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Now, let’s get to good ol’ fashion luuuuuurve.
“God, can you send me a man the good old fashion way?” I wait for an answer on my hands and knees like a good Catholic girl and…nada.
“It’s ok, God, I know you don’t work this fast.” I stand up, return to singlehood, and wait. I wait and wait and then realize it’s been over 6 months since I’ve been on a date. Back on my knees I go.
“Ok, God, maybe the good old fashion way doesn’t exist anymore,” I muse, shifting my weight from one knee to the other “and I should give online dating another shot. That’s what you’re silence is telling me, right? Right!”
Convinced, I launch the POF app and edit my old profile, adding current photos, a new location and an updated bio. I know what I want now more than ever, I have no qualms sharing it with the men on POF. I smile, ready to meet someone fantastic. I’ve done the work, I’ve healed, and I’m excited, dammit!
“This time will be different,” I say to myself, “and I’ll meet my future husband, not just my future fiancé.”
It doesn’t take long before I receive messages. Only most of them are comprised of 2-3 words with terrible grammar to boot.
“hey boo”
“hi”
“your hot”
How hard is it to press Shift+H, man? And it’s “you’re” not “your”!
Days turn to weeks and online dating begins to feel like a part-time job that I’m forced to clock into because the rent is too damn high. I spend hours perusing the profiles of the men that have messaged me because I want to meet someone that aligns with my values, not just my hotness. And that’s THE WORST about online dating: all men believe they have a shot. They sit on their smartphones, emboldened, and hit the chat box with a “Damn mami!” without reading the very specific likes and dislikes I stipulated on my profile.
I said I don’t want to date anyone that is overweight or over 60. How hard is it to read, man?! And please don’t call me, Mami.
This is what it is to be a single, 42-year-old heterosexual woman in NY on a dating app — at least for me. And I wonder, is it me? Do I need to shift my mindset to meet my future husband on Tinder, POF, Hinge, or (enter the hundreds of dating apps here)?
Let me explain: this isn’t the first time I’ve prayed to God to send me a man the “good old fashion way.” And folks weren’t swiping right and left in the olden ages. I’ve even said, “My future husband isn’t on a dating app,” which means I’ve already made up my mind: I am not meeting my husband on a dating app despite how many times I refresh, update and log onto my profile. This was my belief system even when I met my ex-fiancé on POF in 2014. So it’s no surprise I haven’t met the Future Sujeiry Gonzalez on an app, and that my ex-fiancé/baby daddy and I never actually made it down the aisle. So, why am I wasting my time? Why not stalk supermarket aisles instead?
We’ve all heard it before, thoughts become things. And I’ve always been attached to a more traditional love story, even flinching when I’d tell people how my ex-fiancé/baby daddy and I met. I want to meet Future Hubby at church, the beach, or the supermarket, so our love story can be more like this:
Boy meets Girl in the candy aisle, they lock eyes when reaching for a white chocolate and hazelnut bar, and Boy is thoughtful enough to let Girl have the last bar in stock. Girl is so smitten that she splits the bar in half so they can both partake in its sweetness. And the rest is history.
IS THAT TOO MUCH TO ASK FOR?
I don’t think so. I just have to believe it. I just have to visualize it. I just have to stop settling for less and going against the very thing that I say I don’t want - meeting a man on POF, Tinder, Hinge (enter the hundreds of dating apps here). Because then I’m giving God mixed singles. As much as I ask Him to ship my Future Hubby like a UPS package, I take control and try to find him myself. That doesn’t mean I should stay home like a monja (nun) and never leave the house. It just means that I shouldn’t force it when I do meet someone and that I need to wait for God to deliver.
In the meantime, I continue to work on my personal growth and my writing. Instead of swiping right or left, I am turning inward and remaining single. And maybe, just maybe I’ll meet him one day in the snack aisle.
Love this story. Thank you for sharing ❤️ 😊