MY BEST MATCH IS WHERE?

Why I deleted my dating website profile...

It is now officially mid-February. The smell of summer in the inner suburbs - a mix of stinky rubbish bins the day before collection and in the middle of a heatwave, and fumes from the not too far freeway - wafts through the open windows. No birds yet, only the sounds of traffic, curiously sounding like long-breaking waves or a busy airport with all sounds turned down wayyy low.

This has been to date one of the hottest springs/summers on record. During the previous eight years living on the Peninsula - at all times within a very short walk to the beach - summers had been non-events. Considering how much I hate the cold, each new one brought with it a promise of relief, of not having to pile on layers, not wearing socks and shoes.

Every one of those eight summers a disappointment. The hot Northerly once a suffocating summer consequence was now unappreciated, at times resented, for it arrived after crossing the expanse of Port Phillip Bay. Even the hottest of days never felt warm enough, the wind's cooling effect leaving only the sun's rays as heat-inducers.

Back in the city, I once again confront this hot Northerly most days. Stepping out of our air-conditioned townhouse, the first breath is a struggle as the blistering air enters my lungs. No fresh, salt-infused breeze this. It travels South over deserts and pasture lands, passing through vast expanses of suburbia before reaching us; carrying the dust of thirsting yellow grasslands; the stink of industry, the combined sweat of millions.

So I now find myself missing instead those not-so-hot summers. Because I have to wear shoes here, because we've not been near a beach. No picking up a towel and crossing the road to sit on pristine sand or at the end of a pier. Here, it's a trip to the seaside. No convenient strip shopping centres opposite the water either. Everything must be planned, things carried, a parking spot found and what if you've forgotten something, say a book to read? Bad f*****g luck.

People are more modest here in the city too or maybe more self-conscious? No ducking barefoot into the supermarket with a long singlet thrown over your bathers and if you're young, doing without even the singlet. We'd become attuned to the laid-back lifestyle; the no make-up, the lack of fashion-devotion. Most of all, the freedom to just be, without worrying whether you'd run into someone who would give you the once over and slot you in the discard pile because you were less than presentable. Everyone was less than presentable all of the time, which made us all equally presentable in our unpresentable state, see?

Not like the old male friend I ran into the other day in of all places, the local Health Food Shop where my son Dylan and I had gone in search of some organic ice-cream. There he sat, designer jeans rolled up to mid-calf, some fancy leather slip-ons, a tight 'slim-fit' shirt opened one button too many framing the perfect Mediterranean tan. Head lowered, he was enjoying some exotic form of neck massage.

And there I stood: thin, loose tracksuit pants hanging low on an apparently non-existent butt, a stained pair of runners and a shapeless singlet, my bright orange-coloured hair sticking out at all angles under the khaki cap I wore to hide the re-growth and my laziness. No make-up, just a rub of coconut oil over pale, still-wallowing-in-winter skin.

I recognised him, but sure, he struggled as he briefly glanced up; the quick once-over disappointing, perhaps confusing him? He asked for my mobile number after displaying surprise at my lack of social media presence. "What? No Facebook?" My son recited the number and the friend did some quick tapping on his iPhone screen.

"There. I sent you a text. Let's catch up sometime."

Of course he didn't send that text. I won't pretend he got the digits wrong; I'm too much of a realist to dismiss it as an honest mistake. Besides, the once-over spoke eloquently. I'd clearly been placed in the discard pile, which suited me fine, since I had no interest in anyone who placed people in piles; the whole judgement thing resulting in judgement on my part as well.

I can look like the rest of them, easy enough, all it requires is a more selective approach to clothes and some make-up. The very thought of wearing make-up and an outfit just to shop - and not for me, rather in case I am seen by some other fool who has to do it and therefore deems I have to do it too? No. I'd left those days behind and like I often say, been there done that, moved on.

I have no idea where the mobile phone is anyway; probably sitting in a forgotten spot, battery dead, since we've become collectively disinterested in its existence.

Also a certain je ne sais quoi kind of thing has recently descended on my thinking, and it isn't too bad at all. Perhaps hearing Allan Watts going on for days on end on YouTube (in the background as I write) about the wonders of LSD and how we're all just parts of a far larger organism anyway, so why bother trying to find "your self"?

Whatever, I simply move through each day cocooned in a bubble of... wait - I am in a bubble? What the hell? Am I?  I pondered the possibility. Had I removed myself so far from "life as they got it" that I now lived exclusively in my own head? Was I mad? Was I a suburban hermit? What if everyone else in my immediate environment disappeared and I lived on my own? Would I ever venture out? I'd need food and cigarettes, sure, but apart from the odd trip to the supermarket and the over-polite and non-English-speaking Chinese tobacconist who threw free disposable lighters at me every second day because I stood up for her when some other lady tried to pull one over, where else would I go? Where else could I go?

Suddenly, my desire for independence turned on its head and became a fear. I wouldn't go out anywhere? All those imagined road-trips and meticulously planned holidays...The Combi van and my photographing mailboxes for a coffee-table book... Crap. The image of an increasingly greying and wrinkled me sitting inside, chain-smoking and typing... My sons visiting occasionally, urging me to come out there...  "How come you never want to do anything, mum?"

Hey, but I'd done something! In my virtual mail-box sat dozens of prospective matches. Yeah, I'd joined a dating website some months back - well not really joined, since I'd refused to pay their "modest" ($160!!!) monthly fee and only had 'basic' access, - on a whim, or as I told my sons, for research purposes. I'd filled out the briefest profile, mostly one word - couldn't give a s**t what is expected - answers. The next day, prospective matches began parading, greyed-out male profiles in my specified age-range. (I've always had a bit of a thing for distinguished, elegant and eloquent, slightly older gentlemen.)

They started off being close, a couple in my suburb, some other few nearby. Gradually, over the weeks, the match-pool had widened to Portland and then Liverpool, Newcastle, Brisbane, Bundaberg and a place near Maxwelton, in Far-North Queensland. The poor algorithm was really getting desperate.

I barely moved within a five k radius these days. What the hell would I do with Ken, a cattle-farmer who "just happened to be outside (2,500 kms!) of my settings," according to the site, and who was "looking for an honest, (won't f**k my mates) "down to earth woman," (not too educated or questioning life's purpose or fashion-conscious since he only finished High School, only ever read the Newspaper, mainly the sports section and had a wardrobe consisting of several flannel shirts, four pairs of jeans and a pair of 'good' Blunnies for special occasions) "who enjoyed picnics and long walks on the beach. Kids Okay."

I clicked on him and then checked out his location on Google Maps. The nearest beach was two hundred kilometres away. Long walks on the beach? Should he not be saying long dusty drives to the beach? How long was a long walk? What would Ken and I talk about during these long walks? He was a cattle-farmer I was a vegan, so what would those enjoyable picnics consist of, food-wise?

And what's with the Wikipedia entry about chemical weapons supposedly stashed and tested near there during WWII? Hmmm. See, that's me right there again! Drifting from Ken to researching the evidence of chemical weapon testing in Australia, for over two hours!

Back to Ken, after cramming yet more useless knowledge in my brain. Honest and down to earth. Now that was really grasping at straws with me. Cliché aside, the phrase amused me. Poor Kenny. He'd been matched up with the most improbable of mates. I could be dishonest with the best of them, if the situation warranted it. 'Down to Earth' was a place I'd left behind so long ago I had no way of ever getting back... Did he see my profile too, was this how it worked? I hadn't checked the finer details.

I couldn't view his photo as I'd not paid the fees, (hoping he hadn't paid either, because in my case there was no photo to see anyway,) so I made it up: Tough, sun-weathered skin, slightly - or more than slightly - balding, and sporting a faded akubra; an alcohol paunch from the nightly beer-or-two-to-wash-away-the-dust ritual... Ken, I imagined, had finished High School and then taken over the family farm. No metaphysical wanderings, no large questions occupying his days, a simple, uncomplicated life... maybe a dog or two, following him everywhere? What the hell was wrong with him then, if he'd been matched up with me? Was he that unattractive? Was it his isolation, stuck with a bunch of cows in the middle of nowhere? Was he the result of a mother's exposure to some weird chemical during the nearby testing? Ugh. I wish I didn't know so much!

I was getting the remnants now, see. The 'best' matches had come first. The realisation that this magical algorithm was based purely on geographical location, rather than the tons of at times nonsensical questions I was pushed to answer and refused? That came later, after the net began to widen and I ended up with a Queenslander as my latest just outside my settings match.

   

Or perhaps his expectations were wayyyy out there? I read the last line again. "Kids okay". Ken was 59, so even my most generous calculations put the woman in her mid-thirties, maybe early forties, if one were to speak of kids as young children. Really Kenny? Maybe his 'age-group' expectation needed some minor adjustment... Like upwards by a decade or two?

Oh I'd clicked on the very first match also. Actually the second too, because the first was lover181 whose "eldest daughtet she been there in my lifean helps me to do things," and who was looking for a woman "To be romantic an a good sense of humor anto be able to have fun"

I definitely didn't want to go there because the first thing I would do would be to send a message asking him to fix up his grammar, maybe I'd even help him by cleaning up his profile. (Removing the (again imagined) can of beer from his hand, losing the 'I make cute babies' tee-shirt and the 'I heart Aus' cap. That was something I could see myself doing, purely to avoid facing spelling errors and embarrassing profile pics. It was obviously true that lover181 hadn't "read a book in a long time".

   

Fred, (number 2, no photo again) was really into it instead, having answered 507 questions so far, replying to everything thrown at him over the weeks, months... years? spent on the site. Did the rather obvious fact no woman could possibly be interested in trawling through all 507 answers not deter him in the least? What about a thing called data collection?

Freddy was in IT (?) and was also looking for someone "who is down to earth and has a good sense of honesty and reliability". It seemed to be a common theme. Was everyone screwing around on everyone? And how did one have a sense of honesty, or responsibility for that matter? Seriously, these blokes were so far removed from my distinguished and eloquent gentleman, I began to doubt whether such a person existed. Maybe I had imagined him too?

Anyway, they just keep pouring in, at least five or six potential suitors each day. I don't bother to click any more. Bob, Fred, Sam, Roy, Ned, Harry, Jeff, Rob, and even William, despite the tempting name, sit like rows of unveiled busts in my inbox. Their names yet another reminder that I am so f*****g old! Not a single Jaxon or Connor or Hunter or Tristan among them. Nope. Plain and simple, not the stock of hippies or New Age aficionados this lot, rather the products of staunch survivors of a World War and quite possibly, the earlier depression.

Not that names matter to me usually. Fred may well turn out to be a decent bloke, if I ventured further. Only I couldn't bring myself to say his name out loud without cringing: "Freeeeed! Dinner's ready, come out of the garage!" Yeah. The IT background had me conjuring up Fred in his garage... tinkering with motherboards and solder. Like my brother-in-law. Who also listens to ABC Radio, sports a bushy beard he scratches when in conversation and wears his pants belted too high? Yeah.

Still, the thought of me existing in a bubble... it hovered like a drone outside my window.  I kept checking to see if it was still there. I saw Venus, the bright planet low in the sky, ahead of the sun rising. But I saw the drone too, spying in on me, assuming an incriminating and reproachful presence.

Then there was the other side. Full of philosophical mumbo-jumbo, insisting I can be who Iam, that I need not conform to societal expectations and manufactured standards. I am truly a free spirit! So why not sit back and enjoy the moments see? I can be who the hell I am; I can live the hermit life, if that's what appeals right now. Like my recent philosopher-of-choice Watts said, and despite taking into account his musings were largely the products of LSD trips, "Some people just can't fit in."

... I deleted the dating website profile in the wee hours of this morning. Only because I clicked on Glen. I hadn't clicked on any matches for weeks now. Glen listed "air water and food" as the three things he couldn't live without. He was also thankful "for the ability to breathe" and the latest book he'd read was "Where to camp in Oz". (No profile picture.)

What I got out of this of course was an image of a rather/more than rather overweight greenie who spends a lot of time squeezed into a tent where he contemplates the wonders of nature as he sips from a water-flask and enjoys bites of beef-jerky, in-between taking long deep breaths... Also, despite looking for a mate who has "the ability to change and not live a rigid life", the one thing Glen wished people would notice about him was "how serious I am about life". Okay, I then added a book on 'Managing Your Finances' to the scene in the tent...

A couple of days ago, waiting for the lights to change, on our way to the University with Dylan (I was wearing a short denim dress and Converse sneakers, hair finally done!), a big red fire truck waited to cross in the opposite direction, directly in front of us. Three blokes in uniform sat in the front seat. One of them winked and smiled at me.

"Did you see that? Your mum's still hot huh!"

"Doesn't count. He was old."

"What do you mean old?" (He'd been in his late forties maybe, and in my eyes quite cute.Then there was the whole uniform thing...) "He was around my age!"

"Exactly."

"You calling your mother old? You should be proud!"

"Gross."

"You spoiled my moment of triumph!"

"Not going there. Stop!"

"You did!"

"I'm walking away now."

Enough. Really. My best match is in my head. I like my bubble. Bugger the drone.

Reviews

[. serah .]

-- haha... you have an amazing sense of humour... -- this is a very charming and insightful piece... -- i'm in a strange space right now... there's someone in my life but it seems like something's gone wrong and we're in different cities... so i really don't know if there will be a resolution soon... -- more importantly, i think it's tough to be with someone who is not into reading and writing... and is too obsessed with their external appearance... -- what you say very clearly, without quite saying it directly, is that the mind is the most important thing... not just of the other person... but also one's own mind... and if we are not experiencing a great deal of emptiness and are comfortable with who we are, then we don't necessarily need a match... at least not just any match... -- i don't know how to find the right sort of mental match though... i've been living in near-complete isolation since several years and i met someone around eight months ago because of a really strange and unlikely situation which cannot be repeated for the same results... -- my older brother is almost in the same space too... comfortable in his own skin and more than a little disconnected from what we call "the social scene"... but i don't think any of it has to do with numerical age... -- i think beyond a point, we just evolve into people who are not exactly typical or conventional...

-- just my thoughts after reading your post... -- i love the earnestness in your writing voice... it draws me in instantly and the things you notice in people and the way you join the dots to give the reader a complete picture is very engaging... -- thank you for sharing your experiences...

[Elise Anton]

Thank you again! I've always been a loner, even within my two 'failed' marriages. I think both those attempts came about by the pressure to fit in, to have that someone who tags along and makes things easy for everyone else? I am a lot better at being friends with the opposite sex...

You are spot on with reading beyond my words. Your mind is incredible. I took a light-hearted approach to something that's been bothering me for a while: People's expectations that you MUST be paired - their level of uncomfortableness when you are single in situations which require couples. Thus the blossoming of the many dating sites! I think also, someone comfortable with their 'aloneness' causes trouble for others, who may begin to question their own circumstances. Convention and history dictate that humans must walk in pairs. These days it doesn't matter so much what the sex of the partner is, as long as there IS a partner.

The one thing I sought and never found in any of the 'profiles' I clicked was "Someone to talk to". Seems pretty important right, yet not a single male rated this important enough to rank anywhere in any list... THAT bothered me frankly.

I hope your relationship sorts itself out. It will. Situations/emotions do not stay stagnant, life happens and resolutions are found.

I appreciate your deep insight, as always!

[. serah .]

-- you're very welcome... and thank you for your kind words about me... -- there is tremendous social pressure here in india to get "married"... and my brother and i are considered weirdos... lol... -- almost everyone in our extended family avoids us... and if they don't, then they talk to us about how important it is to get married... lol... and we laugh about it... -- also... as you said... sometimes we seem so happy that we're scary for people who are trapped in a not so great marriage... -- and you're right about 'talking' as well... it's by far the most important thing... -- it is what i am missing in my situation since the last few days and that's why i think there's something wrong... but i'm glad you reminded me that there will be a change... one way or another... -- i think the most important thing is to figure out what works for us... and follow our hearts... and like my brother always says... no relationship is far better than being trapped in a bad one, moving heaven and earth to try to make it work, and then failing and living in depression... he went through that just to "fit in"...

[Elise Anton]

It doesn't work. I always think that if you have to 'work' a relationship, if you have to 'get help' 'seek advice' and all the rest of the modern aids - if you cannot talk it through between you, then no amount of external influence can set it right. People don't talk any more. Too hurried, too tired, too distracted. It saddens me. Emotional connection should not be 'work'. It should not be 'difficult'. It should not need 'therapy'.

Sometimes I ask couples when the last time was... when they spent an amount of hours together simply talking - not about work or family or problems... just talking, exchanging ideas, impressions, dreams and reflections. I get odd looks. Like "Are we supposed to be doing this?"

I wrote something about this. I'll dig it up.

I too come from a culture that has certain expectations, so I fully empathise with the pressures you face...

[. serah .]

-- i would absolutely love to read your thoughts on how couples react to questions about real conversations... or just the importance of conversations... -- for me, conversations are very important... silence just slices my insides... and i think i have stopped 'fitting in' because people don't talk any more... they're too 'busy'... and i may even appear too 'needy' to them... (not to me)...

[Elise Anton]

I'll find the piece of writing. Give me a day or two and I'll post it. It was a couple of years ago, when I first started noticing the phones in peoples' hands...

[. serah .]

-- oh, absolutely... please take your time... -- i'll know whenever you post it...

[Richard Patrick]

it sounds like a story I had heard. A gentleman met a girl on line. He wanted to meet her. She told him, she would be there. He looked Hi and low to find her. She was not there, so he called the police to find her. He had no idea who she was? Where she lived? They told him, he should forget about it. He went to the press to have them find her.

They were sympathetic. What could they do. They put it on the first page, to find express the humor of this situation.