I looked over my chipped teacup, wondering all the while what the point of this conversation was. I think I thought I was enjoying myself.
Maybe I was.
Maybe I was playing into the witty banter of getting to know a handsome stranger, not caring how in this moment nothing we said actually held any substance.
But I suppose substance on the first date is a rare occurrence. When I go on dates, which is quite also rare, I feel like I am 16 years old girl- not a 29 almost 30 year old woman who has traveled, seen the world, fought many battles, and has lived to see another day.
When I think about dating I think of a maze that everyone wants to enter, that everyone needs to enter, but no one can actually find their way out.
It is probably incredibly pessimistic of me to believe this concept. But my mind immediately goes to this image- are we all mice trying to find the prize we see in our mind, feeding our ego that maybe, just maybe, there is someone out there that you mesh with enough to want to see them everyday of your life?
I hate dating. I can talk to a goddamn rock, but as I have gotten older I realize there are so many fucking rocks to sort through. And every time I feel like an egotistical ass for believing this, yet here I am. I am trying to flip the narrative in my brain.
Short circuit these images of no hope and paint the new story of an Anna that is learning what she wants in a partner, she is interviewing for the position, she is in control... when for so long I let others have power over me.
I am trying. Ooof let me tell you I am trying to flip this narrative.
Another date, another "no", another stab to the ego,
I am still here smiling.
Even if I don't believe what I am about to say, I nevertheless say it to the clear eyed woman in the mirror,
"Well goddamn Anna, on to the next shall we?"