On caring
There is an apathy that can poison our interactions with one another -- in particular, when we're playing mating games. How often does one mate signal, how often does the other respond? To how many other potential mates does the initiator signal, in hopes of spreading his or her genes? How many suitors does the signal recipient reject? It resembles the strange rituals of birds looking for partners -- calling and twittering at each other, puffing up their coats all the while. There's an anxiety that we humans attach to this process and I wonder if birds feel these jitters, too.Â
Online dating can accelerate and multiply this anxiety. At least at the beginning, when we still carry our faith in humanity while seeking love IRL and online. Some if not many of us hope for something better as we send virtual signals to one another.
But these jitters subside with time and with each bad date. Eventually they are replaced by apathy and, later, perhaps by a general, cynical hopelessness. We give up on seeking chemistry on machines that watch all over us without care or loving grace. The sheer volume of potential mates and the rarity of a true connection turns the entire game into a chore. And then our communications peter out.
Inspired by Kat from Ten Things I Hate About You, hereâs a little poem:
Ten things I hate about online dating
I hate the way you message me And the way you say 'Sup, girl.' I hate the pickup lines you use It makes me wanna hurl.
I hate your blunt misogyny And the way this feels futile I hate that there are so many of you Are any of you worthwhile?
I hate the way our texts slow down I hate that things just die I hate that I can't get excited Even worse, when talks are dry
I hate the way no one's around When it really, really counts. But mostly I hate the way I don't want to hate you, Because I want to like you, maybe love you, as silly as it sounds.
In an age when apathy equals cool it takes so much to keep wanting. It becomes to hard to give, to be willing to receive and to want to love. When every effort is so often met with the lack of effort of another it becomes an endurance sport to keep trying. Each time you fall for someone and the other can't be bothered to give back you feel like a child who was pushed to the ground, angry tears streaming down your face in frustration.
But then, after 608 days of frustrations, distractions and pointless interactions, someone starts to care more deeply. He catches you by surprise. And so you look up and stop whimpering.
Caring as an action, not a text
The day before my birthday, Ilya traveled 14.3 miles from his home in Chelsea to Brighton Beach and 8.3 miles from there back to Prospect Heights to put a smile on my face.
He had made three phone calls -- a total of about five minutes of Russian spoken -- Â to find me a random and beautiful gift that was as hilarious as it was delicious.
It was a box of chocolates, the kind he'd gotten excited about as a child. There were 12 boxes of chocolates inside this box of chocolates, each containing nine pralines. A total of 108 pieces of brown, sugary joy.
It was a gesture from a stranger, who'd met me just a few times. It was the am gesture of a stranger who was excited by another stranger. And with that one gesture he made me notice him.
We had texted each other zero times before that.
And with that one quantified but really not quantifiable data point, I want to put this blog to rest. Iâm starting a new project about identity and data which Iâll tentatively name âQuantified Selfie.â Eventually, Iâll try to host the project at http://quantifiedselfie.us/
Thanks for listening.Â
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