Dazed and Confused

When I go out on a date for the first time, I do my best to listen, and focus on this brand new person sitting across from me.  Simultaneously, my brain is firing a list of questions.  “Am I ok with his big fluffy hair?”  “Does he notice the makeup-disguised bags under my eyes?”  “Does he think I’m funny?” “Do I think he’s funny?”  I do my best to snap myself back into the moment, and go into “learner” mode (a nod to a book I’m reading) vs. “judger” mode.

The Belgian and I dated for just over 3 weeks, one of which I was out of the country.  By any measure, not long.   He was smart and quirky (liked), talked a lot about his vision and philosophy (didn’t like), good looking and tall, (yup, liked), ambitious (liked), slept in a gauzy-curtained canopy bed (uh, wasn’t sure what to do with that one), and wanted to be in a relationship right away (did not like).

My feelings for him were a giant bucket of confusion.  We were in communication pretty much every day, but what we actually talked about I couldn’t say.  We kissed considerably and we kissed well.  I never imagined myself with someone like him, but I did find his ridiculously sunny outlook endearing.  His ability to communicate was hampered by his lack of command of the English language, which, in turn, fired my brain to color in whatever I wanted him to be.

After Thanksgiving and my trip to Norway, I found myself in his apartment and in his arms.  And more confused than ever.  Over the next few days, we both were preoccupied.  The next thing I know, I’m getting a text, written at midnight, asking me what the problem was.  Huh?  I didn’t know there was a problem.  The following day I received a long text saying “he was confused about our relationship, didn’t know what I wanted, wasn’t sure if he was the right man for me…”  The thing I admired the most about The Belgian was the same thing that was coming back to bite me.  He was unapologetic about putting his feelings out there, and I, subsequently, became enamored with all his enamoring.

But now he was forcing my hand, and after just three weeks, I had to admit, it was just too much too soon.  I told him I liked him, but that I didn’t think we wanted the same things.  I’m sad.  I will really miss The Belgian.

Back online.  A few swipes right, I’m off to another meet and greet, and another Head Full of Doubt.





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