Falling in Love Through My Thumbs, Pt 1
Romantic synesthesia with a man as delightful as he is distant.
Love loves an obstacle.
No great romance exists without a hurdle to overcome, a foil to un-foil.
Mine was a numb heart. It was injured years ago and then soothed to complacency from six years spent in a “little r” relationship, one where my needs were met but my heart remained out of reach.
Leaving that relationship felt freeing, liberating, and right. I relished my romantic solitude, my body a neutral space while I focused on creative projects and friendships. I felt at peace.
But soon I wondered: Was this a life I wanted for myself, one free of passion? For a good while, I couldn’t be bothered. I had too many other pursuits, like my newfound passion for writing. My numbness was serving me well, for now.
But did I want to be done?
And could I trust myself to make that call through my romantic numbness?
I decided to test that question — and the bounds of my heart, hope, and libido — and posted a profile on Facebook Dating.
Facebook defaults to show matches within what appears to be a 200-mile radius. Turns out, there’s a windfall of men within that circumference who want to talk to me and who have very little to say.
Is there anything less compelling than an unknown man introducing himself with a “Hi beautiful” or “how’s your day?” across the void of online dating?
It’s intended as complimentary but it lacks imagination, creativity, and brain power — desirable qualities in a man, at least to me. And I’m not beautiful in any traditional ways, which makes the word feel even more disingenuous, both to my face and to my certainty that the author said the same to every single face. How’s my day? Uninteresting. That’s how my first day on Facebook dating was.
Then came a message. “I keep looking at your profile because your face looks so vivacious, but you live down yonder.”
Ooh. “Vivacious??” “Down yonder?” My interest piqued, I clicked through.
Ooh, again. Beautiful eyes. The proverbial tall, dark, and handsome. Age-appropriate. Stylish. And oh my god, he’s an author!
Oh. He’s also in Vancouver.
Not even Vancouver, Washington. He’s in British Columbia.
Turns out, when one lives in Seattle, as I do, that 200-mile dating radius crosses the international border of Canada.
But the language of glorious vocabulary knows no borders, at least for me. “Thank you, I’ll take a compliment like that from any country,” I answered.
“What are nation-states other than imaginary lines?” he replied.
“Imaginary” caught my eye. Three Imaginary Girls is the name of my music website — live on the internet since 2002 and on Medium since 2023 — so I took his word choice as an auspicious omen.
We started a conversation.
It’s been two weeks now. We haven’t stopped talking.
And by “talking,” I mean, text and voice memos. A daily good morning text, with others scattered throughout the day as we move through our respective lives. Then a concentrated nightly text barrage well into the wee hours. Like, way too late. I’ve all but stopped writing because my creative energy and time have poured into these late-night exchanges and I know should stop or at least slow down. My brain is a dizzying, exhausted whirlwind; my heart won’t let it stop; my thumbs keep flying over my phone keypad till I pass out, leaving him on read.
“G’night Dana, I hope you sleep well,” greets me the next morning when I awaken, phone right next to my left hand where it slid out as I slid into an involuntary, exhausted sleep.
And then it starts again once he awakens.
What a rush, to feel so connected to someone even in the absence of literal physical closeness. My body thrums, piqued and curious, desperately seeking the source of the wonder coursing through my blood.
I’m a Pavlovian beast for the chime notifications from Facebook Messenger, slightly feral for the rush of yet another message.
And don’t think these messages are racy. That’s the thing — they’re not. They’re fascinating, they’re mundane, they’re complimentary, they’re revelatory and questioning and lyrical. Our words have formed an intimacy, a closeness despite our 140-mile (225-kilometer) physical distance. It’s like he’s here, and especially at night as we dive into each other’s minds through our thumbs and devices.
Fellas, here’s an online dating tip: if you want to let someone know she’s desirable, lead with your brain. Don’t just say, “Hi beautiful.” Ask interesting questions to get to know her better. Tell stories. Listen to hers. Then when you tell her she’s beautiful, she’ll know you mean it.
Simply stated: show interest in her — and be interesting to her — and you will get those photos, that dirty talk, the adoration and longing you seek. She will beg you to take them from her.
I’ve been begging, and adoring, and longing, for two exhilarating weeks.
Think about a traditional first date — perhaps in a bar or a cafe — and the onslaught of inputs you receive from that person all at once. You simultaneously observe how they look, smell, sound, dress, laugh, make eye contact, tell stories, chew their food, and treat the waiter. What do they drink, and how much? Are they a good conversationalist? Is there a spark? I could type this list all night and never touch on all the possible stimuli you receive from a date. And you’re processing all this while simultaneously wondering how your date perceives you. It’s a lot, and it’s no wonder we sometimes miss important details.
I’m not knocking an in-person date. Frankly, I’m wildly jealous of anyone who gets to step out their door and within minutes be sitting in a room with their interest, because I want that. A lot.
But through this virtual courtship, I’m also discovering the joys of a slow reveal, a gradual unfurling. I get to relish each sense as it comes online, literally, a tiny nugget to explore and relish before moving to the next one.
We began with just the basics and the banter. Cute photos, snappy writing.
Then we left Facebook Dating and moved into Messenger, a step closer. We added one another as Friends, so we had full profiles to explore. “You peruse beautifully,” he told me. “I like you. I keep getting these pangs about you.”
The feeling was completely mutual, and our texting grew more fervent as we drank in each other’s histories, our interests, our kids, our past relationships, and our work.
We exchanged stories we’d written. He sent me a PDF file of an epic article from a literary journal, heady and intense. (I’m a monster; I still haven’t finished it. But it’s incredible so far.) I sent him a Medium story of mine and he read my little words and then asked to read another, and yet another.
“I’d follow you anywhere as a reader,” he told me.
By this point, I knew I’d follow him anywhere, as anything he wanted me to be.
The next sense to discover was aural, via a recorded voice memo. I can’t even remember what he spoke about. I just remember being dazzled by his gorgeous voice: resonant, gentle, measured, so calming. I love voices and his mesmerized me. If he had an ASMR channel I’d click “subscribe” in a heartbeat. Our text exchanges grew from just words to include intermittent voice memos, expounding on stories where our thumbs failed us.
Another reveal, another delight.
Photos: Yes.
Written word: Yes.
Spoken word: Yes.
I wanted more. So I asked him on a virtual date, a video call in real-time, to continue our conversation without the ability to pause. We’d see each other responding in real time, and get more visual cues and facial expressions. I was actually nervous, and at first, it was awkward, our texting conversational ease was thwarted a bit by the additional inputs coming online. I felt flustered, but we got the hang of it.
Video call: Yes.
I think he felt the same way.
A few nights ago, we were texting about synesthesia — when your brain routes sensory information through multiple unrelated senses, causing you to experience more than one sense simultaneously, like tasting colors. He has it; he described how each letter of the alphabet has color.
I told him that REO Speedwagon songs sound like copper pennies.
(I mean, don’t they?)
We got to chatting about which letters had which colors and I said, “Know what words are coming to mind for me? Burlington. Bellingham. Blaine.”
“Those are red,” he replied quickly.
“They’re not red,” I answered. “Bs are cool tones. I mean look at them, all bulbous and half-rounded. That’s cool blues or greens all the way.”
“Wait, why did you name those cities?” he asked, catching on.
Those cities map a route between Seattle and Vancouver, from south to north. We aren’t that far apart — just a 2.5-hour drive if you don’t get stuck at the border crossing. I figured splitting the distance and meeting up in a “B” city might be an idea worth pursuing.
He liked the idea.
But… he also hasn’t pursued it. Neither of us have.
Real life might be too big a step. He’s freshly out of a very long-term relationship and is still processing his grief and guilt around leaving. We both have teenage daughters, with opposing parenting schedules. And jobs, and lives, and on and on.
And meeting midway, while practical, lacks the ease of an in-person local date. With all those sensory inputs on a first date, you know as soon as it gets too much, you can retreat to your corners. You can lean in as far as you want to and then easily lean back, wait for date number two, or just leave.
Taking on a multi-hour round-trip drive for a first date is… well, it’s an oxblood red. It’s sensual and somatic and a bit scary. It adds gravitas, and our existing virtual connection only underlines the magnitude of what a real date would or could mean.
Burlington. Bellingham. Blaine. I can imagine our adventures, our elicit future getaways up and down the I-5 corridor. They feel dark green, lush as my home state (and his province), verdant and expectant.
They remain a possibility. But perhaps a sensation or two too many. For now.
(Tune in next week to to read what happens next…)
Greetings!
I’m Dana DuBois, a GenX word nerd living in the Pacific Northwest with a whole lot of little words to share. I’m a founder and editor of three publications: Pink Hair & Pronouns, Three Imaginary Girls, and genXy. I write across a variety of topics but parenting, music and pop culture, relationships, and feminism are my favorites. Em-dashes, Oxford commas, and well-placed semi-colons make my heart happy.
If this story resonated with you, why not buy me a coffee?
(Make mine an iced oat milk decaf mocha, please and thank you.)
When I was younger my grandmother used to drive my brother and me around. Whenever a light would turn green we would say, Green, Granny, go! Thanks for jogging my memory this way too.
I resonate so much with your writing. I too have been debating with myself if my peaceful, creative but oh so busy little life is missing some spice. The idea of going back on a dating app is a major obstacle though. I’m looking forward to reading more about how your story unfolds. Perhaps it’ll nudge me in a certain direction:)