Speed dating out of my comfort zone

I should have been more nervous. Maybe I'm getting better socially or at managing my silly nerves. Sometimes.

Still, I hate small talk; the obligation to fill silence is excruciating. I judge a friendship by the quality of the silences. That's why I don't start conversations with strangers in bars; it's why I don't like telephone conversations that last more than a minute; it's why I do like Twitter.

I saw Sam Pang say on Agony of Life last week that he doesn't understand people who find small talk hard, that there's nothing easier. I love you Sam Pang but you, sir, have no idea.

He's obviously never had that annoying experience social anxiety brings where the floor falls out in your head and everything disappears and suddenly there's a silence between you and the other person - and in your head - and you become completely self-aware other than the awareness of how they must be judging you and so you are obsessed with the fact you can't think of anything to say because all you can think about is the fact you can't think of anything to say. And then, hopefully, you breath, very deeply.

Yet I was surprisingly relaxed about the prospect of 15 or so five-minute sessions with strangers, one after the other, for over an hour. Maybe because I've done the Contiki and Busabout first-day 'Speed Meeting' thing and come out without significant embarrassment. Maybe because I'm comfortable - possibly too comfortable - being single. Maybe because I was just seeing it as a bit of fun, and an opportunity to stretch my comfort zone.

Pre-brief and arrival

My companions - my 'wingmen' I suppose - were The Pro and The Enthusiast. There names have been changed. I walked the city streets to our designated pre-brief meeting point with an air of nonchalance as Nick Cave's The Mercy Seat filled my ears, playing perfectly to a renewed attitude of indifference to fear.

I've got nothing left to lose, and I'm not afraid to die.

What's there to fear anyway? The judgement of strangers? Fuck them. I don't need their approval.

And I'm afraid I told a lie.

Not a born socialite, The Pro had made speed dating his home turf, his confident space, gaining cheap experience through a spate of free tickets offered to have him even out the numbers.

I found him in a secluded booth in the bar, nearing the end of his second pint after a difficult day at work, and bought us both a fresh one.

The Enthusiast arrived full of energy. Back in Melbourne after a few years in relative social seclusion overseas, it was largely his eagerness for adventure and willingness to try anything that had  brought us here. We ordered dinner and another round of beers and got down to business.

The Pro asked what our opening questions - our ice breakers - were. He was disappointed with the empty response. We didn't have any. No angle, no plan, no preparation. The Pro's own strategy had apparently included making sure he was in a different grouping to the two of us.

I'd considered preparing a question or questions, but decided it was too formulaic, too contrived.

The Enthusiast's never even entertained the thought. Imbued with a wild energy, he could make entertaining conversation with Silent Bob. His only intention was to avoid the easy, obvious and often tedious question: "So, what do you do?"

The Pro was anxious to get moving so we made our way to the venue, just in time to check in five minutes early, mingle and have three more drinks before the formalities got under way.

My first conversation was with a cute brunette: I asked for, and she served me, a beer. As we passively mingled, various people approached us and introduced themselves; none reducing the proportion of penises in the conversation from 100 per cent. Almost all were first timers (or so they said), seemingly a little nervous and gaining some confidence in the safety of the 'brodeo' before stepping into the fire.

"So what do you do?" they invariably asked.

"Professional speed dater," I joked, also uninterested in discussing my job that particular day.

"Tram driver" The Enthusiast replied with sharp conviction, taking advantage of a stranger's trust. "Ding ding!"

The Enthusiast left us behind and mingled enthusiastically, living up to the moniker I would later give him for a blog post he doesn't know I'm writing. The Pro earnestly scoped the room.

I didn't want them to leave me. I had to man up. I stayed and talked to the men. We were joined by a master; a confident, well-groomed man who was here on a cheap ticket to even up the numbers. He gave us wide-eyed proteges a few tips - he was just here "to drink and talk shit" - before heading off to talk to women, reminding us that this was what we paid $60 for. Ah, yes.

But suddenly it was time to date with speed.

And we're off!

Having just been handed a beer by The Enthusiast, who had held up proceedings by quickly visiting the bathroom and bar, I took my seat opposite my first date, with two beers. Easy now, these are both for me. "Hi, I'm Sam," I think I might have said.

The dates all flew by pretty quickly. Conversation was generally pretty easy. If anything I over-compensated for my introversion and found myself talking too much. I was often left finishing a sentence as I shifted across to start the next date, trying to awkwardly find the right time to make notes and tick "Yes" or "No". As The Enthusiast found out, with mistaken matches the next day, you do not leave it until the end.

We were advised to take notes. I tried pathetically early on ("Lisa - teacher"; "Kate - blonde"; "Felicity - pronounces it 'Carstle'") but soon gave up due to difficulty with the dim light and their unreliable pen, and because I was actually so 'in the moment' that I felt like I'd remember the conversations. In reality they were largely gone by the start of the next date. By the end I only remembered the names and conversation of the first and last few, and a couple of interesting moments in between - such one conversation about the fact I thankfully hadn't had to resort to discussing work with too many people, which was followed by a short silence and my nervous date asking "So, what do you do?". But I did remember her ...

People mingled some more afterwards, this time in a far less segregated fashion. The Pro, who had been unimpressed with his group, did manage to get the phone number of one of the girls The Enthusiast and I chatted to from our group at the bar. Part of his strategy perhaps.

Though I freely spoke to a range of people at this point in the night - and we stayed right until the end when it was just us and the hosts left - I'll admit I still didn't start my own conversations. While The Enthusiast talked to just about everyone, and The Pro honed his wobbly focus, I just spoke to whoever was around me - passive mingling. I do that.

This isn't how I'd choose to meet people; being placed in front of an arbitrary person to see if you have any attraction and common interest. That's why I like Twitter and all the amazing people I've found (and met) there. That's why I like going to yoga and the Wheeler Centre and Golden Plains and gigs and footy and whatever else - doing things that interest me where I'm surrounded by people with at least one common interest. Yeah I should engage more with strangers, but I socialise plenty, even if passively.

And I'm not gonna lie, it seems I fared okay. The email the next day said I "scored one of the highest number of 'yes' votes at any [name of company] events", though I suspect they flatter me, given I *only* got four matches.

And no, in my busy and overly-comfortable state, I couldn't really muster the energy to contact any of them. The Pro was outraged. They were all lovely people, but no-one really grabbed me enough (so to speak).

So yeah, it was fun and I'm glad I did it. But I won't pay to do it again. Unless offered a free ticket perhaps...

"Why / how are you single?!"

I'm a 30 year old middle class white male. Take away the unseen mental health issues and, really, I have nothing for society to pin me down on – except that I'm single.

I mean long-term single. Last time I was in a serious relationship John Howard was PM. I've yet to enjoy regular sex in a liberated Australia.

We are a misunderstood group, us happy singles. Yes, “happy singles”! So many people don’t seem to realise the two words can even go together. Society doesn’t just pin us down, but beats us repeatedly across the face with expectations that we take every opportunity to get out there and find a partner – just find somebody!

A work colleague today asked if I was going out tonight. When I said no, he asked, “But you’re single right?”

Well yeah, but also I can’t be fucked going out tonight to make awkward small talk (we’ve covered this, yeah?) and try to pick up. I have better things to do. And I don’t even know what they are yet, but they don’t involve leaving the house. 

So I’d like to wish all my single friends a happy Valentines Day.

The rest of you can get fucked – indeed many of you will, so don’t take it to heart.

Don’t get me wrong, I do want to be in a serious relationship again – sooner rather than later preferably. But I’ve learnt a lot in my five years of singledom, which has been peppered with all kinds of – if not regular – dates and dalliances. Most importantly, I learnt I had to want to be in a relationship rather than need to be in one. That took a while. I spent many years seeing it as some kind of panacea to my mental health issues, which was harmful to potential relationships and prevented me helping myself for too long.

That whole “You have to love yourself before you can love someone else” thing always seemed like pithy, clichéd bullshit to me. Why couldn’t I love someone else while hating myself? It makes perfect sense if I see most people as better than me, right?! Well sure, but it’ll destroy a relationship.

I’ve focused the last couple of years on exploring my own happiness (not a euphemism) and passions. And, despite increasing concern of friends looking to set me up, I really have never been happier. Truly. After all, during my six-year relationship I was horribly anxious and depressed (not because of her!).

Relationships and love amazing, wonderful, energising things. But I refuse to be desperate for it – it’s not conducive to happiness, it’s unattractive and it’s counter-productive, and each of these things feed into each other.

If I had a dollar for every time someone has expressed bemusement at my ongoing sabbatical I could buy roses (at Valentines prices) for ALL the women today – I’m not blowing smoke up my own arse, but I am a catch ladies.

It’s a well intentioned, heartfelt and flattering sentiment, and yes I do appreciate friends keeping an eye out for a potential mate, but I do get a little tired of them being far more stressed about it than I am. It’s a little presumptuous and dismissive of my mindset, not to mention the fact someone can find happiness in a different way to you.

Marriage is held up as this ultimate goal of life, yet so many people are unhappy. And yes, I would like to get married – sorry, no, I would like to be with someone I want to marry. But it often just plays into another one of these all-consuming social expectations of what relationships are.

If and when I get married, I won’t buy into this “better half” bullshit. The most functional couple I know are two fully independent individuals choosing to spend the most important aspects of their life together. Outside observers have expressed curiosity to me that it is "a bit odd", and bemusement that they would spend regular nights out apart, even travel separately. Well apart from what the fuck business is it of yours anyway, why should a couple be tethered and tied. If you want to do the same thing, fantastic; if you don’t and drag each other around you just fuel frustration. Maintaining individual identity and passions is so important in my opinion; otherwise you lose what attracted you to each other in the first place.

I won’t succumb to the expectations of others when I know what makes me happy - I've spent the best part of 30 years figuring it out and it ain't been easy, so I deserve a little self-determination, thanks.

If I have a problem in this area aside from my sometimes crippling introversion, it is that I know exactly what I'm after. I've felt it – fleetingly – before. I’ve felt that amazing feeling of somebody who just understands you in an absurd way and challenges you and inspires you. It’s a blessing and a curse. I struggle to commit myself to any relationship that doesn’t meet that benchmark.

But I’m happy with my life as it is at the moment. Happier than a lot of people who today are sending flowers, going out for romantic dinners and writing on each others Facebook walls; not as happy as some of the genuine couples doing things their way – the ones I admire, and, I admit, do get a little bit jealous of sometimes.

What matters is I have lots to keep me occupied, interested in and excited by life at the moment, including a wide group of great – close friends who are male and female, single and attached, who are my inspiration, my support, my entertainment, my reason to live. They can’t give me everything a relationship would, but they come pretty close.

Happy Valentines Day to them. 

Anxious and dating

I've never even seen Mad Men. But I like whiskey.

First dates are horrible. Two people getting to know each other, sussing out whether they want to see the other person again, while often being too nervous too reveal particularly much of their personality.

It's worse when you're predisposed to anxious thinking. Even having learnt to deal with it pretty well now, there are certain situations that deem themselves important enough to grant it power.

The doubts, the questions, the 'what ifs' - all return a little, then a lot if you let them. The pressures outweigh the prospects. The ruminations outweigh the romance.

In five years of singledom I've covered many dating scenarios - the online dating date, the friend of a friend date, the work colleague date. I've courted, been courted, rejected, been rejected. Had a couple of one-night-stands, even more one-night-spoons, even a short, intense quasi-relationship.

I don't date a lot. I don't feel the need and, well, I'm no good at it.

There are compounding factors to the whole anxiety thing. It took me a long time to be understand females. I grew up with two brothers and no sisters, went to an all-boys high school, had no real female friends through my teens (or fake ones for that matter). I had not the slightest idea of how to talk to girls. All I knew was to avoid the failsafe schoolyard conversation topics of farts, footy and gay-jokes.

I did grow up with the fantastic notion that a girl would waltz into my life, see through my crippling shyness, and make me happy, distracting me totally and perpetually from all those stupid thoughts and constant 'worrying' (later to be diagnosed as OCD and anxiety disorder!)

Somehow I found myself (sadly that's not much of an overstatement) in a relationship when I was 18 that lasted six years, and I came out the other side at 24 with a much better understanding of women, a growing number of female friends - actually many of my closest - but still no real dating experience.

Five years on, things are quite different. I'm far more confident, capable and calm. I am surrounded by women at work and in social life, they probably more than half of my closest friends and confidantes.

Still. I don't enjoy dating. It's bad enough with someone you've gotten to know, decided you like, clumsily courted, built up the courage to ask out. Meeting someone from the online dating world is a whole other experience, and one I'm going through at the moment.

I find much more intense meeting a person with the immediate pressure of prospective relations.. You might call it 'intimi-dating'. Perhaps not. But I don't enjoy it.

I hate small talk. I hate talking about work. I play it safe, don't bang on about issues I'm passionate about that they might have no interest in. I actually had multiple dates with a girl who said she would never talk politics. Oh the thought of it!

I get ahead of myself, my mind fast forwards, I project thoughts, doubts and feelings. She's talking to me and my mind is trying to run three simultaneous processes: trying to think of something to say when silence falls; trying to assess our compatibility; and finally - given least importance in my tense, distorted mind - listening to what she's actually saying.

I'm naturally cautious. I don't want to throw uncertainty to the wind and find myself suddenly in a relationship I never really wanted. Past mistakes haunt me.

If I'm somewhat interested, then there's a new collection of doubts. Should I kiss her? When? How to do it without awkwardness (impossible!)? What if that leads her on? What if I don't and she thinks I have no interest? What if I do and it doesn't clear my head of all these goddamned thoughts?!!?What next? And when? Will this lead to inevitable hurt? I remember when I was 12 my parents got me a dog after years of me pestering - when we got her I was consumed with the painful thought of becoming attached to this creature that would die and hurt me someday. If the present didn't provide it, I could find sufficient anxiety in the future.

I warm to people slowly, and it's an amazing, crazy few who see through my (now much thinner) veneer of anxiety-riddled bullshit to the comfortable, awesome person I really am. So my initial assumption is the date's gone badly and she won't want to see me again. Mostly I've been right - hooray! What's wrong with all these girls that they can't see that I'm a catch, I'll wonder. A few times I've been wrong. Then I get suspicious. What's wrong with her if she thinks I'm worthy of more time after a pathetic, fumbling performance where I let her buy my hot chocolate?! Do I want to date someone who would choose to spend more time with me, especially having only met the socially inept me??

The level of interest she shows will influence the doubts and questions prodding my mind. I absolutely do not endorse the 'Treat 'em mean, keep 'em keen' advice, but there is a little anxious logic (which may be an oxymoron) behind it.

Where she's showing clear interest and the ball's been pretty much in my court to make the move, often all my thoughts are drawn to reasons not to pursue it - my anxiety monster reminds me of things I may not find attractive or elements missing that I adored in others.

What would my friends think of her? What would I have thought of her if I'd just spotted her in a bar or on the street without this whole context messing with my mind? What of my cherished, now well-established independence!? I don't want to be tethered to any single person. I want to continue to draw inspiration, love and life from a range of people in my life.

But then there's also been those I fancied who were far less forward with their interest, and all I could think of were the things I loved about her! Over-analysing the number and content of messages, trying to figure out her real feelings. And then she'd give me a little rope and I'd start wondering whether I was just overplaying my feelings and looking for a relationship for the sake of a relationship because I think it would be a good distraction from my anxiety, despite the fact this whole line of thinking is driven by anxiety.

Anyway, the solution is quite simple. Just take things as they come. Live in the moment. Enjoy the company of a nice person. Be honest with them, and yourself, and not worrying about what you may or may not feel. No expectations, no disappointments.

But that doesn't mean you can't dream a little. Indeed, if you find yourself doing so, it's a  good sign.

My experiences have taught me to never let my own doubts and insecurity affect my relationships, or potential relationships, with others. Let go of what you can't control, cherish what you have and be excited by what could be without a care for what will not.

I'm still learning to put that into practice though. I still get anxious feet.

The online dating game

If you're a woman who has perused the single male talent of Melbourne on one of those online dating sites in the past few years, you may have come across me. Yes, I'm out 'there'. Funnily, in the last year or so a lot more people I know - male and female - have either joined up, or owned up, as well.

It's been mostly fruitless but over the weekend I had my first 'date' or face-to-face meeting... who knows what it really was.

She saw my profile on a site I hadn't visited for a while and sent me a message. Looking at hers I was pleasantly shocked - why was such a gorgeous girl contacting me (finally)?! Of course similar interests are also important ... that was covered too to I felt the urge to immediately reply. Of course, you can't appear too desperate, so I waited an hour or so.

Emails flew back and forth over the next few days and we really seemed to click so arranged to catch up for coffee. Although neither of us actually drink coffee. I was sure we'd be bursting with things to talk about - and said as much - from music to travel to footy.

On the day I was nervous as hell. Showered and shaved, but with an acne outburst that had me worried about a US pre-emptive strike on my face to secure its oil, I tried to scrub up well and wandered down to the cafe. I was fashionably five minutes late, but fashion isn't my strong point and she was later. Sitting outside on Swan Street, trying to look suave, or at least occupied, I wondered whether she'd recognise me given the photos on my profile were a few years old when I had much shorter hair.

When she arrived I knew it was her - a young women alone poking her head uncertainly into the cafe - but pretended I hadn't seen her and looked back at the traffic as I sipped my water. So cool. When I turned back she faced me and we examined each other's face and quizzically said each other's name. Yup, we were each other.

I can be a hopeless romantic. I'll admit to daydreaming and romanticising this a litte; it's been several years and a few disastrous experiences since I've had a good, settled, mutual love-interest. I probably over-imagined how it would all play out. My instinctive reaction was mild disappointment. We didn't hit it off the way I'd imagined we might, her personality didn't quite meet the one I had created in my mind and she didn't even seem to look exactly like the photos!! Clearly, this was a harsh, superficial reaction, so it was pushed aside as much as possible.

Not to mention that she was probably thinking the same thing as I sat there awkwardly, with my hair tucked behind my ears, revealing the minor growth on my forehead.

There were a few awkward silences, but the mood seemed to relax with even a few laughs. After 90 minutes the cafe was closing so we had to call it a date. I paid and refused the offer of reimbursement, she insisted and I took graciously, attempting to successfully navigate the line between old-fashioned chivalry and respectful equality.

Meeting someone for the first time in that setting - where you're measuring them up for potential romance and know they're doing the same - is a little odd; you're strangers yet you know bits and pieces about each other. Yet it feels creepy to go on about things on their profile for fear of coming across like you've been up all night studying it.

We walked out of the cafe, being adorably naive as I am I wasn't sure if a kiss on the cheek was appropriate but she leant in so I went with it. I walked away, saying 'Catchya later,' with genuine intention. She just smiled and said 'I'll see ya around'.

That was that.

There wasn't really much spark, I knew it and it seems she felt the same. I decided it was worth catching up again if she was keen so texted her a day later and suggested lunch in a week or two. After a couple of hours passed without response - given the rapid responses to all previous messages - I knew the message coming, I just hoped it would come. She did reply a day later saying thanks but she wanted to do the right thing and let me know she didn't think I was her type. It was the right thing to do, and I appreciated it. And I wasn't bitterly disappointed. In fact, I was a little relieved. But the little questions still pop up as to why she changed her mind ... what was it about me in person? Even though I wasn't especially keen either, it's still not fun to have an attractive girl say you're not her type after she was quite keen to meet you!

Obviously, its not always easy to gauge a person's real personality from a profile and a few nice photos. And obviously we all put up our best photos. I'm still suprised she contacted me in the first place - friends say I sell myself short but they haven't seen my profiles, I don't think they're particularly good. You have to sell yourself, and one of my major assets is my extraordinary modesty so it's tough to know how to stand out without looking like a cock.


Despite the security of browsing a list of photos and contacting potential dates from a shopping list, I still prefer to meet someone in 'real life'. Where you can start by just chatting without the prospect of evaluation hanging so obviously over your head, and where you maybe move into that realm having established a real connection. Where you meet through some mutual friend, situation or interest, rather than having been randomly placed in a list. But my profiles stay and who knows what's around the corner.

Although, of the 'first dates' or 'meet ups' I've had, the most relaxed have been over a couple of drinks rather than 'coffee' (I don't drink coffee, which might be the first issue). So maybe I should stick to the bars!

Anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained; it was an interesting experience.


But if you're an attractive, single twenty-something female well, um ... hi!