The Wall

Is everyone familiar with the wall in marathon terminology? Apparently there is a thing called the wall that people generally hit when they are running a marathon. A marathon is 26.2 miles, and on average runners usually hit the wall around mile 20, give or take a couple of miles depending on the individual. Basically, this is the point at which the runner is so close to the finish line, essentially only 6 more miles which is small in comparison to the 20 miles they have just completed. However, at this point your body starts to break down, your coordination slows, and you just start to feel like maybe you won't be able to finish the race. What usually gets people through and past the wall to the finish line is the emotional acknowledgement that you've come too far to go back or quit now. If you just hang in there, you will accomplish your goal and finish something you were really passionate about. Something that had genuine flashes of merit throughout the process and definite moments of sheer torture. Well, for all intents and purposes I have to say that this blog has been like a marathon in dating of sorts. Back at the beginning of October I set out on this personal goal to go out on 50 first dates with 50 different men all in the hopes of learning the inside secrets of dating, what it was all about especially in a diverse place such as NYC, and ultimately hopefully maybe come out of it with a guy I thought was worth keeping around and maybe even falling in love with. There were no guarantees when I started and truth be told very little expectation. I just wanted to have fun and expose myself and in turn have a self taught education in the intermingling of men and women. It was a social experiment if you will, an anthropological study on the rules on dating in NYC. I have learned so much, but I think the obvious thing that I really didn't give enough thought to beforehand is that this experiment would involve real people all along the journey, including myself. With that, feelings would surface, emotions would be involved, the possibility of love might pop up once or even twice before the project was over. You're gonna think I'm such a nerd, which I am, but completely unpremeditately it seems I have hit the wall of my project. I even sat down and did the math. If you rely on good old fashioned algebra and put mile 20 over 26 in a marathon as compared with X over 50 first dates, you will find that the equivalent of the wall in my journey is probably meant to happen right around date number 38 give or take a couple depending on the individual. In that case, the individual would be me, and how many dates do you reckon I have been on? Yep, lucky number 38. I have 12 men left to meet and 12 dates left to write about. The number seems so small when I think about the 38 I have already been on, but now there is a guy who is making me re-evaluate this situation and question whether I should finish or not.

That guy is the Brit. He has been pursuing me aggressively for about the past five weeks. It's been awesome. I'm not used to a cute, charming, stable, funny, and even British guy to boot being so into me and so not all about the games and actually really honest with his emotions. Honestly there have been a lot of times throughout this courtship with him where I have felt more like the guy--the aloof one, the one that's hard to read, the one dating numerous other people while carrying on with him. I'm usually on the other side so it's been interesting to get all of this attention from someone I really like in return. It's the Friday after our talk on the waterfront, and the Brit has invited me to accompany him to a friend's birthday party in Brooklyn. I was all for going, but truthfully we had a bit too much fun at the pub the night before, and I am ready to just call it a day after work. I hate to back out at the last minute, but I text the Brit and ask him if it'll be okay if I just sit this one out, and instead we'll hang out the next day and go to the Brooklyn Botanic Garden. I'm expecting him to be a bit peeved, but instead he responds back understanding that I need to rest and tells me to just take it easy. This is what I really like about the Brit. He's so easy going. I'm relieved not be going out tonight. I need a night that is just all about me. I feel like I've been spreading myself thin, and I really want to think about the Brit's letter and come up with a proper response for him.

The next day I go to Brooklyn, and I meet up with the Brit. When I see him, his demeanor is different. He seems closed off and distant. There's no kiss, and he has his hands in his pockets so as to avoid having to hold mine. It's pretty obvious that he's trying to make a point. Not that it's predictable, but I think guys are really obvious. When they want you to know they're put off about something, the first thing they will remove is the affection. It's a very in your face way of saying, hey ask me if I'm okay. So we get about halfway up the street to the Botanic Garden, and I say, "Are you okay?" And the Brit immediately answers, "No. No, I'm not." I say, "What's wrong?" I ask him if he wants to talk instead of going to the garden. He suggests that we can talk once we get inside the garden. I say okay. We're standing on the street corner waiting for the crosswalk to change, and he grabs my hand and he says, "I find it very hard to stay mad at you for very long." I think this is a good thing, and I'm not really clueless as to what is bothering the Brit. It's the uncertainty of all of this. It's wearing down on him. I can see it. I'm the cause of this, and I don't like feeling this way.

Things are pleasant enough as we make our way into the garden. It's so beautiful once we get inside. The thing I am most excited to see is the Japanese cherry blossoms. They are totally in bloom. When we see them, I explain to the Brit that in Japan the blossoms are a huge deal. There's a good two week period in there where people go to parks and sit under the cherry blossoms and eat and drink and celebrate these flowers. The blossoms represent the transient nature of life because they are so beautiful, but they only last for such a short time so they must be enjoyed and cherished until they blow away never to be seen again. It's quite poetic really. Eventually we find a nice spot on the lawn to lay down on. I know this moment with the Brit is transient, but I don't know if our interaction is. That is yet to be determined. Finally I say that I've prepared a list of responses to his letter, but they're only bullet points so I'll just talk about them rather than reading them. He sits up to listen. The only thing I've been able to come up with is that I like him and I don't want to stop seeing him, I don't want to give up my blog, I need to get better with time management. Okay, I admit that this doesn't really take us far away from the lack of direction we had a couple of days ago.

The Brit seems dissatisfied. I'm getting the feeling that the only thing that would make him truly happy in this moment is if I were to flat out say, "I will give up my blog for you." But that's not what I want. However, I feel him breaking me down. I know that most people could be persuaded of anything if they're constantly being exposed to the opposite argument, and that's the thing. I haven't taken any time for myself to really think about what is important. I just keep hanging out with the Brit and being persuaded that this is the only way to go. We lay back down. I'm laying on my stomach, and the Brit says, "What will you gain by going on the last 12 dates?" I can't answer this question because they haven't happened yet. I don't honestly know. I just know that I want to for some reason. Maybe I am addicted to dating. If that's the case, who's to say that I'll be able to stop at 50. It's only an arbitrary number, right? But if that's the case, I should be able to easily stop at 38 as well, right? I don't know. I'm confused in this moment, and I just bury my head in my arms. I can't think what will make this right, what will please both of us.

Eventually we cuddle, and we don't come to any conclusions, and we carry on as we have been for the past 5 weeks, in a sort of limbo if you will. We finish walking around the garden until they close at 6 pm. On the way back to the Brit's place, Prospect Park is nearby so we stroll through. I have never been there, but it's amazing. It's huge just like Central Park, and it's a perfect day for strolling through the park. I feel constantly like I'm in a romantic movie with the Brit. He is gentlemanly and chivalrous and fun and silly all at once. We see a carousel, and we both get really excited about riding it, but it turns out that it's been rented out for a private party. Just as well. We probably would have been the only ones over the age of 8 riding on it. It's funny because as we're walking through the park, we smell people smoking pot on a couple of different occasions. I jokingly say, "Okay, and you wonder why I have this stereotype that everyone in Brooklyn smokes pot. Maybe it's because we've smelled it like a couple of different times here at the park in Brooklyn." After the park, we walk back to Park Slope past these really nice brownstones. This is a great area of Brooklyn. I could see myself living here someday. I ask the Brit if he would ever live in a pink house. He says, "Sure why not?" OMG, I've actually found a guy that would agree to this at least in passing. This is my kind of guy.

We are both hungry at this point, and the Brit takes me to the Chip Shop in Park Slope. This I absolutely love. It's a restaurant that is made up of all things England. It's so over the top, and I love the fact that I've been brought here by a real live British guy. Once we get seated, I decide to go for the haggis. I know it's Scottish, but come on. I've never had it before so I have to try good old sheep's intestines. When I try it, it is surprisingly tasty. I like it. The dessert is good as well. We get a fried Mars bar. I am having so much fun on this Saturday night on one of the numerous dates I've now shared with the Brit. And that's when it occurs to me that I wouldn't want to be here with anyone else except him right here in this moment. Sharing this with a guy that I'm actually really deeply into is far more fulfilling than being here on a first date with a guy who was just an okay time and who I didn't really feel a spark with. Of course, I would still have fun. I always do, but there is something to be said about and something I feel that is really special that is developing between the Brit and me. It's like magic!!

After dinner, we return to the Brit's place, and he pulls out his guitar, and we start having a sing along. We sing all the acoustic guitar classics like Stay by Lisa Loeb, American Pie, Wild World, To Be With You by Mr. Big, etc. The list goes on, and I find myself really loving these moments of simplicity in song. That night as we're laying together preparing to fall asleep I say, "My ex-boyfriend was a pianist, and we used to always have sing alongs. That's how I fell in love with him. You better be careful." And I know in my heart of hearts that if this continues, it wouldn't take long for me to fall in love with the Brit. He has so much of what I'm looking for, and he tells me he likes my voice when I sing--that it's very pure and American, and he always smells really good.

The next day, the Brit has initiated going to church together again. This is two weeks in a row, and this week is all his doing. One of his co-workers sings in the Brooklyn Tabernacle choir so he asks me if I want to go. I've been a couple of times before, and the choir is amazing. I'm totally up for going again with the Brit. Per usual, we're running late, and we grab some bagels to eat before hopping in a cab. We sit, and we eat the bagels on a stoop on the street corner. Again a very NYC moment, and that's when I realize something important. He's the guy. I tell him about how shortly before I met him, I had this image or idea in my head of the guy I hadn't met yet, and I envisioned him sitting on a stoop somewhere people watching and eating a falafel. That description fits the Brit to a tee because that's surely something he could be found doing and something I have found myself doing a derivation of with him on several occasions. When I am with the Brit I always feel like anything is possible because he's not closed off, and he's not one to put limits on anything or hold back from trying anything. In a word, I think I have met my match. And it's scary because I somehow am starting to feel that if I don't give up this huge part of myself, my blog, I may end up losing him. That's something as I'm sitting in my Sunday best eating this sundried tomato bagel on a corner in Brooklyn that I don't want to do.

We hop in the cab, and we make it to the Tabernacle. The main sanctuary is full so we end up having to go to this satellite room across the street. We see the Brit's co-worker on the big screen TV, and at the end of the service I bow my head to pray. Afterwards, the Brit tells me that when I was praying it was so cute. For a moment, I'm thinking, "What?" But then it dawns on me, the Brit really fancies me because when that is the case you love everything about someone. You love the way they talk and move and interact. Everything about them is special because it is a part of who they are. So far the only thing that has caused tension between the Brit and me is this whole blog situation. And spending time with the Brit is bringing me full force into the wall. When I first started my blog, 12 dates would have seemed like nothing because I was not invested in anything else, but now 12 dates symbolizes time away from the Brit and time connecting with other men. After church, the Brit takes me for ice cream at Uncle Luigi's. There's a long line so he tells me to grab a seat on one of the benches, and he'll get the ice cream. As I'm sitting there, he texts me that I look so pretty sitting there. He says I'm like the prettiest girl there. I write back that if he gets me some ice cream I'll love him for the rest of my life. It's playful, and it's cute, but there's something all so real at the back of it.

He comes over, and he brings me a mint chocolate chip ice cream on a cone. He has a sundae for himself. I like that the Brit likes watching me eat. This is something I haven't touched on too much, but I'm fond of telling people, I've always been a little bit top heavy and a little bit bottom heavy, and that's just the way it's always gonna be. That's what happens when you get the Asian height, and the white child bearing hips, but I came to terms with my figure a long time ago, and you only get one life so you have to learn to love yourself, and you have to surround yourself with people who love you for who you are. I think people are beautiful in all shapes and sizes. I think Hollywood presents an ideal body image that is unrealistic for the average American woman, but I've come to see through my dating that men are not necessarily opposed to women who are hipular, and many like knowing there's a little something to grab onto. In any event, I like food and enjoy eating too much to ever care too much about being a size 2. My feeling is always that if a guy doesn't like it, well, you know what? Don't look at it. However, on the whole I've found that most guys find it refreshing when they see a girl eating. Who knows? All I know is that it is fun to eat with someone you like, and as long as you're healthy and you feel good about the person you see in the mirror, that's all that really counts. Can I just say here and now that the Brit has fulfilled so many of my childhood romantical fantasies? He's taken me on a ferris wheel, he's strolled with me through a park, and now we're eating ice cream on a bench. He is such a prince charming but with a modern day rough around the edges touch.

After the ice cream, it's time to head our separate ways. The Brit is going to watch a basketball game at Madison Square Gardens. I haven't told him, but I am going for my second shot at speed dating. Time flies so fast when you're dating like a mad woman, but it was six months ago today that I went speed dating and met Mr. Handsome and the Cuban, and in my mind I kind of thought it would be a fun way to get some dates for the remaining 12 of my blog. As we're riding to Manhattan on the train, I suggest to the Brit that maybe we should take some time apart to think about things. He asks for how long. I randomly throw out 10 days. I say, "Can I have 10 days?" He agrees. We decide we won't contact each other, and we say goodbye at my stop when I get off. Immediately I am regretting this choice. I am missing the Brit. I don't want to go to speed dating. I am not feeling like I want to meet other men. I have hit the wall.

Brooklyn Botanic Garden: http://www.bbg.org/
Prospect Park: http://www.prospectpark.org/
The Chip Shop: http://www.chipshopnyc.com/
Brooklyn Tabernacle: http://www.brooklyntabernacle.org/
Uncle Luigi's: http://www.yelp.com/biz/uncle-luigis-brooklyn-2