I Went on My First First Date in Over Six Years

(I’m not actually sure it was a date.)

Not actually my date. Photo by cottonbro studio.

Was it a date?

It’s been a strange few months for me, relationship-wise.

I left a six-year relationship over the summer. We had a really good thing for a really long time, too long, perhaps. The relationship was an odd paradox of steadfast support, underlying mistrust, and a sense of space — both literal and metaphorical — that made the contradictions okay. It left my heart a bit hungry for more.

By fall I fell foolishly hard for someone I only knew online. It was swift and intense and I was giddy — we were giddy — for a hot second. But then he bolted, spooked by the intensity of our connection or by how hung up he was on his ex-wife, or some murky soup of the two. It stung.

Both situations have come with fallout, and my head and heart are reeling.

Seems like a great time to ask a Facebook friend out on a date, yes?

---

I didn’t mean to do it.

I was on Facebook just minding my own business, messaging with a friend, when I noticed his conversation bubble at the top of my chats. I have no idea why, as we hadn’t messaged in over a year, but there he was, with a message on his bubble that read “just keep dancing.” I’ve been feeling super anxious and fun deprived. And I haven’t gone dancing in forever. Feeling wistful, I spontaneously messaged him, “Dancing sounds nice.”

“Let’s go,” he responded right away.

If I were capable of raising a single eyebrow (lamentably, I cannot), I would’ve done so right then.

This man — let’s call him Ace — is, in a word, beautiful. We’ve been connected on Facebook through mutuals for a few years, but have never met. All I knew was that he is around my age, has a really cool and creative-sounding job, an adorable daughter, and cheekbones to die for.

“I’m in,” I answered.

A few messages later, we realized neither of us had been dancing in ages and had no idea where to go. But it was a snappy conversation, and one that mentioned bourbon. We’re both fans.

Would he… like to get a bourbon with me? I asked.

He said yes.

We were both free the next night and no better time than the present; we picked a bar and a meetup time and BAM. I guess I asked him on a date, and he accepted.

My first first date in over six years. But was it even a date?

Maybe it was just a friendly hangout.

Without many expectations, the next night I put on a cute dress, my favorite boots, and some red lipstick and headed to a favorite neighborhood bar to find out.

---

Dates are so overstimulating. I found that numbing.

Think about a first date — perhaps in a bar or cafe — and the onslaught of inputs you receive all at once. You 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? Do they ask questions? Is there a spark?

I could type this list all night and never touch on all the possible stimuli you receive. And you’re processing all this while simultaneously wondering how your date perceives you, and there’s a decent possibility you’re also drinking booze, which hazes perception.

It’s a lot, and it’s no wonder we sometimes miss important details.

My heart has been a bit of a punching bag lately. Long-term relationships have a way of torpefying even the most resilient hearts. Mine got a couple month respite from romance before it astonishingly, rashly rushed headlong into someone new, and then splat. There went my freshly whetted heart, pulped on the pavement of romantic expectations.

I wasn’t sure how my heart and I would show up for this date, given circumstances.

So I walked in, and then he walked in, and we awkwardly hugged our hellos. We ordered our bourbon-forward beverages — a modified version of an old fashioned for me, a hot toddy for him — and now that I type this our cocktail choices seem strangely apt. I can be a bit old fashioned, but with my own tweaks and idiosyncrasies.

And he was definitely hot.

I liked the way he looked, and sounded, and dressed, and smiled. He was polite to the bar staff and even bought my cocktail. His stories were interesting. I couldn’t quite tell how he smelled, but he looked like he smelled really good. Is that a form of synesthesia? Can you see how someone might smell?

I think you can, and I predict his skin smells of sandalwood, musk, and eco-friendly laundry detergent — which is to say, delicious.

So why did I feel kinda numb to it all?

I’ve mentioned my sort-of demisexual leanings, which maybe are more sapiosexual, except that word makes me recoil because it sounds so pretentious. Neither classification fits quite right.

What turns me on is connection.

I want to be seen as someone singular in the best of ways, and I want to recognize the same in someone else. I want to see a sense of propriety and kindness and also, I want to sense the desire behind it. I want him to be patient, until our brains have shared enough that I feel safe to be vulnerable, and intrigued enough to be ready to move from my brain to my body. I like sparks. I love longing.

Until I feel these things, it’s really hard for me to have romantic or sexual feelings for someone – no matter how beautiful they are.

And he was really, really beautiful.

But I didn’t feel that connection, not yet. It could be that my heart is too emotionally splattered right now to feel it. I just can’t say for sure.

What I can say is we had a fun time, and we chatted for hours. And he looked delicious, through every syllable he spoke. I just… wasn’t hungry yet.

And I didn’t sense he was either or at least, not for me.

We hugged goodbye outside the bar and he said, we should get together and hang out again. I said, definitely.

He’d already texted me by the time I got home. “I had fun tonight. I sincerely meant we should hang out more. 😘”

I told him I’d like that as well.

Two days later he posted on Facebook with his astrological profile (Cancer/Capricorn/Scorpio). I replied back with mine (Leo/Taurus/Scorpio). I couldn’t help but notice how many other women did the same.

He DMed me right away. “So are we compatible? 😘😘”

I smiled. “Ooh la la, are you flirting with me?? 😊😍”

“Maybe 😏” he demurred.

“Ok then… maybe we’re compatible!” I replied.

---

So, was it really a date?

I guess that final text exchange also answers my original question.

Maybe.

Maybe it was a date.

I realize all too well how unsatisfying this ending is. You probably want to know what happens next. Me too. But that was my last exchange with Ace. I have no sordid details, no first kiss story, no nothing, really. Just a few quasi-flirtatious messages with far too many emojis for two adults in their 50s to use.

That was just two days ago, so I suppose this story may go on.

But for the purposes of sharing how my first first date in six years went, here’s where the story ends — with me alone, fingers on my keyboard, regrettably sharing a lackluster conclusion.

Here’s hoping my second first date — or first second date — will be far more compelling tale to tell.

---

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.)

Me on a mini hike last weekend. Sometimes I step away from my laptop… sometimes.