A Year in Rearview

Go on the second date they said, it'll be fine they said.

Desire in Disguise

Spaghetti with Cabbage, Fonduta & Nutmeg 2024

It’s rather challenging to recount progress, especially progress of one’s own. I don’t collect data and I wouldn’t be able to share stats. My journals might contain key information showing a considerable amount of growth. My gut tells me I’ve been listening to it. I went on a “blind date.” I only put it in quotes because I’m uncertain if it was a blind date at all. Perhaps it was an arrangement based on intuition. The last time I went on a date was 2021. A friend of mine placed a bug in my ear that they know someone I might be interested in, my gay dues needed to be paid.

“Just give him my number.” I shocked myself with the text I sent. I haven’t known this confidence within. There wasn’t a moment of curiosity to know what this man looked like. Implicit trust was placed in the good faith. I received a text, “Hey this is __________.” My pulse raised and knew I had to come through. We arranged to meet somewhere near Julius in the West Village. The temperatures had dropped considerably, but we were the same page. He drove in from New Jersey and I hopped on the A train headed to W4.

Walking up to the location, breathing became increasingly challenging. Maintaining rhythmic consistency was clouded by anxious premonitions. “What if this guy is a total knockout.” “What if when he sees me he’ll ignore my text.” “I can’t believe I’m truly meeting this person blind.” He approached me in a gentle manner, noticeably shy. We had a brief chat and agreed to take the conversation on the road. We walked from the West Village to the East Village. He shared with me his upbringing, his aspirations of owning a home in Vermont and his indulgence in CBD cigarettes. He has this childlike magnetism to him, a playful spirit and wink in his eye. My curiosity was peaked. We eventually took a seat in Tompkins Square Park and shared more intimate details. I told him about an essay I wrote about Grindr, he told me he’d like to read it. Soon after, we parted ways with a goodbye hug.

I tweaked the Grindr essay many times. I wasn’t afraid of the material, in fact, I believed in doubling down on the truths revealed within its contents. He read it and didn’t say much outside of, “thanks for sharing.” I managed my own expectations and kind of brushed it off. We texted over the course of a week and agreed to meet at his place in New Jersey. He told me on our first meeting how much a daily scone means to him and the joy it brings. I decided to make scones to bring over to his place as gift for hosting. After arriving, the initial shock of the gifted scones wore off once we were in his habitat. He’s clean, intentional and a generous host. As the hours passed the negging was gaining momentum.

His games were childlike in the way a child would be mean to their crush. At one point he turned to me and asked, “did you get your lips done?” I noticed my discomfort with his question. He wasn’t aware of my history with this line of interrogation. Only gay men ask me about my lips. He backtracked and said, “I mean, it’s okay if you got them done, I’m just saying they look good.” Did he want to kiss me? If you want to compliment me, tell it to me straight. Towards the end of our time he asked, “why do you want me?” I tried to answer in a sincere way with, “I think you’re funny, easy to be around …” Then it dawned on me, these are games he was playing. So I asked the question right back, “why do you want me?” He replied with, “to be honest, I’m just lonely.”

I gazed at him in the hopes that I could reconnect with that initial interest. Perhaps it was the thrill of the first meeting that held me. Attraction, possibly, was never apart of the picture. My actions were based on my drive towards self-discovery. I wanted to find myself in a new situation I hadn’t been in before. What he might have felt from me was some manifestation of desire. The desire I know is concrete in understanding myself. A new confidence emerged as I left his apartment. I felt a little silly but proud in retrospect. Here I was dozing off in the back of a Tesla on his dime content with progress.

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The driver of the Tesla looked back at me a few times from the rearview mirror. I caught her gaze and I think we were thinking the same thing or at least I’d like to think so. How did we get here? Choice, destiny, luck or any combination thereof. When I think about this year I think about storytelling and the relationship we all have with our lived experiences. If I went over to a man’s house (especially one I was interested in) in my twenties and it ended in a similar manner, I would have set myself down a path of self-destruction from disappointment. Something changed this year.

Living another year is a massive accomplishment and not wasted or taken for granted. This fall, I accepted the feeling of “plateauing.” Reaching a certain spot and continuing on with familiarity. In October I felt low, but not as low as I’ve been before. As I got out of the Tesla my feet and legs brought me safely the rest of the way into my apartment. My apartment. I can say that now. It’s a goal I wanted for a long time since deciding to move back to New York. As I pulled the sheets over my body my cat laid herself on top of my stomach staring at me. My cat. I remember when I got her six years ago on my mother’s birthday from the Napa animal shelter.

Before falling asleep I was in a laughing fit from the events of the night. There was a vibrational shift where I could actually see myself. I could finally appreciate the brilliance, accept the flaws, calm the nerves and embrace being alive. My perception of what happened and where I am all fell into place. I’m right where I need to be and I wouldn’t have it any other way.