NYC enclave, I woke up miserable on November 9. I spent most of the day–the better part of a week, really–in tears. The thought of trying to converse, let alone flirt, with an unknown human was inconceivable.
Before the election, I was dating like it was my job. Really. I started working with a matchmaker in late September, and “dating” is an actual line item on my bullet journal’s habit tracker.
Now, though, when I’ve pulled myself together a bit and am trying to get back out there, it’s tough even to find someone to go out with. January is usually peak dating season, not yet in that awkward Valentine’s Day avoidance lull and right after people make resolutions to be better, to do more. This year…crickets. The matchmaker confirms that it’s not me–in the city, at least, no one is swiping, no one is matching, no one wants to be set up.
When I have managed to land a first date, it feels more akin to a therapy session at worst or a political rally at best. There is no line of conversation that doesn’t lead to a discussion about how scared and angry we are. And once that starts, it doesn’t end; there are too many dark alleys to explore: the failings of the Electoral College, the future of the Democratic Party, the complicity of the media, a thorough analysis of every single Cabinet appointee.
That is not sexy. I have yet to transition from that conversational quagmire into a hot makeout session.
And yes, since I can feel you rolling your eyes, I’m aware that we have bigger problems right now. But when the world has turned into a much darker, more ominous place than it was three months ago, I’m even more envious of my friends who have a safe harbor at home.
So who knows. Maybe we’ll eventually embrace an eat, drink, and be merry philosophy, and all the single people will get some end-of-the-world sex. Maybe I’ll meet a cute, liberal, feminist guy at one of the many organizing meetings I’m now attending. (My free time is yet another unexpected casualty of the Trump administration.) For now, though, my love life is just another reminder that things are not normal, and we are not okay.
I love Broadway. The first time I visited New York, on a thirteenth birthday trip with my mom, we saw a show every night. Now that I live here, I don’t have that kind of time or money, but I do try to get to the theater every month or so. And most of the time, I go alone.
There are a few reasons. Many of my friends don’t have the time, money, or inclination to go even once a month. Some would like to go but would need to get the cheapest possible seat, while I prefer (and am lucky enough to be able) to spring for a spot from which I can see the actors’ faces. And then there’s the coordination–doing anything with anyone in New York City requires a superhuman effort to compare calendars, and then odds are high that the plans will be rescheduled. Being busy is a key New York attribute (I’m guilty).
But honestly, the theater is the perfect place to fly solo. You’re literally forbidden to speak. You’re sitting in the dark. Many of the people there don’t even live in New York; they can’t judge you. And here’s the real bonus factor for Broadway: you can get better seats for less money. I saw Hamilton fourth row center all by myself. It was glorious.
The one sad solo moment is when the lights come up, and you want to turn to the person next to you and talk about what you just saw…but when you go see a play alone, the person next to you is talking to the person next to him. Luckily, you’re never alone on the Internet. It’s not quite the same, but it’s far better than staying at home.
And The Humans was an ideal play to watch alone because there was no one to contemplate the tears rolling down my face for the last twenty minutes or so. Truly, it’s beautiful. 95 minutes with no intermission, a single tw0-story set, a cast of six. It’s a glimpse into the life of a middle-class family on a recent Thanksgiving, coping with illness, financial difficulty, love and the loss of it, aging, work instability, religion, and the usual familial sniping that happens when everyone gathers in one room for the first time in months. It’s funny and tragic, life at its highest and lowest in just an hour and a half. The show is in the final week, but if you can, go–even if you have to go by yourself.
