Vessels

I recently started chatting with a man named Kyle on Tinder. We decided to start with a phone date to test the waters. After barely saying hello he launched into a long, involved story about his long-distance hiking feats, followed by one about his supernatural gardening skills, and yet another about his incredible physical fitness and his gym schedule. Oh, and how could I forget the story about the hot threesome he and his wife had with a woman living in a coastal town near us. At one point he said, “Yeah, I’m just really pretty awesome. I think you’ll see that when you go out with me. I’m attractive and fit and I can tell great stories. Here’s one . . .” Followed by another long story that I finally had to interrupt to say I really didn’t think I was interested in hanging out in person.

I’m relatively new to the dating scene, and while Kyle was certainly an extreme example, most of the first dates I’ve been on have been with men who completely dominate the conversation and talk almost non-stop about themselves. For hours. I never sign-up for second dates with these loquacious types to find out if they have any curiosity about me lurking beneath the surface of their verbosity.

I’ve been trying to understand what is going on for these men – I’ve been on close to a dozen first dates in the last few months, and all but two or three have done at least 80% of the talking and failed to reciprocate even the most basic getting-to-know-you questions. After a few hours I often know things like the name of a date’s sister-in-law’s dog, while they fail to know even basic information about me.

 I’ve wondered if it’s a polyamory thing – I’ve heard that there is a higher than average percentage of people with personality disorders, like narcissism, among people who identify as polyamorous. I’ve since talked to several monogamous women and it sounds like they encounter the same thing on their dates.

I imagine that some of what is going on for these men is nerves, and feeling like they need to impress. I could hear it in Kyle’s statement of his awesomeness – almost like he was answering an interview question about why I should consider him for the position of my lover. On one recent date, Jeremy mentioned several times his status as a c-list Portland celebrity (with no hint of irony.) Brian felt compelled to tell me how he once scored over 100 points in a single Scrabble turn. Terrance sent me his Instagram page, unsolicited, so that I could “Have a window into who he is.” Male braggadocio is at its worst in the early stages of a relationship.

If I want to talk at all on these dates I need to insert myself into the conversation, which is not my natural instinct. Even then, most of my dates are skilled at turning the conversation back to themselves. I told one man about my son’s interest in soccer. He responded by commenting on how cute he was as an 8-year-old in his soccer uniform, going into detail about his platinum blond mop of hair and how he still has the picture on his refrigerator. How cute! It’s almost as if men see asking questions about me as a sign of weakness, an admission of their failure to be all knowing. Instead of asking, they are more comfortable making assumptions. They fail to see that it is the vulnerability of their unknowing, and the admission of it, that can be so alluring.

My most recent theory is that many men, on some subconscious level, see women and think vagina -  a vessel to be filled. These men pour conversation (and in other settings, cum) into the vessel that is woman. As women, we expand and contain and hold what is poured into us. We are the midwives of social interactions - easing nerves, facilitating, coaxing, encouraging and helping others feel good about themselves. Men often don’t recognize this labor, and as a result, fail to fully see and appreciate the women in their lives. Unfortunately, in our efforts to attend to others, our own waters to often grow still, and our still waters become a mirror, reflecting nothing of ourselves, but the triumphs and grandiosity of the men we’ve encouraged.

I’m done reflecting, and I will no longer let my waters get still. I have decided to get very particular about whom and what I’ll allow to fill my vessel. No more dates where I have to insert myself into the conversation. No more second dates, or phone conversations where I’m saying, “I hope you want to know who I am, too.” It’s happened one too many times, nearly every time. My name is Brooke: I am water. My waters are alive and playful. Who is brave and wise enough to welcome my waters, just as I welcome theirs? It is in that confluence that the magic happens.