Finding the Common Ground

The following is an essay that I plan to submit for a competition in a newspaper.  I may make some final revisions before submitting my final draft, but this is pretty much it.  I know, it is long, but worthwhile I think.  The prompt was to write about dating in college.  Enjoy.

The other night, my roommate brought a girl back to our room that he had been talking to for the past couple weeks.  I was lying on my top bunk, trying to digest what the last several hours of my Saturday evening had entailed, when she came shyly through our door, giggling quietly, as she took a nervous glance up at me.  Quickly, I tried to process what was happening.  Yes, it was true, it had been a long night, but hadn’t my roommate just said he was going to break things off with this girl?  Before I asked her what the hell she was doing, I turned to him, and was met with one of those sheepish looks, the kind that you get from a nine year-old boy who has just been caught stealing a cookie before dinner.  With one glance he told me two things: I know what I’m doing, and I’m aware I probably shouldn’t be doing it.  It was all I needed to know.  I turned, said hello to the girl, and went to sleep.   

This type of story is not uncommon in college life.  In fact, it is one of the two ways that we interact romantically with the opposite gender.  College students engage in either casual sex and countless dance floor make-out sessions, or embark on intense and serious relationships that often drain the passion from life focusing instead on commitment and devotion.  My first weekend at school, I met two drunk sophomore girls who didn’t waste any time in bringing me to their room to show me the place on the wall where they mark how many guys they hook-up with.  The rules were simple: no repeats, and no girls.  They took the competition seriously, and the more I talked to them, the more I began to suspect that they were both hoping to add me to the wall.  Surprisingly, this type of behavior is commonplace.  I heard one girl justify hooking up with someone by saying that “I was just trying to get with three guys in one night” and witnessed another have casual sex with a kid that lived down the hall from me for about a month, until she heard he was getting with someone else, and all of a sudden felt betrayed. 

On the opposite side of the aisle are the serious daters.  You know, the freshman in college who act more like they are approaching their 20-year college reunion, because they have life, or at least love, “all figured out.”  The ones that more often than not met in high school and are enduring long-distance relationships because hell it just doesn’t get much better than your high school sweetheart does it?  They are the types that can be found in the corner of any college party, nervously sipping on a beer, while they stare at their phone anxiously awaiting a response to the text message that they sent to their significant other.  Long-distance or not, the lives of these kids revolve around technology.  From skyping, to constant texting, interaction is almost continuous.  I met a kid at school, who fit this mold perfectly.  From texting while studying for the next exam in Chemistry, to taking breaks in between games of squash to respond to messages, I felt that when we were together, he talked more to his long-distance girlfriend than me.  One day, I asked him what they always talked about.  I figured she must have been one real interesting girl to hold his attention for so long.  Alas, I was disappointed with his response.  He told me in a very matter of fact way that they didn’t talk about much of anything.  I may be paraphrasing, but his response went something like this.  “Oh we just talk about what we are up to like studying or doing our laundry.  We don’t talk about anything serious.”  I was appalled.  Quite simply, I couldn’t imagine anything more tedious.  I told him my opinion, and he responded in a straight face that he felt sorry for me.  “I have life all figured out.  I go to a great school, I’m going to get a great job, and I have found the girl I want to marry.  You don’t know where you are going to be tonight.  You meet a girl one night, and can’t remember it the next morning.  What’s the fun in that?” 

The problem with my generation is that we are caught between two extremes.  The ability to communicate with one another has jaded our view of relationships.  Suddenly, dating someone isn’t about merely enjoying one another’s company, but rather about being in constant communication. During high school, I dated a girl that expected me to text her all day every day.  Each morning I would wake up to a message starting the conversation, and each night I would mercifully end the day, and more importantly the texting.  For a couple of months, I was able to put up with such behavior.  However, eventually, I simply ran out of things to say.  I had been drained to the point of no return.  Every college kid is afraid of becoming that relationship.  We have become so terrified, that talking in general is frowned upon.  The system generally goes like this: guys begin dancing with girls, and all of the girls friends judge the boy’s looks and send some type non-verbal message to the girl he is with, letting her know whether or not they approve.  If he makes the cut, she is free to spend the night with him.  If not, she simply walks away.  Either way, little or no actual communication is needed.

I realized long ago that I needed to find some type of common ground in order to have any type of normal relationship.  The idea of having a girlfriend had always appealed to me, but I knew I needed a girl who would allow me freedom.  I wasn’t willing to sacrifice my individuality simply to attach myself to a girl, so I played the game waiting for someone to come along.  When several months ago, I found myself talking to the very type of girl I was after, I was stunned.  From her obvious intelligence, to the simple fact that she was Eastern European (an international student) she was much different than any girl I had ever tried to talk to. My initial flirtatious and cocky attempts to impress her were met with an almost icy resistance, and she waited until I engaged her in real conversation before opening up.  As we began to spend time with one another I was instantly attracted to her demeanor.  She was confident, almost to the point of arrogance. I knew right away that she would never try to attach herself to me.  She was way too proud to let any guy take advantage of her, and yet she was genuinely interested in what I had to say.  For the first time in my life, I actually talked to a girl.  When I say this, I mean that I had a complete conversation, not one filled with flirtation, or idiotic small chat. 

When after last semester, I decided to transfer, we went out to dinner to discuss whether or not we should stay together.  All of a sudden, I found myself wanting the same long-distance relationship that I had always mocked.  Except, I wanted to do it differently.  Skyping everyday was for saps.  Continuous texting?  C’mon, really, I’m much too busy for that.  On weekends I’m never the guy standing alone in the corner staring nervously at my phone.  Instead, I live my life, and she lives hers.  We often go several days without talking to one another, but when we do we always have something to say.  We both have demanding schedules, and we prefer to give one another the space to accomplish everything we need to.

Despite this, I don’t pretend to have everything figured out.  In fact, neither of us does.  Both of us have days where the distance seems too much to handle, and moments where we wonder whether or not it’s worth it.  Yet, oddly by limiting how much we talk, we have seemed to grow closer to one another.  We never talk merely for the sake of communicating, but rather for the enjoyment that we take from one another’s thoughts.

On weekends, I go out and help my roommate and some of our other friends pick up girls.  I have been described as the “perfect wingman” and in fact I was essential in helping my roommate grab the interest of the girl who came back to our room.  My role is rather important: I deflect awkward situations and look to smooth over the flow of conversation whenever possible.  Each night presents new opportunity, and since I have no expectations, I have evolved into the ultimate team player.  One friend said, “With your looks and charm, you could hook-up with pretty much anyone you wanted.”  I took the compliment in stride, but I guess in reality that’s not what I’ve ever really been after. My generation lives in a world surrounded by the hook-up culture, and now that I’m on the outside looking in, I can admit I’m in no rush to go back. 

The next morning I awake to see the girl tiptoeing out of our room, to take the “walk of shame” back to her dorm.  I look down at my roommate sprawled on his bed, looking as if a train had just hit him.  “Was it worth it?” I ask.  “It never is” he responds, “I have to take a shower.”