On the Market

I was not looking for a girlfriend.

So why is it that I found myself, credit card in hand, subscribing to Match.com? Suddenly, there I was, diligently filling in multiple choice questions about religion and children and fitness activities. I huddled over the “About Me” section, trying to make myself sound cute, interesting, smart, date-worthy. If I had concentrated this hard while taking the LSATS maybe I would have scored higher.

Of course, in dating there is no “scoring higher.” There is only scoring.

I haven’t dated anyone for nine months (OK, there was one girl I saw for about two weeks, but I don’t think that counts). I haven’t lived with anyone in four years. I haven’t slept with anyone since…OK, let’s not go there. Too depressing.

Up until last week, I was bragging about my lack of interest to anyone who would listen. “Oh, I’m not interested in dating,” I’d say, chin up. “I’m too happy to date. Why take on all that hassle? Why add in the inevitable compromises to a perfect life?”

Unlike the previous times I’ve dated, I don’t feel like anything is missing. I have everything I need. I’m no longer wounded; I no longer think damage is romantic. I roll my eyes at drama and door slamming and jealousy.

This is unusual for me, because, time was, you could be certain that if I were interested in a woman she was probably crazy.

But I’ve stepped through a new door. I’m content with where I am. I’m in a city I love. My future is shiny bright. I’m not looking for anyone to save me, or mother me, or kick me in the butt. I have nourishing friends and family who step in when they need to. What could a girlfriend possibly add?

But today, while walking my dog along the Hudson River, I stopped short. There was a couple, holding hands, talking excitedly about something. She pulled a camera out of her purse, and then he pulled out a camera, too. They took a picture of each other taking pictures. They fell into each other, laughing.

Oh, I thought.

That’s what I miss.

I miss the companionship of a long-term relationship. The friend who listens to you late at night, after the lights are out. The lover who shows you how beautiful you are, even before you’ve had coffee. The relative who can prod you into good humor, because she’s known you so well and for so long. The partner who sticks it out even on the days you’re petty or mean or petulant or wrong, knowing that you do the same.

I don’t miss having a girlfriend.

I miss being married.

What I don’t miss—what I don’t want to go through really ever again—is that first, flying rush of love, where you become obsessed; ecstatic one moment, despondent the next; when a good day is one where your lover never leaves your side. If she leaves you, even for an hour, you feel sick. You feel like you’re going to die.

I don’t want anyone to have that kind of power over me anymore. I don’t want any relationship to have that power.

But I’m assured by cold science and the head-shaking wisdom of my friends that this is impossible. To have long-lasting love you need the “in-love” part first. The hormone rush that makes you feel like you’re on a roller coaster is also what binds you together when you’ve shared a bed so long that you’ve each indented your side.

The feeling of powerlessness in the face of strong emotion is what keeps us tender, open, and willing to live for another the same way we live for ourselves.

So, there I was, pulling out my credit card to join Match. I put up a profile. I downloaded a photo (OK, 12 photos). I agonized over a headline.

And I sent out my first querying emails.

So here I am, seeking a girlfriend. Knowing that I will fall in love again and that it will make me miserable but also blissful, since love pushes us to the edge of our emotional range at both ends and makes us wider and deeper.

I thought I didn’t want a girlfriend.

But maybe I do.

On the Market

Wednesday, April 25, 2007