The culture clash of dad life and gay life.
Saying I was not ready is putting it politely. I had not dated since I was 26, back when apps were still something you ordered at a restaurant. I met my ex in person at work, in the wild, like a vintage love story. Then I took the plunge into Grindr for the chaos, Tinder for the chaos wearing jeans, and Hinge where everyone pretends they are above chaos while still bathing in it. I was not prepared. I went through endless drinks, too many coffee dates to count, and seawall walks that felt like cardio punishment. Every encounter seemed to end in something comical, something bizarre, or something that made me wonder if I should have stayed home and alphabetized my spice rack.
I did what I thought was the thing to do. I dove headfirst into the gay scene and racked up more partners in that first year than I had in my entire life before it. And for what? A gold medal in bad decisions? I felt dirty, I felt used, and my confidence was on life support. My mental health was circling the drain. There is nothing quite like having the most intimate moment imaginable with another human only to be ghosted before the sheets have even cooled. It took me almost three years to finally get it through my head that it is not me. Nine times out of ten it is them, their baggage, and their endless search for the next dopamine hit. I was never the problem. I was just the layover before their next emotional flight.
Trying to connect with people who have never had a substantial relationship and do not understand the give and take it requires has been far more work than I could have imagined. Add to that the fact that I have two children who rely on me to be strong, grounded, and ready to drop everything for them at a moment’s notice, and it sends many men running. I used to hold off on mentioning that I was a dad until we met in person, but now I lead with it. It saves time and weeds out the ones who are not built for my reality.
On those first few dates, I listen hard. I am not just hearing the words, I am searching for the cracks where the real thoughts slip through, the little hints of what they value when they think they are just making conversation. That is where you see someone’s truth, and that is what tells me if we might actually have something. I keep holding onto this hope that the right person will show up and we will just fit, like our lives were always meant to run side by side. But the more dates, hangouts, and hookups I go through, the more it feels like that hope is slipping away, piece by piece.
I do press on, but man, it is tough out there… like “trying to fold a fitted sheet in a windstorm” tough.
Single Dad, Double Espresso 