Chapter 2 #2
“The second one.” I’m impressed by her accuracy and relieved that I don’t have to explain the dynamics I’ve encountered over and over again. “She kept asking me to ‘talk more country’ and seemed genuinely disappointed when I mentioned having a college education.”
“This isn’t the first time something like this has happened.” It’s not a question.
“Third time in two months, even before Emma tampered with my profile after hacking my password.” I lean back in the chair, feeling some of the tension start to leave my shoulders as I talk to someone who seems to understand the problem without needing extensive explanation.
“I’m starting to think the problem might be my approach to dating in general. ”
“What’s your approach?”
Such a good question makes me realize how reactive my dating life has become.
“I meet someone through mutual friends, industry events, or lately, online dating. We go out, and the conversation eventually turns to what I do for a living. Then they either want to rescue me or romanticize me, and it all goes downhill from there.”
“So, you’re tired of being seen as a character in someone else’s story instead of an actual person with your own complexity.” Again her accuracy catches me off guard.
“Exactly.” It’s a relief to hear someone articulate what I’ve been feeling but couldn’t quite put into words about the frustration of being seen as a collection of assumptions rather than an individual.
“I don’t need anyone to save me from my life, and I’m not anyone’s noble savage fantasy either.
I’m a horse-shifter, and I’m not ignorant, backward, or uneducated as so many assume.
I just want to meet someone who’s interested in who I actually am. ”
“That sounds perfectly reasonable.” I hear her typing in the background. “Tell me what you’re actually looking for in a partner.”
Another good question, which I haven’t thought about clearly in a while because I’ve been so focused on what I don’t want.
“Someone who’s genuine, I guess. She has her own life and interests and doesn’t need me to complete some romantic fantasy.
She should appreciate I work hard at something I care about without needing it to fit into a particular story about what that should look like. ”
“Someone who appreciates genuine strength and isn’t afraid to show her own.” Her tone turns thoughtful.
“That’s a nice way to put it.” I find myself relaxing further because this conversation feels more productive than any date I’ve had in months and more honest than most conversations I have, period.
“I have an idea.” Her voice takes on a more businesslike tone, but it doesn’t lose its warmth.
“What if you could meet someone without any preconceptions about your lifestyle or background? No farming photos, no occupation listed, and no chance for either of you to build elaborate fantasies about who the other person should be.”
The concept sounds appealing and frightening in equal measure. “You mean a blind date?”
“A double-blind date.” Her voice carries patient explanation. “Neither of you knows anything about the other except you’re compatible on paper in terms of values and personality. No last names, no occupations, and no social media stalking beforehand.”
“That sounds uncertain.” I’m used to being able to research people before I invest time in meeting them, and going in completely blindly feels like jumping off a cliff. My whole business depends on careful analysis and risk assessment, and this goes against every instinct I’ve developed.
“Is it more uncertain than your current system?” There’s gentle challenge in her voice.
She has a point. My current system has produced nothing but disappointment and frustration, so maybe it’s time to try something completely different. “What’s the next step if I decide to do this?”
“I’d ask you to come in for a consultation so we can talk about what you’re really looking for versus what you think you should. After that, I match you with someone based on actual compatibility rather than surface-level assumptions.”
“When could I do that?” I’m surprising myself by how quickly I’m committing to this idea.
“Are you free tomorrow afternoon? I could do a video consultation around three if that works for you?”
Tomorrow. That’s soon enough that I won’t have time to overthink it or talk myself out of what might be either the best or worst decision I’ve made lately. “Three works for me.”
“Perfect.” I hear the smile in her voice. “Josh, come prepared to be honest about what scares you as much as what you want. The matching process works best when I understand both sides of that equation.”
After we hang up, I pour myself another drink and think about what scares me.
The honest answer is I’m tired of being lonely, but I’m also tired of pretending to be someone I’m not just to maintain relationships that aren’t working anyway.
I want to meet someone who gets excited about her own life instead of trying to live vicariously through mine, who won’t need me to be simpler or more complex than I actually am.
I think about calling Emma to thank her for the business card but then decide against it because she’ll want details I’m not ready to share, including about the date with Amelia. She means well, but her enthusiasm can be overwhelming, and I need to process this decision on my own terms.
Instead, I finish my drink and try to imagine what it would be like to go on a date where neither person has to perform a particular version of themselves.
The concept feels foreign after years of either hiding parts of my life or having them romanticized beyond recognition.
I won’t know anything about her, not even if she’s a shifter, until we meet and I can evaluate her pheromones.
She won’t know I’m a horse shifter either.
Will she be intrigued, put off, or just accept it?
I should tell Red I only want to meet another shifter to stay in some range of a comfort zone.
The silence in the hotel room feels less oppressive and more anticipatory now. Maybe Red is right. The problem isn’t that I’m undateable, but that I’ve been approaching dating like a business negotiation instead of a human connection.
My phone buzzes with a text from Amelia: Thanks for dinner. You seem like a really nice guy, but I don’t think we’re a good match.
At least she’s honest about it, and I appreciate that she’s saving us both the awkwardness of a follow-up conversation, where we pretend there might be a second date. Something’s refreshing about clear communication, even when it’s rejection.
I text back a simple: Agreed and good luck.
After it sends, I delete her number from my phone. It’s not personal, though it used to feel that way. We just wanted different things from each other, and there’s no point in pretending otherwise. She wanted a fantasy, and I wanted reality. Neither of us was wrong for wanting what we wanted.
Talking to Red about what I actually want instead of what I think I should want could be the beginning of something different. Something real that doesn’t require me to pretend I’m anyone other than exactly who I am.