Chapter 2
I sit up and yawn, reluctant to move anywhere at such an ungodly hour.
I showered last night and as I haven’t been working down the mines, I skip it this morning.
Keeping my pyjamas on all day is a far better use of my time.
I pull open the curtains and I’m greeted by the most miserable-looking July morning ever.
I watch the rain batter my windows then close the curtains again. It’s too early for weather.
Unsurprisingly, I’m still ruminating over Charlie Fox and my conversation with Naomi last night. It wasn’t so much that an old crush was getting married, it was the realisation that I’m still just as single as I was twenty-five years ago.
Since Jason, I’ve never become involved with someone with a future in mind.
I’ve had dinner in mind and sex in mind, but I’ve never imagined meeting the parents, choosing a ring, moving in together or even giving up a side of the bed.
I seem to have unconsciously built a little fortress around me, defending me from any future emotional attacks. No one comes in and I rarely go out.
But I’ve also built a life for myself. A career.
A home. The thought of inviting someone to share that life isn’t something I’ve ever given much thought to.
However, I don’t feel miserable that I’ve missed out on a great relationship because I was too focused on my career.
I love my career. I’m great at my job. I’m just starting to feel a little sad that I’ve never opened myself up to the possibility there was room for both.
By the time I’m on my second cup of coffee and the pastries have been reduced to atoms, I’m powering up my laptop. If Google can tell me how to perform a lobotomy, it can surely tell me how to find the love of my life.
There are 7,920,000,000 results. Of course, the ‘experts’ are top of the page but as I scroll down, I’m convinced that they are only experts at search engine optimisation.
Be happy! Happy people are more likely to find love. Yeah, then explain why my late Aunt Brenda, the most miserable human being to ever walk the earth, was married twice and had at least four affairs that we know of, including the minister who officiated her second wedding.
Don’t seek romance, seek partnership. Am I looking for love or starting a law firm?
Look to the stars! Zodiac compatibility. My moon is currently rising in absolutely fucking not.
Take time to be by yourself. How much time? Is forty-five years long enough?
Try online dating! I thought you wanted me to be happy.
Then come the articles about being more ladylike, learning how to cook for your man, wearing less make-up, and continuing with the myth that women cannot drive or pull mythical swords from stones . . . I might have made that last one up but I’m sure it’s out there, somewhere.
Just as I’m about to click off and go back to the lobotomy tutorial, I see an article in the London City News that catches my eye. 365 days of Yes by Alex Steward: How to find love in unexpected places.
Unexpected places? Prison, I think to myself. I bet he’s going to say prison.
Eye-rolling at the ready, I click on the link and begin to read.
Being a single man in your forties never used to be a problem. At one time we were proud bachelors. Sophisticated. Out there being manly, mixing martinis and sewing our wild oats. Casually dating but never committing.
Nowadays, it’s a red flag. Never married? No children? Avoid like the plague. Cries of ‘There’s obviously something horribly wrong with him!’ echoing throughout the land, while my mother sits quietly, wondering if there is any hope left for me at all. Sometimes I wonder that myself.
My bachelor status wasn’t a deliberate choice. At forty-three, my oats are no longer wild, I don’t like martinis, and above all, I don’t want to be single any more.
My dating life has always been quite active, especially in my thirties when I had disposable income and great hair, so I’ve never had a problem finding someone. I’ve had a problem finding ‘the one’.
Advice from my circle of friends varied. From shoulder shrugs while mumbling ‘no idea, mate’ to recommending self-help books on how not to die alone, finally some useful guidance was offered by my oldest female friend.
‘It’s like the definition of insanity. You’re doing the same things over and over expecting a different result.
Meeting women for the sole purpose of dating is just, well, a bit desperate.
Your ideal woman might be living in a different city, with different interests.
Forget about dating. Broaden your horizons.
Agree to do things you wouldn’t normally do.
Accept invites to places you wouldn’t normally go. ’
This resonated loudly. She was right. My dating routine hadn’t changed in years. Same places, same approach, same outcome. I’d hoped that if I just kept at it, my ideal woman would eventually turn up. It was obvious I needed to try something new.
I turned my focus away from dating apps and my usual boozy haunts. These had never produced any tangible results. I had to approach this from a different angle. I had to think outside the box.
So I gave myself one year. One year to say yes to everything.
Did I want to learn how to bowl? Nope. But I did it anyway. Two weeks of terrible aim and ridiculous shoes led to the opportunity to meet the attractive cousin of a fellow amateur bowler. (She dumped me three weeks later for being an android user. She just couldn’t get past it.)
Did I want to go on a five-day singles’ wilderness holiday, organised by a colleague? Absolutely not. It was a huge mistake. Camping is awful. I’d rather be single forever than publicly fail at building a fire again.
As the year continued, I soldiered on. There were pottery classes where I made a spoon rest, not knowing that a spoon rest was a real thing that I’ll absolutely never use.
Wine tasting where I discovered that all wines just taste like wine, and a trip to Venice where I audibly screamed at a large rat running over my shoe before it disappeared into the canal.
Did I want to spend the night in a haunted jail? Actually, yes, but that feeling soon passed when it turned out that the scariest thing there was the lack of toilet facilities.
My final yes required me to accompany my advice-offering friend to her sister’s student art show.
After forty minutes of nodding at exhibitions I didn’t understand, I met a woman who was as clueless about art as I was.
If I hadn’t said yes, we’d never have crossed paths.
We’ve been dating for four amazing months, and I’ve asked her to go on holiday with me. Anywhere except Venice.
I hope she says yes.
I’m full of both inspiration and admiration for this man. He made shit happen. He’s done more in a year than I have in two decades.
I’m quite excited. I can do this. I can step out of my comfort zone and say yes to new experiences, even if I hate every second.
Dating apps, group activities . . . Who knows, maybe along the way, I’ll find someone who makes my heart flutter even more than Charlie Fox ever did. It’s a tall order but I’m hopeful.
I’m still not saying yes to astrology, though.