by Roger McEwan
The dates were fun whether we ate out, met for a before-work coffee, lunch in the park or took in a local amateur performance of Macbeth. Without wishing to kiss and tell, Charlotte and I starting getting on very well. But … there was something missing or not quite right and after a couple of weeks the dates petered out. There was no animosity – with the odd exception – and we simply headed off in our different directions. One of the most difficult aspects of these dates was finishing them and moving on. Nobody likes to be told, or having to tell someone, that it isn’t really what they were hoping for. My preferred method is to just let things lapse, but that’s not what adults do. In the end I found honesty was the easiest method, sort of like pulling the plaster off in one quick action.
I kept in contact with some of the Charlottes as friends, but contact became more sporadic over time. You need more than a previous mutual attraction to keep things going. I think, actually I know, that my times with the Charlottes were haunted by the spectre of Cathy, and this factor didn’t help. You should never compare your current beau with any of your previous partners, but it’s hard not to.
RETREAT
It was after no particular Lola or Charlotte that I happily took down my profile and slid off the dating site and I’ve never been back. It takes time and energy to be ‘in the market’, especially online, and I’d run out of steam. The nerves and excitement at the prospect of dating had been replaced by a weary indifference. I felt like a bank teller at the end of an exceedingly long day. Next.
During dating I started to hear comments like ‘You seem really relaxed’. I always answered with a polite and surprised (but feigned) ‘Really?’ I avoided the honest, but unlikely to be well received, answer of ‘I’m really not that bothered any more’. This didn’t mean that I wasn’t interested, or that the date might not end up being promising, but I was a long way from being on the edge. I remained polite and optimistic to the end but I knew it was time to abandon ship.
You hear stories of people finding love online and I’m sure there are many of them, but I didn’t sense that carrying on was going to lead to a happy-ever-after. Maybe you do have to be in to win but I was at the point where I couldn’t be bothered being in or winning. In fact it was a relief to just be single again. I didn’t have to worry about scheduling dates, replying to messages or spending time online trawling through mug shots and bios. After a while many of the online faces looked too familiar, as though we were imprisoned together on a really, really bad reality TV show.
I learnt a lot from my dating experiences, including terms like ‘friends with benefits’ which I’d never encountered before. How the world had changed in the two decades since I was last in a single person’s shoes. Significantly, I rediscovered enjoying time on my own. When I separated, my lawyer, who was also recently separated, told me that I would learn to love the silence. Although it took a while, she was right. After my relationship with Cathy ended – and earlier as well now I reflect on it – I didn’t like being at home by myself. I spent time at the gym and the office to reduce my waking hours in what sometimes felt like solitary confinement. Now, while I still can’t say I love being alone, I certainly feel comfortable and there are less-frequent urges to escape. Usually.
I haven’t abandoned dating, by the way, I’ve just stopped looking online though the effect is much the same. I’m back in my relatively static and comfortable circles where meeting new, single females in roughly the right demographic category are rare. Even then, unless I decide to go out on a limb and ask out a relative stranger, my dance card is likely to remain empty. Besides, ‘How often do you come to the gym?’ or ‘Did I see your photo in the university news?’ are tough lines to try.
From the perspective of writing this book in a style that my children can comfortably read, this chapter has been the biggest challenge so far. It’s unrecognisable from the first draft, which was more R18 than family friendly. The difficulty is balancing the need to provide enough detail with preventing you, my children and me cringing. In his book It Takes Balls Josh Wolf happily goes into intimate detail, so if you’re more interested in the confessions of a single dad, pick up a copy of his book. Los Angeles is undoubtedly racier than Palmerston North and I’ve certainly not had close encounters with seven-foot Puerto Rican prostitutes, but I’m sure it’s mainly variations on a theme. People are people, dates are dates.
I’ll leave you with what I believe is the biggest lesson I learnt from my time dating. If you suspect the person you’re dating isn’t the person for you, disentangle yourself as soon as you can without being unkind. It’s only by staying single that you give yourself a chance of seeing the person you should meet. You’ll miss them otherwise – your antennae aren’t as big or as powerful as you would like to believe. In the meantime, kick back, relax and enjoy your time by yourself. You may find that it is the best of times.
Reflections
Long-distance relationships have a finite life expectancy.
Meeting new attractive and available people is a rare occurrence through normal circumstances and unlikely in bars.
Online dating gives you access to a pool of new people but it needs to be treated with caution. Sites specialise in different areas of the courting spectrum, so tread carefully.
Before asking out someone you’ve met online, or agreeing to go out, see what you can find out about them on other social media sites. Try to see who they are and not who you want them to be.
Be extremely fussy about who you decide to date. A healthy dose of pessimism is not a bad approach to take and keep to the maxim ‘Never sleep with anyone crazier than yourself’.
Keeping your children unaware of your dates, if you can, is preferable. It allows you to explore the dating scene without the complexity of explaining to your children what you’re up to.
And … you’re better off single than dating someone in whom you have no real interest. Celebrate and enjoy being single!
22. Escaping
Oh, yes, I can cope, dear. Coping’s easy. Not puréeing your loved ones, that’s the difficult part.
Basil Fawlty (John Cleese, comedian)
The human brain is an interesting and complex organ and it’s strange what it decides, on your behalf, to vividly remember amongst all your experiences and adventures. Seemingly trivial experiences and events are stuck in my mind from decades ago yet some mornings I can’t remember where I left my car keys. Maybe our brains have more insight about what’s important than we realise.
I was twenty and going on a date with Jenny, at least I think that’s her name as it was years ago when I worked at the Motor Registration Centre. Those were pre-computer days when everything was captured on paper and dutifully kept in a labyrinth of files. It was an excellent place to work as a twenty-year-old male as there were roughly fifteen females for every male in the building. Useful odds, and I earned my money shuffling paper from one place to another in between ‘chatting’.
It was Friday evening and I was picking up Jenny from her home where she lived with her mum – a single mum, I discovered – and two sisters. I was hoping that she’d answer the door so we could do an immediate exit, but it was her mum who greeted me and, dragging me into the lounge, insisted that we stay for a few minutes. I recall the house was extremely ordered with every available flat surface, horizontal and vertical, decorated with family photos. This isn’t unusual but it felt a trifle over the top.
Jenny dominated the conversation. Not Jenny herself but Jenny as a topic via her mum who kept on, and on, and on, pointing to the various pictures of her as a tot, child, young girl or teenager and extolling her looks and demeanour. I sat there smiling, undoubtedly with my buttocks firmly clenched, as it was heavy weather. I didn’t need to see the bottle of gin on the kitchen bench to realise her mum was the worse for wear. Mercifully, for both Jenny and I, we didn’t hang around long but I remember thinking: why would anyone be w
orse for wear by 7.30!
Fast forward to the present and I now fully understand how and why alcohol can be a factor at home early in the evening. And it certainly isn’t restricted to Friday night. The only difference between Jenny’s mum and myself is that my children are likely to be with Rose and, if they are with me, I don’t yet have to entertain prospective suitors. That’ll change in a few short years and I’d like to believe I will create a memorable impression for the right reasons. If Jenny’s mum was a full-time single mum, which in the 1980s was likely, she couldn’t go out and leave her children, and if she fancied a drink or three, doing so at home was her only option. On reflection it’s really sad, but it’s understandable.
DRINKING PATTERNS
Alcohol, and its associated problems, plays a big part in New Zealand culture as it does in most Western countries. I was exposed to alcohol at a relatively young age and I’ve been drinking, mainly in moderation, for most of my adult life. I think it’s because alcohol is so readily available that I’ve never had the desire to try other drugs. Honestly. I know if I ever get randomly stopped by customs and they ask ‘When was the last time you took drugs?’ my answer of ‘Never’ will doubtlessly not be believed and I’ll soon hear the frightening snap of rubber gloves.
It was through writing this book that I realised that my alcohol consumption changed quite significantly when I separated. I started doing something that I’d never done before, drinking when I was alone. The reason for this was simple – it was the first time in my life that I’d really been alone. Previously I’d lived with my parents, then with various flatmates, the odd period back home due to a lack of cash, and finally with Rose. In all these settings alcohol was consumed but there were always people to consume it with. Alcohol was part of the social world.
When you’re alone, without even the bored eye of a flatmate to take an interest, nobody knows how much you’ve drunk. I call it inconspicuous consumption and it applies even when your children are at home – up until the point they’re old enough to realise what you’re doing. If there’s no one present able to comprehend your behaviour and make a judgement – that is, you’re drinking too much or you’re drunk – then your consumption and its effects go unobserved. If this continues for any length of time then it’s more likely to become habitual. The concept applies to any vice or dodgy hobby, like train- spotting. It’s a slippery slope.
As well as its well-known negative impact on health, alcohol is also a thief of time. If I have a couple of drinks I usually end up on the couch watching TV. Productive pastimes such as work or writing are shelved. It doesn’t have to be a lot of alcohol. A relatively modest amount affects me the next day. According to my recollection from my early university studies, this is to do with alcohol impacting on the sleep cycle. The result is that I don’t feel as sharp mentally and it’s easier to tackle tasks that don’t require deep thinking or concentration.
Physically it’s easy to disguise an over-indulgent night. I’m the only one who knows that I’m operating at less than 100 per cent. After a shower, I appear to the world as though I’ve leapt out of bed ready to embrace the challenges of the new day with a spring in my step. The world doesn’t get to see the state of the kitchen or the overflowing glass recycle bin. I’ve heard of people putting their empties in their neighbour’s bins to cover their tracks. The fact that nobody will notice or care is beside the point. Remember, the key word is inconspicuous and an over-flowing glass bin of empties is hardly that.
WHY DRINK?
So why bother to drink at all? That’s a question I’ve asked myself on a number of occasions. The obvious solution is to just stop, but it isn’t quite that simple. I think the answer is because it’s easier, and more socially acceptable, to drink than to not drink. New Zealand and Western culture looks on those who abstain unkindly. They’re the boring people who don’t know how to have a good time. The key word that needs to be added to drinking is moderation but that’s also harder than it sounds as New Zealand also has a solid culture and reputation for binge drinking.
You don’t need to be a psychologist to understand that most vices are coping-and-escape mechanisms. They’re short-term tickets off the planet and, thankfully, they’re normally return tickets. Your cares dull and sometimes disappear completely, at least for a while. The programmes on TV are hilarious and you feel like you are back on top of your game. The euphoria alcohol provides is similar to other drugs because alcohol is a drug. We don’t call it that because we, society, like to delude ourselves that alcohol is respectable. Drugs, on the other hand, are evil and people who take them are, well, druggies.
It’s simply a social construct, a perception that society through laws and behaviours agrees to observe. Alcohol, drinking and even being drunk in some circumstances (e.g. weddings) is acceptable. Taking drugs, being stoned or wasted is not. History, through periods such as prohibition, tells us that the current state of affairs is not permanent and that change will occur. History also tells us that changing the law often has little impact on what people do. Prohibition didn’t stop people drinking, it just reclassified them as criminals. It also allowed gangsters to establish themselves and make a lot of money, that’s an example of the law of unintended consequences in operation.
Policy makers appear ignorant of the law of unintended consequences and are shocked when what happens isn’t what they expect. In New Zealand, a law shutting pubs at 6pm was promoted as a way of ensuring that men got home to their families at a respectable hour. They did, but they were often smashed from drinking as much as possible in the hour between work finishing and the pubs closing. What was intended to reduce alcohol consumption instead gave us the charming social effects of the six-o’clock swill and the drunk-train and helped establish our binge-drinking culture.
CUTTING BACK
Once I recognised that I was drinking too much, and that the pattern of drinking alone wasn’t healthy, I decided that I needed to make some changes. Initially I did try to simply ‘go on the wagon’, but I soon realised that option didn’t fit my lifestyle. I didn’t want to give up drinking, I just wanted to return to social drinking. This was harder than I thought because the reasons why my drinking habits had changed hadn’t gone away. I was still single, and evenings without the children remained quiet and solitary. To make the required lifestyle changes required more effort than willpower alone. There are bound to be stronger-willed people than I who stop after one or two even if the sun is scorching, the fridge is full of ice-cold beer and nobody’s watching. Unfortunately that doesn’t appear to be me.
Before I go on I need to point out that I am not talking about, or suffering from, alcoholism. I’m fairly confident of that, though I’m also fairly confident that I used to drink more than is healthy. There’s a big difference. The adjustments I made worked for me, in the main, but in keeping with this book, they are not meant to be a recipe to follow. The logic is, try a lot of things, see what works, keep doing those things and forget the rest.
The first thing I did was reduce the amount of alcohol in the house. With lots of beer in the fridge it’s too easy to have one too many. It may also be a male trait that the amount we drink is in direct proportion to the amount available. I was chatting about this at karate with my sparing partners and we appeared to be similar. If we buy a dozen beer we’re likely to drink more than if we buy a six-pack. Enforced restraint by limiting what alcohol is in the house I found to be a useful tactic.
I also avoided stocking up on duty-free spirits if I happened to be returning from overseas. That’s an easy trap to fall into just because they’re cheap. I don’t need a fully stocked bar to cater for the trickle of visitors I have and I don’t need to stock the range of spirits required to make drinks that require umbrellas and swizzle sticks.
Making sure I drink in moderation when the children are with me I found to be a great policy. When they’re smaller and don’t understand the effect of alc
ohol you can probably get away with it, but as they grow they soon realise what’s going on. I can’t claim to be a saint in this regard but I avoid going too far. It’s in no one’s best interests for children to see their parents sozzled and mine have never had to witness me in that state. It’s a critical line in the sand as I’m the most significant male role model in their lives. When Cathy had her children with her, she always remained sober enough to drive them to the hospital in an emergency. It’s a great benchmark to aim for.
Another tactic I employed was to increase the number of gym sessions I attended. This works for two reasons. First, after I exercise I feel less like drinking, which is a mental thing rather than a reduction in desire. My reasoning is that it doesn’t make any sense to expend all that energy on exercise to negate it through drinking and having an alcohol-inspired kebab and baklava. Second, that reasoning doesn’t always work and at least the exercise negates the drinking, kebab and baklava. It’s a dollar each way.
Eating is a good tactic to employ. Once I eat dinner I don’t feel like drinking and with no over-flowing drinks cabinet to provide a digestif I don’t drink and I find other things to do. With the children this is easy as they are always starving and this encourages eating early. Without them I focus on ensuring that dinner is organised in advance or I bring takeaways home.
Lastly, I found other things to do with my time in the evening that would normally be at the mercy of drinking, namely writing, study and work. The addition of alcohol is almost guaranteed to root me to the couch to watch sport or reruns of QI (easily the best show on TV). I found that when I have writing to look forward to I abstain to ensure I’m mentally fit for the challenge. It also meant I was able to leap out of bed, ready to embrace the challenges of the new day with a spring in my step. In other words, I created a virtuous cycle rather than a vicious one.