Tag Archives: Anne Lamott

My Year on Unmatched.com

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12

Ooh, somebody, ooh (somebody)
Anybody find me somebody to love?
(Can anybody find me someone to love)

–Freddie Mercury (1946-1991; legendary British singer-songwriter, best known as the charismatic frontman of the band Queen; the quote is from their song “Somebody to Love.”)

Some people say that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery. Maybe so. Personally, I’ve never been one to imitate. I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum. Yet, way back in 2013, I ran across an essay by Anne Lamott, a New York Times best-selling author and one of my favorite writers. The title was straight to the point: “My Year on Match.com.” In case you don’t know about Match.com, don’t feel bad. At that time, I didn’t either. I’m not certain that I had even heard about it. After all, I was happily partnered and had no desire to know about online dating apps. But I like Lamott a lot and decided to read the essay to find out whether she succeeded in spicing up her life with a studmuffin that she picked up on a dating app.

As I expected, Lamott was as candid, witty, reflective, and self-deprecating as I had always found her to be. Indeed, her essay builds upon her experiences using an online dating app, but she takes it up a notch by exploring themes of self-discovery, resilience, and the importance of authenticity in relationships. It’s a well-structured essay as well as an entertaining read, so I started using it in my Creative Writing classes. It seemed to me that my students couldn’t do better than to imitate Lamott’s memoir style of writing.

Fast forward nearly a decade, and I found myself imitating Lamott, too, in a roundabout way. My partner had died at the start of 2021, and two years or so into my grieving, I started thinking that maybe I should try dating once again. Why not? Doing so would in no way diminish the special relationship that Allen and I had for 20 years. Doing so would in no way diminish the love that we shared and the love that I still feel. Irreplaceable is just that: irreplaceable.

At the same time, like all human beings, I crave companionship and connection, someone with whom I can share experiences, conversations, and life’s moments. Dating might do just that. Equally important, it would be great to have someone who understands, accepts, and offers a sense of emotional security. Dating might do just that. And let’s not forget about being able to engage in shared interests and activities, which can bring joy, excitement, vibrancy, and fulfillment to daily life. Gardening. Cooking. Hiking. Embracing. Kissing. Snuggling. Dating might do just that.

Those notions aren’t new ones for me. If you follow my blog regularly–and I am confident that you do–you will recall that I’ve written about this dating thingy already in my “Dating after Twenty-Three.” Obviously, there’s no way–there’s just no way–that I could have written a post as silly as that one without giving some serious thought to the prospect of getting back out there into the dating scene. You bet. I had.

Those ponderings were fueled, in part, by Lamott’s essay. After all, she and I have lots in common. We’re both writers. (All right, fine. I’m not a New York Times best-selling author, yet.) She’s single. I’m single. She’s looking for a man. I’m looking for a man. She wrote about her online dating experience, and here I am writing about mine. Her essay appeared in Salon. Well, mine is appearing here in my blog. Who knows. With luck, it might get picked up by The Advocate or Out Magazine or even Queerty. Simply put, I figured that if Lamott could bring dating apps into my world, so too could I bring them into your world.

However, I confess. Thinking about joining a dating app frightened the hell out of me. It was frightening for Lamott, too:

“I’d done so many scary things in my life, but this might be the scariest. At the age of 58, I joined a dating site.”

That sentence caused me to ghost Lamott for a while. I was downright nasty:

“Stop whining, Anne! You’re a SWF ISO SWM. So what if you’re 58? You can look ahead and behind and find some good stuffds.

“Try being a 76-year-old GWM ISO GWM in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia.

“Then and only then can you talk about scary.”

All right. I realize that maybe I need to pause here and explain some of those initialisms that I just tossed out. They might be as new to you as they were to me before I tried this online dating thingy.

● SWF ISO SWM stands for Single White Female in Search of Single White Male.

● GWM ISO GWM stands for Gay White Male in Search of Gay White Male.

And, please, please, please, let me explain one more initialism for you in case life makes you take up with a dating app. RN does not stand for Registered Nurse as I, in my naïveté, believed. It stands for Right Now. I will say no more. But I will advise you to be cautious of that initialism unless, of course, you’re looking for RN.

Then, of course, there’s another initialism I should warn you about in case you decide you’re going to imitate me. Dating is fine and dandy, but what I’m really looking for is a date that might become a serious and meaningful relationship that might lead to a Long-Term Relationship. Toward that end and with the intent to be fully candid and transparent, I included LTR in my profile. Bad move. I discovered that in many circles, LTR stands for Leather. Now I know. Now they know. I limit mine to my shoes, my belt, and my book bag. My profile now reads: “ISO meaningful dates leading to possible Long-Term Relationship.”

Finding out the deeper meaning of LTR and RN might well be my most frightening discovery in my online dating experience. I mean, after all, I fell for it. At my age, who wouldn’t look more than once at a man who’s a registered nurse. Well, he wasn’t, and I’m still lookin’.

Notwithstanding near-encounters of the casual, leather kind, I’ve been imitating Lamott for nearly a year, and I certainly have a thing or three to share, and I’ll do so right here, right now. So, let’s see. How shall I begin to spit out all the butt-ends of my dating ways? It’s simple. I’ll begin at the beginning when I, armed with nothing but a smartphone, unbelievable naïveté that borders on stupidity, and a questionable sense of humor, tackled a virtual world of dating sites, each boasting to be the ultimate game-changer. Check out their come-ons:

● Love: Only a Click Away. (This might have been where I was introduced to RN.)

● Start Your Love Story Today. (Sadly, everybody out there seems to have a love story. Most are tragedies.)

● There’s much more fun after 50. (Says who? Take me to your leader. RN.)

● A shared interest is just the beginning. (Yep. I’m pretty sure this is where I found LTR. Not shared. Not interested. Next.)

● This is the year to focus on yourself, boost confidence, and attract genuine connections! (Sure. 899 views and 12 likes. What a confidence booster. Those numbers really pump me up.)

● It’s never too late to experience the beauty of togetherness. Join today and find that special someone who will make “together” your favorite place to always be. (Sweet. Sure. Gimme time to buy some Velcro.)

● Don’t waste more time on casual flings. See who our experts match you with, for free. Take our free compatibility quiz today!

I learned fast that the assessments tend to be pretty reliable. I learned even faster that “free” isn’t. What’s the point of belonging to a dating app if I can’t see profile photos and can’t message? If you want to see and if you want to say, get ready to pay. Like I said, “free” isn’t. Everything comes with a price, including online dating.

Then, I learned that online dating isn’t as secure as I expected. Scammers sneak under the radar. Check out this one.

“Hey. I just met my new boyfriend. Otherwise, I’d like to connect with you. But I showed your profile to a friend who likes you a lot and lives near you.  Here’s his email: IHopeYouFallforThis.net.”

What else? Despite the sophisticated assessments and matching algorithms, all of my matches around my own age look like frogs! As for the ones that make my heart pitter-patter, most are in California or New York City. But guess what? Those potential matches are usually way younger than my age preference. I’m not interested in guys under 45. Forty-five is calculated based on a scientifically established compatibility formula: half my age plus 7. Anyway, some of those guys nearly threw me into AFib because sometimes they threw me a wink or a smile. But here’s the thing. Just as soon as I revived myself with smelling salts and mustered up the courage to return a smile, they had disappeared. Well, it doesn’t matter anyway. I’ve decided to use my own formula for calculating the lower compatibility age for my dates. I’m thinking along the lines of half my age + half my age + “guaranteed annuity.”

Don’t get me wrong. I have had some near successes. I’m thinking about the match who was a year older than I, had a chiseled face, and checked off all the right boxes in all the right places. He kept me awake, dreaming about endless possibilities until I dozed off with endless possibilities chasing me in my sleep. I “liked” all of his attributes. He “liked” all of mine, too. We were a perfect mutual admiration society. What did I do the next morning? What did I do? I logged back on to suggest a real-time date. And what did I discover? What did I discover? He had deleted his profile. Next.

Not to despair, though. One match remains, and one is all that it takes. Plus, he’s not a frog. Actually, he’s damned handsome and super butch. More, our compatibility scores are off the charts. I look and look and look. Yep. He seems perfect. But he’s three hours away, and he seems as cautious as I. Nonetheless, we’ve exchanged a smile or two, a “like” or two, and a message or two. Right now, I’m waiting to see whether he responds to my message that I sent him this morning inviting him to lunch. Rest assured, I have a strategy for how we can meet in the middle for a grand lunch, assuming that he answers and that his profile has not disappeared when I attempt to reply.

While I wait, hoping for the courtesy of his reply, if I were asked to rate my online dating experience so far, I would give it a big fat zero. Dating experience? When? Where? Oh, to be sure. I’ve had a few entertaining Vibe Checks via secure video. By mutual agreement, they did not lead to dates. Through one, however, I now have a newfound daily messaging buddy.

Believe it or not, I’ve actually had some fun. Right now, for example, Unmatched.com seems to be recycling all the profiles. I look. I scream:

“Seen them all! Seen them all already.”

Does it matter if I “liked” him in the past? Maybe his memory isn’t as good as mine. Maybe this time around, he’ll “like” me back. Hope springs eternal.

Also, I’ve learned a lot. I mean, really. I have. I just need to stop liking every Tom, Dick, and Harry coming down the app. Also, I think that I would much rather be in a bar seeing the eye-candy in person and in action. But, hey, I would probably end up with one drink too many and find myself at home with one of the frogs that I’ve managed to avoid successfully online.

But you know what else? Through all the ups and downs, the frogs and fleeting connections, I’ve discovered a treasure trove of emotions that transcend the swipe of a screen. Whether it’s the warmth of a genuine conversation, the laughter sounded over shared interests, or the spark ignited by a thoughtful message, each interaction reminds me of the beauty that surrounds me.

As I reflect on my journey through online dating, I’m reminded of the longing for companionship, connection, and shared experiences that initially spurred me into this adventure. Yet, amidst this pursuit, I realize the importance of staying true to myself. I know now more than ever that I’ve never been one to imitate. I’ve always marched to the beat of my own drum, and that’s a rhythm I intend to continue, joyfully chanting my blessings. My entire life has been filled with love, joy, and contentment. Until Mr. Right arrives, I revel in my autonomy, finding joy in my passions and savoring life’s pleasures independently. This journey has taught me the beauty of self-discovery and embracing life’s twists with open arms.

Cheers to adventure! Cheers to never losing sight of the magic, even on Unmatched.com.

Gr!t ’R Done!

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“The man who moves a mountain begins by carrying away small stones.”

Confucius, The Analects

Needless to say, I need not even ask what I am about to ask. But I will ask it anyway.

Do you ever feel overwhelmed?

“Who? Me?” I just heard someone ask.

Yes. You. Maybe. But let’s edge our way in to this just a little more before you decide, lest you decide too hastily.

I’m not talking about the way you feel when that last straw is headed right toward you, and you know fully well that it’s the one that will break your proverbial camel’s back.

If that’s the mell of a hess you’re grappling with, I’m really sorry for your streak of bad luck.

The overwhelmed that I have in mind is when you have a mountain smackdab in front of you. It’s ginormous. And you have to move it, and you have no idea how you will ever get it done.

Maybe, in reality, it’s nothing more than a mole hill. But perceptions are perceptions. If that mole hill is a mountain to you, then it is indeed your mountain.

Aren’t we masterful at turning our mole hills into mountains?

I am. You are. We all are.

And, at the same time, let’s acknowledge that all of us face real life mountains, too, that we have to move.

It’s when we’re facing our mountains–the real ones and the mole hills that we have turned into mountains–that we feel overwhelmed. That’s when we sigh or cry or moan or groan because at that moment we just don’t see how we will ever move that mole hill. We just don’t see how we will ever move that mountain. We just don’t see how we will ever get it done.

To feel overwhelmed before the mountains of life–real or overblown–is to be human.

This week, I’m feeling superhuman. Overwhelmed is on my mind a lot: it’s the next to the last week before my summer classes end. Also, overwhelmed is on my students’ minds a lot this week: they have reading assignments and a final discussion board forum this week and a final reflection essay next week.

(A word to educators who would be wise: abandon those ridiculous final exams. Replace them with meaningful final reflection essays. Reach out to me using Contact, and I will share proven strategies that have worked for me during the last four years.)

My apologies for that digressory jab at defunct final exam practices that continue to plague the hallowed ivory halls of learning. I couldn’t help myself.

Where was I?

Oh, yes. My students are feeling overwhelmed by end-of-semester assignments and by final reflection essays.

Guess what?

I am, too. It’s a mountain of work right in front of me, so close that I can smell the virtual submissions, so close that I can hardly breathe. And I have to get it done.

Let me define the preceding “it.” I have to grade all of that student work that’s closing in on me and smothering me, because I have to submit final grades two days after those final reflection essays are submitted. My mountain seems even larger.

Oh. Yes. I understand how it feels to feel overwhelmed.

I know, too, that my students always feel overwhelmed at the beginning of the semester. They have so much to do before the end.

I do, too. I’m their learning coach. I’m their learning cheerleader. I’m there to help them move those mole hills. I’m there to help them move those mountains. I’m there to help them get it done.

I always suggest some strategies that they can use to see themselves through to the successful conclusion that they hope to enjoy and that they can enjoy if they work at it.

Ironically, the strategies are always the same whether it’s the beginning, or, as it is now, the end.

Ironically, the same strategies work for me, at my beginnings and my endings.

Ironically, the strategies will work for you, at your beginnings and your endings.

Following these strategies can help all of us–me, my students, and you–feel less overwhelmed as we tackle our mole hills and our mountains.

A good place to start is by realistically measuring our grit. Please tell me that you know about grit. You do, right? Sometimes I have to explain it to my students, so let me explain it here for everyone’s benefit.

And yes: after the explanation, you will have a quiz! Don’t worry. (1) It’s optional. (2) Anyone who takes the quiz will pass.

Grit has nothing to do with IQ. It has nothing to do with talent. It has nothing to do with luck. It has everything to do with your willingness to roll up your sleeves and do the hard work always required to achieve any goal, usually a long-term goal, but it applies as well to short term goals. Grit is all about perseverance and passion.

I have always known about grit, but Angela Duckworth is the one who turned me on to the power and awesomeness of grit. She has turned lots of folks on to it, too, and when you get turned on to grit, get ready to get it done, whatever you need to get done.

I start my semesters by having my students take Duckworth’s 10-question Grit Quiz. Why don’t you take it, right now? Hot Tip: Be honest. No need to fool yourself! Not now. Not ever.

After my students find out how gritty they are, I invite them to share their grit score with the class if they wish. I am always amazed by the fruitful and honest conversations that follow. I just heard someone whisper, “What’s your grit score?” Thank you, but no need to whisper. I’m proud of it. I scored a 5. Did you hear me? Let me shout it again. I’m a 5. I’m as gritty as they grit. My grit is awesome. When I start it–whatever the “it” is–I’m going to stick with it until I get it done. Count on it.

After our class discussion of grittiness goes wherever it goes–and wherever it goes is always exactly where it ought to go: learning is always spontaneous, and spontaneity is always all right with me–I get my students hooked on Duckworth’s TED Talk: “Grit: The Power of Passion and Perseverance.” It’s powerful. It’s motivational. It makes you want to get down and get gritty. Go ahead. Watch it. It’s had 26,997,225 views. With any luck, this post might take it up to 27 million views! So come on! Let’s gr!t ‘r done.

As my students and I get deeper and deeper into the semester, I am always mindful that the journey that I am trying to make a fun and fulfilling one for them might start looking more and more like a mountain. Then I love to share with them little proverbs as little reminders that a little strength applied consistently and for a sustained period of time can bring staggering results. Maybe it’s as simple as “The man who would move mountains must begin by carrying away small stones” (Confucius, The Analects). Or maybe “Little Strokes Fell Great Oaks” (Benjamin Franklin, Poor Richard’s Almanac).

Then as research papers start to loom on the horizon, I up the ante still more and share with my classes the backstory for Anne Lamott’s classic book on writing and living, Bird by Bird. In the introduction to her book, she tells the story of her brother who had waited until the last minute to write his paper that was due the next day. Interestingly enough, the paper was about birds. Lamott’s father told him to write the paper bird by bird. Looking at the component parts and completing one part of the paper at a time made the whole project seem less intimidating and less overwhelming.

What Lamott and Franklin and Confucius and a gazillion others are offering up as a pearl of wisdom is a lesson in incrementalism: progress comes gradually, in small steps.

It works for my students. It works for me. It will work for you.

As the semester progresses and end-of-semester fatigue raises its nasty and unnerving head, I can see in my students’ faces the reflection of their mountains right in front of them. Then I know that I have to up the ante once again. I play for the class one of my favorite poems by Rita Dove–“Maple Valley Branch Library, 1967. It’s an incredible tribute to learning and to libraries and to librarians and to getting it done. It has an even more special meaning for me because Rita Dove read that poem at the White House on May 11, 2011. Former President Obama–who believes that poetry and the arts matter (and they do)–provides a masterful introduction to the power of poetry, with wry, charming humor as only he can do. Afterwards the poet reads her poem. Both the former president and the former United States Poet Laureate are genuine charmers. I’ll provide the link in just a second. Watch the video, please. (But not until you finish my post, or, if you insist on watching the video before finishing my post, go ahead. Just come back. I’ll be lost without you.) Rita Dove: 2011 White House Poetry Evening — introduction by Barack Obama.

Without exception, my students always love watching this video. Sometimes they even applaud. Sometimes they even applaud without mention of extra credit. The video inspires. It motivates. It makes them know that they can get it done.

Here’s how Dove empowers my students–and all of us– to come to that understanding. The stanzas that follow are directly from her poem. They recount the poet’s journey home, as a 15-year-old, carrying six volumes of knowledge–six books that she selected on her learning journey:

“I carried [the books] home, past five blocks of aluminum siding
and the old garage where, on its boarded-up doors,
someone had scrawled:

“I can eat an elephant
if I take small bites.

“Yes, I said, to no one in particular: That’s
what I’m gonna do!”

Overwhelmed? My students? Me? You? All of us?

Of course, we are. To be overwhelmed is to be human.

Thankfully, we’re not overwhelmed all of the time. But when we are, isn’t it great to know that we have wisdom as our ally–all the way from Confucius to Franklin to Lamott to Dove? Isn’t it great to know that we have wisdom cheering us every step of the way? As we carry away our stones. As we fell our oaks. As we write our birds. As we eat our elephants. As we get it done.

Isn’t it great knowing that a little gr!t will gr!t ‘r done?

It certainly calms me. And just as soon as I finish grading end-of-semester assignments and final reflection essays, I’m going to polish that nugget of truth as I face my next mountain: gardens (right here on my mountain) overtaken by a gazillion weeds, all reaching for the stars.

And guess what else? I will pump myself up just as I try to pump up my students–just as I have tried to pump you up here, so that you can face your own mountains, whatever they might be–and believe you me: I will tackle my mountain, and I will gr!t ‘r done.