Vol. 1, Post #22 The Silent Treatment

Shut the fuck up. My ongoing sex tips for girls* (*girls who are holding on to mid-life by a thread). A modern dating odyssey for Young Olds, AKA, people with readers.

“Did you want to go off path and do more of a hike?”

The man who was asking me this was standing in front of me in a getup that looked A LOT like something Crocodile Dundee might wear. Or a beekeeper. I was as sporty as I get, in joggers and sneaks but now, also wearing a sort of incredulous look.

“Hmmm, I thought that we decided to skip the mushroom foraging walk in this heat, and just take an easy stroll? That good?” I asked.

Mr. Mushroom had told me he was a botanist when we matched, which I thought was VERY cool, and we had some great banter ahead of meeting up. His OKC dating profile included some pretty ATROCIOUS photos of himself but as we know, I think men just don’t get the selfie game (scroll to the bottom of that post for a visual of me making this point), and he was crazy smart, and tall! But now he just looked dejected, and dejected whilst wearing a hat that might have had some adjustable netting that you could pull down around your head. This was not boding well.

We started our walk. It was early Sunday morning on a stupidly hot day. I started to gently ask questions, because that’s how I do. Maybe it’s the reporter in me, but I’m never without a query or two and I was curious to see how the banter translated in real life.

Within about twenty minutes of our walk, Mushroom had answered all of my questions but initiated very few in response, or picked up on any open-ended questions I had asked, like “What was it like to move here from Forest Hills as a teenager? And do you miss Queens or go back? I’m an Astoria girl, so tell me more about Forest Hills because all I know is the stadium.” In general, he was happy to answer me, but that was it. Maybe he knew all he needed to know from our phone calls ahead of the date, but we had only spoken twice; I’m very careful not to have too many calls or texts ahead of a meet up since that’s a surefire way to get ahead of yourself with a stranger AKA, someone you meet online.

For the Young Old Singles reading along on this post, you know this is not a new thing. There are dates that go this way – one person doing the driving, as it were. Sometimes it’s because of nerves and sometimes it’s because you’re not a match. Silence is usually a pretty good sign that you’re on a one-and-done date, but I was slightly surprised by this because we enjoyed some good phone together. HOWEVER, I’m also not one for assuming that I know what’s going on in anyone else’s head, so I told myself, as we rounded a loop on one of the park’s paths, that I was going to stop talking. Figured that if he had something to say, he’d start a conversation and if not, we could walk in silence.

We walked in silence.

I don’t mind silence between pals or lovers and in fact, realized that some of my best relationships are built around the fact that we can be together and just shut the fuck up. I actually love the sound of you not speaking. To wit – couldn’t say this better myself:

But not on first dates. First dates are auditions, and this one was clearly becoming a bust. The silence wasn’t making me anxious, nor was I wondering what this guy was thinking – I was just ready to walk alone.

Since we were in my local state park, which I know as well as my own backyard, I made a deal with myself. If Mush remained entirely silent between campsite #68 and the next thicket of trees, I’d end the date right there.

Campsite #68 is my favorite spot in the park, for its incredible endless green lookout vistas that face the nearby mountains, to say nothing of the remains of the trunk of the largest tree I’d ever seen outside of a California redwood. When this tree got STRUCK BY LIGHTNING some years ago, a few of us actually sobbed out loud when we saw the wreckage, limbs everywhere. The park crew had no choice but to reduce it to a large, still beautiful stump. There in campsite #68, a couple was putting up a tent, and I called out to them, “You’re so lucky; this is the best campsite in the park,” and told them quickly about the tree and how magical all us locals thought it was. We chatted for a minute, and I wished them a fun stay, turning back to the path, the man that stood there waiting for me, and the continued sound of silence as we moved on.

As we reached the next thicket, I got ready to speak up. I turned to my date. “Over there,” I said, pointing, “is the off-road path, and you can follow the blue tags on the trees, which takes you down to the water and deep into the forest. I think you might like to explore it since you have on the right gear. And, it was really nice meeting you; we’re not a match. So, I’m going to say goodbye and keep walking on my own.”

He looked at me slightly confused and said something about being tongue-tied. I waited for him to finish talking and repeated, “You’re a sweet guy. We’re not a match,” and turned and started walking up the path alone.

I felt my body let out a big exhale. I had about thirty more minutes of walking ahead of me if I wanted to do all the loops in the park, and I picked up the pace. I felt great, released, clear, honest, energized.

It actually had been a week of deep clearing in the making, Dear Readers, leading up to this moment. I mentioned in this post that I had a fairly whackadoo convo with my ex, and immediately after that, I got sick (coincidence/no coincidence). That week at home, awaiting covid clearance (I stayed negative) gave me a lot of time to think. The phone call from my ex-boyfriend did what it was supposed to do — it made me sad and even angry at his ability to continue to hide behind “I love you but doing the work is scary,” (so, why did you call me? And, also, Hi Carmy). But it also made me relieved because we are on VERY different pages in life and his pages seem confusing and miserable. And I’m not confused about what I want, nor am I looking for any add-on misery (for that, we’ve got the Supreme Fucking Court). Unrelated to my ex but on the same topic of clarity and satisfaction, in that week home sick, I also had been examining the fledgling relationship I was sussing out with Mister T. I was feeling kind of disconnected from it and while Mister T. is a terrific man, I was starting to realize that he’s not My Man and I was thinking that I’d prefer to walk alone again, AKA, Silence Is Golden.

So…upon returning home from the park, I decided to let Mister T. know that I wished him well but that we were not in the same groove. Having now gone “two for two” on a very hot Sunday, I settled in to a rocking chair on my porch, knowing my body does not lie. This felt like where I was supposed to be, and I felt peaceful, but yet, I’ll admit it, I started to entertain the same nagging thought that I’ve had several times this year: That I didn’t take enough of a time out after my last break up, so this was truly for the best and I made a firm commitment to myself to stay in my lane, at least through the summer.

Sunday ended; Monday rolled through; and then I had dinner plans on Tuesday with C. and K. at the always delicious Chleo. To give you an idea of where my head was at that evening out, I answered my friends’ “How are you?” by laughing and saying, “Oh, ya know, a basic basket case, overflowing with my own bullshit.”

And then…just because “Make plans, God laughs”…just as I started to tell C. and K. that I was indeed not entirely joking about getting ready to check into a corner room at the local nunery, I met someone.

Suddenly, midway through our meal, it was like we were in an imaginary Meg Ryan schmaltz fest.

I saw this guy across the room, and pointed him out to C., asking, “Do we know him? He looks so familiar.” Neither C. nor I could place him, and then the dude paid his bar tab and started walking towards the door.

As he passed our table, we actually locked eyes, and he stopped walking. He said something about the golden beets with agrodolce and pistachios, a dish we had been eating with gusto (I recently amended my long-standing hatred of beets — proving that once again, the Universe rewards all attempts at Growth, in this instance sending an attractive man to my table to applaud me for eating my root vegetables).

Wait, it gets better. Guy actually sat himself down at our table (we were three people at a four top so there was an extra chair, apparently just for him) and we all started rapid-fire chatting. We yakked for about 15 minutes, yes, we had friends in common hahahahaha, and then he turned to me and asked me for my number. I didn’t hesitate at all; he punched it into his phone, said goodbye and headed out, leaving us to look at each other and say “what was THAT?”

(^^^ texting with C. and K. after our dinner)

So this guy and I have been talking. He’s kind of hot in this very familiar Jewish way and I put him in my phone as The Rizz because C. and K. very sweetly told me that’s what I’ve got: charisma. If you’re reading this on July 3rd, we’re going out TODAY.

Given the fact that I met The Rizz after an afternoon therapy sesh, in which I was literally a puddle (I am continuing to unpack my crappy childhood and the phone call with my ex reminded me so much of something my father once did that it sent me right back to my shrink for a check-in), I’m thinking this whole scenario can only go “up” with regard to The Rizz holding my attention. At the same time, I am also starting to think this is yet another sign to simply surrender to the unknown, and that’s not always easy for me, the person who is used to telling clients what to do, day in, day out. For fuck’s sake, my business is called Abbe Does It, and I am damn well aware that what serves me well professionally doesn’t always serve me well personally.

But if I needed any other signs that week besides those that sprung from being sick, silent, and solo and the seemingly conjured up appearance of The Rizz, right out of thin air, this sealed the deal: On that Sunday morning when I was walking down the final hill in the park after the terrible date, I stopped for a minute and looked up at the sky and said the word, “Surrender” out loud. From nowhere, a small branch from a tulip poplar tree fell at my feet, several flowers still tightly budded (that’s it in the vase in that photo. I took it home with me as a talisman. Photo on top of this post is what the flowers look like when they are blooming).

That’s me right now. Budding, drifting along, and not knowing where I might land. Surrendering.

NEXT WEEK — I will of course unpack the date with The Rizz and likewise, I think there might be something in re-watching “When Harry Met Sally” because I was just discussing with a pal how that film CANNOT have held up….can it? Billy Crystal as sex object? AND…the age-old dilemma: can men and women be just friends when there is that buzz in the air?