Not Being Yourself

A list of the great dating blunders includes not being yourself.

Yes, I understand, this is a big blobby mess of a topic, but my job is to tidy up this stuff for you. Experience as a rotten dater comes in handy, so let me give this a shot.

After thoroughly road-testing this specific element of dating foolishness, we’ll divide it into two areas. First, the mind-set that gets us to the point of not being ourselves, the preparation for the mistake. Secondly, how we go about getting stuck in the bog of not being ourselves on a date, ie: how it presents {(as they say in medical circles. (At least on tv.)}

Why We Want To Not Be Ourselves:

Unless you are a psychopath you want to be liked. You and me, we are approval-seeking organisms, courting validation across the land. Especially in dating land. If you’re a witch, you want to find people who are either like you or read books about spells. If you like camping, you’ll find outdoor dreamers and discomfort-seekers to back up your world view. If being pretentious about food is our deal, we want to belong to Team Gastro so as to immerse ourselves in urchin roe and cod cheeks.

When, then, we go dating, our drive is to help along the process of complete strangers (our dates) being concordant with our our special universe-view. We’ll look for the tiniest vein of common ground amongst the entire open-cut mine of stuff we don’t have in common. I call it pretzeling our thinking to make it fit the other person. We make ourselves into someone we think the other person will like more than the actual you.

Right, that’s the pre-cursor.

How We Stop Being Ourselves and Become Someone Else:

Following on from stage one, here we are at our first date with this newbie. They’re roughly in the right zip code WRT compatibility, at first look, anyway. We begin to talk. It emerges that I support self-government for sardines. I spend a lot of time advocating a Free Sardinia as their homeland, and protest weekly against fish restaurants.

My date could care less about oily cold-water fish. But instead of me bravely defending my scaly friends, I agree that I can see us vacationing on Sicily, overlooking the ocean, drinking wine, supping on beautiful sardines caught that morning, grilled over an open flame, delicately flavoured with olive oil and fresh herbs.

So. In order to go along and be agreeable with my (hitherto unknown) companion, I am planning to dine on the one cause for which I fight. Okay, so she had legs up to here and was wearing stockings. It’s still not smart.

Me = active sardinist.

Dating me = wanting approval and to be liked.

Result = not being me at all on the date.

Upshot = giving date entirely incorrect impression.

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