Despite my now normal/boring blog/life, I have managed to fit in a few tiny patented Steph Freak Outs™ over the past couple of weeks. After Bogart and I made it Facebook Official (it’s impossible to type those words without feeling like a 12-year-old, by the by), the world went a bit bonkers. Not only did a couple hundred of our closest friends and family endorse said status on the Book of Faces, a fuckton of people also felt the need to mention it to me in person. Or be super annoying (seriously, shut up Paul). I realize the reason for everyone’s Very Big Reaction is twofold: 1) I made my romantic life everyone’s business by blathering about it here for years, and 2) I haven’t exactly had fantastic romantic luck (understatement of the goddamn year), so finding myself in an actual relationship is indeed worthy of a Very Big Reaction.
That VBR prompted a TSFO (tiny Steph freak out). What if I fuck it up and end up right back in the clusterfuck that is Toronto dating? Yes, it was good for the blog, but it was wearing thin for real life Steph. What if it’s just not right and people get hurt? What if we chose wrong? Bogart didn’t even meet another single soul from Tinder, what if he realizes there’s a city full of nerdy chicks, some who even know how to work a PS4 controller? Forget paper cuts: this could be death by a thousand what ifs. Luckily the keyword in this TSFO is tiny, my tits calmed by my ever-patient friends and ever-present wine (except for the upcoming Dry January, stay tuned for that shit show).
Turns out I’m not alone in Whatifland. I’ve been reading Aziz Ansari’s alternately funny and insightful book on dating, Modern Romance (while I’m not technically in the dating scene, my line of work still is). In it, he tackles the moment of panic that hits a lot of people, mostly due to the abundance of choice online dating/the way we date now presents. He sums it up well:
Historically, we’re at a unique moment. No one has ever been presented with more options in romance and expected to make a decision where the expectations are so astronomically high. And with all these choices, how can anyone possibly be sure that they’ve made the right one?
Get over it: You can’t.!
It’s true. There is no way to actually know for sure if the person you’re with now won’t make you want to throw yourself off the balcony when they leave the seat up for the 1,789th time and the cold water hits your ass at 3am, or when you trip over another pile of her laundry (clean? dirty? who the fuck knows, she never puts it away). All we can do is make the best decision with the information we have in the moment, and keep
drinking living. At least until Boob Wizards become a real thing and we can see the future.
2 responses to “Get freaky”
[…] she helped him grow and mature and prepare for the treat that is me, I just have a whole bunch of tiny Steph freak outs™. ‘It’s not a competition,’ my rational self says. ‘Yeah, but if it were, […]
[…] and him verbalizing it. Or at least there is in my head, so I needed another a month and a few freak outs to really consider the idea. It made sense when I gave it a chance, and then all of a sudden I […]