Saying Goodbye to Online Dating

I deactivated my OkCupid account a few days ago, and am already thinking about how to create the conditions to make both friends and potential partners offline. This is an almost 180 degree turn from how I’ve approached socialising and dating in the last six years, so I thought you might like to know how I got here.

The waning of my enthusiasm for the online dating experience started a year or two ago, with an article that revealed that it was not in the companies’ interests to matchmake successfully. Rather, the longer you were a customer on their service, the more money they could make off you, should you stop browsing long enough to click on their advertising.

The article went on: The impression that there was ‘always someone better’ around the corner, especially on sites like OkC that almost never run out of potential profiles for you to consume, can make you pass by matches with whom you are compatible, because they don’t correspond to some pre-conceived concept of perfection.

The seeds of doubt were set. 

Along came Jon Birger, who spoke and wrote of the significantly longer period of time relationships begun in real life lasted, as opposed to online ones. 

Crucially, he articulated the intangible aspects of compatibility which were impossible to tell from text alone, like how you respond physically to a person, whether their level of dynamism is a good energetic match, and if you enter a natural flow of conversation.

The final blow came when I realised that while my three relationships since 2015 had all lasted a year or two, my longest relationship by far was with OkCupid itself - here I was in 2021, still believing it was serving me. I had become that gullible repeat customer.

And so, I quit!

Poem (Untitled)

Trudging after alternating renditions of the blues

Hoping to nail down an impressive collection

Anticipating moments when I can fly into the blue

Soar, to be amongst the fruits of contemplation 

I lurk outside in daylight hours

Basking in the Sydney vibe

I search their fleeting gazes

For the tell-tale remains

Of a person asking 

'Why?'

On finding safety

I don't feel that I live in a world that can be described as safe. All my adult life I have classed myself as non-conforming, but it must be said there are limits to the resistant strategies I can deploy in terms of self-actualisation. Certain forms of rebellion, such as embodying radical sexual agency as a woman, or claiming uncommon amounts of dignity and certitude for my bisexuality, or negating white supremacy, can land me in hot water. If I get 'too angry', I will be discredited. If I indulge my eccentricities, I may be thought of as too mad. It doesn't take much for me to envision a space where I am outcast, abused or even confined to a psychiatric ward. 

It's true I have privilege in Australia that, say, an atheist living in Nigeria would not. But while expressing atheist views to deeply religious people isn't going to land me in an institution (unlike this poor person), I can still expect to feel shunned by them. To have my voice muted, or text written out of the bigger narrative.

And then there are those that question the inner workings of the Washington DC elite. Julian Assange, Chelsea Manning and Edward Snowden, to name a few. Heck, I can't even question American exceptionalism without killing someone's sacred cow. 

For a long time I have been against American exceptionalism, imperialist and patriarchal white supremacist foreign policy, but it's rare the person I divulge it all to. Too much of it is 'the air we breathe' in Australia and abroad. Europeans are more understanding than Australians, but I still feel quite disinclined to share my inner expressions. Sometimes I even mute those expressions to avoid the anger or discordance they would necessitate. 

Things are not alright, in too many ways which remain hidden to the majority. My safety is dependent on being vigilant - a vigilance which is at best not encouraged, and at worst threatened by right wingers. I sometimes feel I must, too, smile, pretend all is alright. I long to return to the private sphere where I can be in the company of my unrestricted thoughts. Perhaps, in my own company, I can finally uncover the safety that informs me and gives me the platform I need to keep up the non-conformity. 

Looking for a way in

Turning the gaze in -

What a revelation!

Dislodging a grouping

Of long-held expectations

In absence of confusion

Back into my arms

A realigned agenda

Falsifying external motivations

Will you be the friend along the journey

Who can boost my flagging will

Or remind me of the story

More inspired, I used to tell?

Looking back on 2020

This year I've noticed that changing my thoughts - gradually - is possible. It would be nice to articulate my desire for a calmer mental state to a new psychologist, providing I feel safe and secure enough to do so. 

In the absence of the usual influx of travel-related stimuli, I turned inwards, drawing upon past emotional victories and am attempting to fuse new insights together. It's okay, Epiphanie!, I said. You've got this. 

Waleed Aly captured my imagination in the middle of the year with the concept of Australians enriching their interiority. In my dreams I travelled everywhere from Mongolia to the Mediterranean, and in waking hours I opened myself up to books I hadn't dared to before, like absurdist metafiction. 

There may have been some overeating, pandemic news bingeing, and dark times - these things are part of the life experience and I seek to accept them as they arise. 

I can say, however, that I didn't get too caught up in the narrative that 2020 was the year from hell. Instead I counted my blessings, snuggling into my comfortable furniture, focusing on the sensual delights of my apartment, immediate neighbourhood, and the cluster of hubs I frequented in the east(ern suburbs). In some ways, I was physically more comfortable than I would have been as a passenger on an international flight, or a newly arrived traveller attempting to shake off jetlag while still maintaining an active schedule. The existential angst of leaving a foreign country while longing to stay (a mainstay of the past globetrotting Epiphanie) was altogether avoided. 

Knowing that the longevity of my life was not a certainty made strolls around the neighbourhood saturated with appreciation. Yesterday I knelt down to remove a Snickers bar wrapper deeply pressed into the sculpted hedge gracing my street, and threw it away in the nearest bin. I enjoyed the knowledge that I had beautified my little corner of the world. And, making my way across a street or two, I could even clean my hands for free with the sanitiser machine set up by a thriving local eatery. Little things can instill a sense of purpose, creativity, pleasure. The tactile experience of dirtying my fingers for a good cause, and cleansing them again through the abundance of resources a stone's throw from where I live. Standing in proximity to the prosperous business, I felt grateful that my mini commercial hub was a lucrative place to set up shop. I also felt grateful that the sidewalk I began to walk down was indeed 'walkable', to use urbanist Richard Florida's terminology. 

I hope you have a peaceful end of year celebration, whatever that looks like for you.

Less Monaco, More Berlin

Yesterday I joined my mum in the lounge room, prepared to watch whatever she was watching. This happened to be a documentary on Monaco, a Mediterranean concentration of millionaires and billionaires. Over half an hour or more the camera pored over luxurious details and conservative ideals. At one point, an architect - about to be celebrated for a futuristic sculpture - admitted that it's not really possible to be radical in a place like this. Which is when I decided that I was less about Monaco, and more about Berlin. 

Once upon a time I donated $20 per month to a popular Australian charity called Save The Children. This year I re-entered the world of supporting meaningful businesses by becoming a Patreon of Nomadic Matt. Part of my membership includes access to dozens of fun presentations on various aspects of travel. I've vibed with a visual guide to Cuba, been encouraged to hike the Camino to Santiago de Compostela (because why not?), and been inspired to cultivate even more colour and creativity in the way I approach my journeys. 

I now have so many travel plans that it's hard to know which one stands out the most. I see Spain in my future when Covid recedes, but where and for how long are variables which are constantly changing. I find myself eager to return to Portugal, too - we got off on the wrong foot (with minimal sleep in a noisy guesthouse), but I caught glimpse of its charms and know there are more of them in wait. (Perhaps it's time to dig up Saramago's book on the place... I know I have it somewhere.)

Another country that excites me in its potential is Greece. I've only been there once, in 2003, for three days, but I do believe it deserves more. I may have overlooked it because it shares a border with Bulgaria, and feels 'close to home', but there will be time to build on past passions - for island architecture, natural beauty, and an atmosphere pulsating with history. 

To read The Guardian this week is to know that we are making financial decisions in a more risk averse state of mind, that the travel sector may take up to five years to return to 2019 levels, and that when Covid does recede there will probably be a 'golden era' of travel, partying and socialising at close quarters. Our impulses to travel will be indulged many times over. And yet, I can't help but wonder if I should be putting $ away for the future. And since there's no right answer, I can look forward to much in the way of happy deliberating.

  

1.5 Generation Australian

 Reading 'All who live on islands' by Rose Lu, I was introduced to a new way of describing myself: as a 1.5 generation immigrant. I was young enough to adapt to Sydney really quickly, but old enough to have a firm relationship with Bulgaria. I also see it as a question of agency. No-one consulted my seven-year old self over the relocation. I was uprooted, and it was kind of traumatic, even though I was optimistic about leaving the Balkans. If I had a choice in the matter, I might have chosen to move to a different country. My dad told me that Canada was one of the few other nations accepting people like us back then. I could have just as easily been a Toronto native. 

In recent years I've developed a bit of an interest in getting to know other English-speaking cultures in-depth. Canada, New Zealand, Ireland, Scotland, the rest of Britain... Knowing that a common language binds us opens up opportunities for cultural immersion on a deeper scale than almost anywhere. I may have spent some time fantasising about zig-zagging through London in search of the most innovative cultural events. Or making fast friends in the melting pots of Vancouver, arranging French language exchanges in Montreal, Maori ones in Dunedin. Finally tackling 'Ulysses' in a Dublin café. 

So if I ever have the opportunity to do a gap year, I am in for a world of indecision.