What happened on the best first date of my life? And why am I mourning my loss of delusion about it?

On Wednesday, I went on the best first date of my life.

We matched on a dating app the week prior when I was doing some curious swiping in Seattle wondering if my luck would be better than the recent batch of unaligned ‘matches’ in Portland.  Plus: I was headed up to Seattle to get my hair done, why not see if there was someone worth connecting with while I was in town?

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When I came across Best First Date’s profile (let’s just call him BFD at this point), it had just about every element that would stop me in my tracks:

Based on how BFD filled out the prompts, I could tell he was very thoughtful and seeking someone equally so. I could also ascertain that he is 6’4, doesn’t have or want kids, and is in possession of some major tism rizz. Basically: before he even messaged me, I was going to be putty in this dude’s very large and sturdy hands. 

We had a really nice exchange of messages which led to a really nice phone call which led to my needing to figure out a way to see him when I was in his city. My original plan was to stay in Seattle Thursday night, but BFD would only be available to meet if I came in on Wednesday. I wasn’t planning to drive in on Wednesday, but when a hot, 6’4, childfree, neurodivergent man who goes to therapy is on the line, I am willing to make some concessions. 

Plus, at the time I was feeling pretty rattled from all of the unexpected Matthew Perry drama, and wanted to do something nice for myself.  I googled “best bathtub hotel Seattle” and found one with a hot tub in the room that was only a few blocks from my hair appointment. (I always take a bathtub-forward approach when searching for accommodations). I booked the hotel that day and told BFD I’d meet him in the lobby when I got in around 9.

“Please bring weed” I typed into my phone from the hotel bar. “The corporate business person vibes of this hotel are making me want to get high.” BFD showed up with a box of edibles because he remembered when I told him I was trying to stick to those due to recent nose surgery. I melted a little at this.

“Thank you for these edibles, but I have to admit that I’d like to smoke a joint with you very much right now.” Within seconds, a joint and lighter materialized in his hands. We got adequately high and then walked to the silly corporate hotel bar and drank whiskeys and ate french fries while mutually oversharing about past relationships and traumas. 

By the time we headed out to split joint number two, I was giddy with excitement about BFD and blown away by how intense both my mental and physical attraction to him felt.

As I took my first glorious inhale of the joint he passed me, he asked “can you please stay tomorrow night so I can see you then too?”

“Don’t you have DnD on Thursday nights though?”(Side note: why do I find grown men who play games like this so sexy? I'm assuming it has to do with my my attraction to the 'rizz!)

“Well that should be done by 9 or so, we can see each other after!”

“Well, I don’t have another night at my hotel, so can I stay at yours if I do?”

“OH MY GOD YES you can. Of course. That’s what I wanted.”

On Friday morning I woke up to his cat purring in my ear while breathing in the fact that in these past 24 hours I’d had some of the best sex and conversation of my life. He sensed my stirring, and pulled me closer:

“Are you awake already?” he whispered.

Then came my anxious info dump:

“Yes! I’m awake. I’m thinking about how much I like you and how crazy and intense this feels, and well… What do we have to do to make a relationship work between Portland and Seattle? Like, would you ever move to Portland? I just got there and I really love it: it’s so beautiful and calming! I have to be honest, Seattle doesn’t appeal to me because it’d feel too much like going back in the direction of what NYC was for me.”

He calmly replied:

“Hm, well I really like you so far. But I also really like my life in Seattle and feel proud of what I’ve built, I’m not sure if moving to Portland is something I’d be interested in.” He then told me about how in the past he's given up his independence and autonomy to be with someone at the expense of himself (#relatable).

His words initially hit like a semi. The past two guys I dated both were long distance (Montreal, and also Seattle, respectively) and both had agreed going into it that if things went well, they’d move in with me in Portland. And honestly? Why wouldn’t they want to? My life in Portland is pretty dope and I’ve got a beautiful, amazing home.

In recent years, there’s this part of me that has come to expect that the men I date bend themselves to fit with me somewhat, which I think is a very intentional move on my part. When I was younger, I was always the one bending for the men I had relationships with, and was that insufferable girl who tended to take on the vibe and interests of whoever I was seeing at the time (all at the expense of my own sense of self, natch.)

BFD’s refusal to even consider a life in Portland stopped me in my tracks and made me wonder if my anger at the malleable bendiness of my past self has caused me to swing too far in the other direction. Had I become the bender? Was I at a point in my life where I’d only be willing to accept men who I could bend to a certain (and possibly unreasonable) degree?  And what happens when someone not so easy to bend who I like a lot gets thrown in the mix?

BFD has a beautiful established life in Seattle, and I have a beautiful established life in Portland and neither one of us feels ready to throw that away because we really like a person. We are essentially two people in our late 30s who had seen too much shit and done too much bending to allow ourselves to give into the anesthetic quality that comes meeting a new, exciting person.

We cried about how special it felt while acknowledging that if we can meet each other, surely we can meet other people who can meet our needs while also living in our respective cities.  

“Whatever happens with us, at this point I’m just happy I know you” I told him as we realized the next time we’d both be free to see each other again was three weeks away.  We laid in bed together and cried about our loss of delusion. 

On my ride home I stopped for gas in a foggy Washington town that made me feel like a character in an old movie. With one hand on the pump, the other fished through my jacket pocket for my phone which buzzed with a text alert from BFD:

“You know what, fuck it: I need to see you tonight. Knowing I could be seeing you later if I wanted to is driving me crazy, and that's worth a 3 hour drive.”

And just like that BFD was with me in Portland on Friday. And Saturday too...

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