Dating In New York Is Hell: Now More Than Ever
If a national pandemic and looming economic depression doesn’t put our relationships to the test, I don’t know what will. We really get to see who stays to nurture our dwindling mental stability and cushion the onset of our manic episodes. I am so proud of everyone who has propelled themselves into a routine of productivity. I also do not blame those who are like me: asleep for fifteen hours a day. Honestly, every time I wake up and realize that quarantine isn’t an anti psychotic induced dream, I immediately slip back into a coma as my coping mechanism. Moving on—after absorbing over two months of intel, dating in New York is still Hell. I just can’t decide if the flames are more docile or as unbearable as ever, so I’ll argue both sides.
In regard to the relationships waiting at the elevator down to steamy underworld, it would be crass not to admit we didn’t see it coming. Now we’re just forced to admit it, as if the ocean of red flags we chose to act color blind to wasn’t enough. Let’s face the music of the tune you’ve been hearing for months? Years?
Emotionally unavailable and physically evasive, the fuckers that you knew would dash for the door finally do. Out goes the person you’ve been pining for and in comes the vultures—whether out of boredom or belligerent gall—who proceed to attempt to slide into your life. Or they stay, and you guys fast track into a daydream of domesticity, but still finding yourself more than a friend but still — fucking still — less than a partner. If I wasn’t over it then, I’m sure as hell over it now. Now is a better time than ever to have a mental breakdown anyways, so cheers.
In favor of relationships blossoming during the pandemic, I must say that isolation exposes sides of us that we have buried deep inside, so smothered that we may have forgotten they even exist. Communication is redefined to exist only at either end of the spectrum. If the person you’re interested in isn’t responding the excuses they use are extremely limited. What can they even be? Too aggressive of a Netflix binge? Both of their hands were too preoccupied making whipped coffee? Rolling their third blunt of the afternoon? If people can make Tik Toks from prison then you should at the least get a text back. The biggest blessing in my eyes isn’t that you two are getting closer, but that you can see their true colors. You earn a clarity you may haven't been rewarded without the antagonistic nature of being isolated within the four walls of your 800 sq. ft. apartment.
The other result may be the way they stand by you, maybe even to your pleasant surprise, in the face of this absolute shit storm. Instead of flight, they fight to take care of you when you have forgotten how. In the hasty day-to-day of the city that feels as if it is in the distant past, it’s easy to forget how to show tenderness. In the lethargy of quarantine the little things are magnified. Pints of your favorite ice cream, quality time, and aimless banter start to feel like astronomical displays of affection. Because they are extremely underrated acts of support. The support of knowing you’re not in it alone, and I can’t think of a better silver lining.
After what feels like a millennium of me sitting with my thoughts, I don’t think it’s better or worse. It’s hell we’re talking about here, but it is also to my dismay, a time of reflection. Build boundaries, realize you deserve more and don’t take any less because no one can carry the weight of the whole relationship and quarantine or not, why should you even have to?