“You said you’re dating intentionally, right? What does that mean?”
A few months earlier, I’d decided to make a real effort in dating after years of wishy-washy cycles on Hinge. I approached dating differently this time, writing five pages describing what I wanted in a partner. And not just “kind eyes, dark hair” but specific characteristics, values, and actions. I kept a living document, adding, removing, and reprioritizing line items as I went on dates with men and left with more clarity. I even added scenes from the life I envisioned: languid mornings drinking coffee in bed; sitting in our sunbeam-strewn backyard, holding hands and enjoying the sound of trees rustling in the wind.
However, laying in his arms, I struggled to remember the details of my manifesto. The closer I was to him, the harder it was to see clearly. Not blind, but everything tinted with the warm glow you get one glass into a full-bodied Brunello.
He was a star and his gravity pulled me, a nearby meteor, into his orbit. As I nuzzled my face deeper between his chin and shoulder, time and space morphed, altering my trajectory. The closeness stretched and distorted what I wanted like light near a black hole. All of my deliberateness collapsed under the intense pressure of chemistry and scarcity.
I figured that by defining what I wanted precisely, I could stay more grounded when dating. I could be more efficient and get to those lazy mornings sooner. It was also a form of self-protection. When things didn’t work out, it could be less “he doesn’t like me” and more “it’s not a match.”
“Dating intentionally” means dating with a clear purpose. And for me, that purpose is to be deeply vulnerable and grow through intense, transformative connection. And I was getting that in this relationship, for what felt like the first time. But he was dating intentionally too.