I think about Diane Keaton a lot. Recently, I’ve been thinking about her more. I’ve been contemplating her life and the stark, deliberate choice she made to embrace her singlehood and herself, and as such, hasn’t been on a date in over 35 years. She decided this when she was my age. Hence my contemplation.
Her decision feels empowering; her refusal to engage with prevalent dating norms is inspiring. Her decision to actively reject the compromises that often accompany dating and romantic partnerships has me considering my own options.
It’s not that the concept of romantic love no longer holds appeal to me. At all. It’s that the feeling of romantic love feels nostalgic. Not just to me, even, but to society. I think collectively we feel rejected and dejected; that love doesn’t exist, not really, and so the contemporary dating landscape feels less like a genuine pursuit of connection, and more like a transactional experience, or an invitation to settle.
Dating feels functional; an endless scroll of profiles designed to foster continuous engagement, rather than facilitating meaningful connections – regardless of what certain app straplines may tell you. Sure, there’s a promise of finding a compatible partner. But in my experience, it’s overshadowed by a pervasive sense of low-grade anxiety. People approach dating in a much more selfish way now, I believe, and it puts me in a state of constant guarded awareness. I can’t enjoy the dating experience when it’s now a system that encourages a cycle of fleeting validation, rather than an opportunity to cultivate genuine intimacy. It prioritises superficial interactions and quick emotional gratification over the development of deep, lasting bonds.
And so, I’m contemplating removing myself from the dating pool entirely.
I’ve actively dated for about a year now and I’ve tried dating apps, and the men I have encountered within this environment and beyond often present a recurring pattern: a performative display of self-awareness, coupled with a lack of substantive personal development. They frequently employ the language of therapy and self-improvement, which aims to provide a sense of safety in who they’re talking to. They’re self-aware and have done the work they need to heal their wounds, so they can show up as a better partner to me, maybe… Yet, their actions fail to reflect genuine transformation, and there’s a noticeable disconnect between their articulated intentions and their actual behaviours.
And, reader, this hurts and disappoints me every time. This makes me feel incredibly weary and disappointingly subjective to a perpetual, unproductive cycle. I don’t want to be a part of it.
I enjoy solitude, and so the temptation to withdraw from dating to live my best Diane Keaton life is strong. I’m already constructing a life defined by personal autonomy and I find immeasurable contentment in solitary pursuits, intellectual engagement and self-reliance. I don’t require external validation… And yet, I am but a mere mortal, and the desire for genuine connection, for a sense of shared vulnerability and mutual understanding – love – persists.
There is likely a middle ground to be found; a space between the compromise of a draining dating experience, and the starkness of complete isolation. I’m a social creature, after all. I enjoy meeting new people, and I am a big believer in love. So, this is where my mind lingers. And compared to my contemporaries, who are either happily married, in fulfilling relationships, or enjoying the dating experience for reasons I find unfathomable, it feels like I’m the issue. But, dear reader, I don’t think that I am.
Maybe I am simply too impatient for the patience required to find my person, which makes sense; patience feels unnatural in our instant-gratification culture. Or maybe I am simply tired of being so hyper-aware and on guard; constantly sifting through information to discern genuine self-awareness from its performative imitation is, after all, a full day’s work, and I am already so busy.
I crave safety and stability, and I can provide those for myself. I am open, vulnerable and have done the work and healing needed to know who I am; flaws and all. I have a deep understanding of my own emotional landscape. I have platonic relationships with people who know I listen without judgement, I offer support without expectation. I recognise the shared humanity in all of our vulnerabilities, and don’t treat them as weaknesses to be exploited; like I say, I crave safety and stability and a reflection of my values. And dating doesn’t provide that for me.
However, the path of complete solitude feels definitive, despite its allure. While I do enjoy that I’ve cultivated my own internal landscape, where I’m free from the demands and expectations of others, and am revelling in building a life that is entirely my own (defined by my own values and priorities), I wonder if I’m being too rash. Dating is an emotionally turbulent experience, and I have already been so hurt and traumatised by men; maybe I simply crave the kind of peace and stability that only I can give.
I definitely have the capacity to radically accept everything that comes with being alone. I have embraced solitude and gone on a wild journey of self-discovery and am so comfortable with who I am. I am self-sufficient, and I already find fulfilment within myself, without relying on external validation.
But there is also love.
The tension between these two paths is a constant hum in my consciousness. I do have a desire for connection; for the shared intimacy of a meaningful relationship with someone who respects my autonomy and understands I want the freedom to define my own life.
Ultimately, I imagine I’ll just keep going as I am. Preparing for a life of solitude, and welcoming romance if the universe provides. Life is, after all, about listening to your own heart and intuition, and being a human is to be a walking, talking contradiction. I accept that the answers to what I’m writing may not even exist; or if they do, I’ll find them in the ongoing process of self-exploration and the world – and its people – around me.