Death Cab For Chelsea

It's a facepalm of a moment when someone else tells you that a both famous and formative band like Death Cab for Cutie is from Seattle; it's something you should have known long ago and probably did since you're, you know, from there. But things get forgotten. Things slip away. There are too many bands in the world to know everything about, and Death Cab For Cutie isn't one that I've chosen to spend a lot of time with during my twenty-three years. Plus, for the record, they're from Bellingham. However, this isn't an apology for my ignorance. This is something of an introduction and I will now move myself along to the main topic.

I went on a date. 

Might not sound like much, but if you read the Star Tribune, you would know that I've never done that before. The male half of our population has given me anxiety for as long as I can remember. Romantic relationships live in an area of my world that I've left decidedly unexplored. I've had coffee or this or that with someone or the other here and there, but not with anyone I cared about enough to call it dating. I have this idea that I can't shake: I won't consider dating people unless I liked them first. My lifespan from tweendom to adulthood has been full of unrequited crushes on boys or men I was too scared to do anything about. I always want to like someone first. I want to choose who seems deserving of my attraction, not grow an attraction to someone I don't know. I guess this is why I've never thought dating would be for me. That's exactly what the definition of dating is. 

This guy my friend decided to set me up with came from somewhat of a cosmic experience. I had seen him in the skyway once with a gut feeling it wouldn't be the last time, and the next thing I knew, my friend told me they worked together and that his name was this and he was from here and he was interested in this, that, and the other thing, all Chelsea-approved. Adorable. Intriguing. Most likely worth my time for as long as we both shall live. She gave him my number and a week later we were sitting at a bar with two hours of conversation ahead of us.

I was about as interesting as a mailbox. I've always been able to talk myself out of nerves, but not this Friday night. We both seemed a little on-edge and not really sure how to make this kind of thing progress naturally (he actually asked me at one point if we were on a date, because he "wasn't sure what this was"), and of course I spent the next two hours as my completely awkward self that I can't apologize for. I can't apologize for feeling uncomfortable. Social anxiety is a part of me that grows and changes as I do, and this Friday evening, it was particularly prevalent. Silences came and went, especially when he said something about Death Cab For Cutie being from Seattle and I went "uh huh," and then momentary vacillation before a parting hug. The date was over.

The night's events probably sounds perfectly normal for most people reading this. Everyone keeps telling me first dates are always awkward, but I don't want this for my life. As I got in the car, homeward bound toward my safe haven of a marshmallow bed, the emotional breakdown began to heighten. Why society? Why America? What dating who likes when talk who for awkward what? Why does anyone do this? It didn't feel fair to me that I had to spend my first few hours with a boy that I actually liked and wanted to get to know stressing about what to talk about or act like. I missed the easygoing side of me that I must have left at home. I didn't feel like myself. I wasn't good at being myself, a surprisingly hard task under the right circumstances. I didn't want to feel like I had to impress him, but The Date imposed these standards. Cosmo says you're supposed to be cute, charming, clever, and flirtatious on first dates to make him want more, right? I was none of these things. He was most of them.

It's hard to evaluate the situation from anywhere but my view from a balcony of self-depreciation. I can't think of anything I did or said to make myself sound interesting or even worthwhile. Another aspect that makes first dates and beyond so hard is the unclear expectations. I don't know what he came in wanting from me, and based on our cluster of a goodbye, I don't know what he left wanting from me. Am I even sure how I walked away feeling? If I'm being honest here, and I think I shall be, I'm not sure. I told him as we sat there over a coffee porter and an Imperial rye that I wasn't sure why I wanted to hang out with him, even after he admitted to me that he had only entertained the idea of talking to me because he failed miserably the last time he talked to a girl long ago. It made me feel like practice. Like I could have been any girl off the street.

But could he have been any guy off the street? On one hand, I wouldn't have been on the date if I hadn't already been interested in him, as is my way. On the other hand, it was hard to treat him like I was interested because of my rampantly-running anxiety. I could barely make out full sentences. I was the worst kind of listener: the kind that listens to respond, not to understand. I've never been this way, and I was all too aware of it sitting there beside him. I spent way too long debating whether the awkwardness was due to a God-forbid lack of chemistry between us, or if what everyone said was right. First dates have always been awkward, and so this date can be nothing but awkward.

The day after, I remembered a story a friend of mine told me about the night she met her now-husband: same deal. Mutual friends had set them up, and it was disastrously awkward. But the grace in that story is found in the previous sentence: he's her husband now. In my past experience, the universe tends to have an odd way of bringing about what you desire in the most inconvenient way. While an actual marriage is on my list of "Things Never To Do In This Lifetime," I have to keep my chin up. I feel proud of myself to have taken this step—to have tested the waters, or taken a leap. I may never garner the gumption again to leap so far, so honestly? Date #1 may be the first and last of my lifetime, and through the unfortunately following series of events, I would be fine avoiding the awkwardness of ever seeing him again. I think.

Cheers to me and my future cat.