Category: dating

community · dating · fun · laughter · theater

Meet Cute

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

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It was last Saturday at Live Oak Theater. Auditioning for a
staged reading set in Texas. Trying to remember how Texans sound, trying to
channel my memories of True Detective and Saving Grace to get close. About 10
of us are milling around the lobby, there’s only one young cute guy I can
see across the millers, tall enough to see me back.
He walks over and makes introductory chit-chat. I
tell him he looks familiar, because he does. I ask if maybe I’d seen him at
other auditions. He says he doesn’t think so. That he’s
trying to get something in before he moves to LA next month. I inwardly resign
this one, and try a cheerful, Well that’s
a big move! The producer calls my name.
I don’t see him as I’m walking out of the audition. And that
is that.
Until last night. While at my friend’s tattoo shop opening,
I look across a very different enclave of millers, and see him. He smiles, I
wave. I go back to my conversation, but the nag to excuse myself and not miss
the opportunity prevails. I walk over toward him and his friend, a girl.
He replies, they’d heard the music as they were walking by,
and decided to check it out. No, they don’t know any of these folks at all.
Total coincidence. We laugh and light chat, and I walk back over to my
conversation.
Some bit later, he walks over to me, says they’re going to
take off. Asks if I’m ever in LA. No, not really. When does he move? Three weeks. But he’ll be up to visit sometimes. He offers a, Maybe we can get coffee
or meet up or some other I want to see you again euphemism. I offer my phone
number, he calls it. Exchange complete.
Exit stage right, man with the ocher skin and topaz eyes. 

dating · health · joy · passion · sex · uncertainty

Craving Cupcakes

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

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For reasons unknown by me, I came home the other night and
while in my closet, took down the book He’s Just Not That Into You. It sits in a pile of books I own that I’ve taken to
the bookstore to sell back to them, but they’re not having it – it shares space
with the Twilight saga – and for
further reasons unknown, I haven’t just put these books out on the street or
donated them yet, and so they’ve stayed for several years.
Taking down Not That Into You, I read the chapter titles that at the time I bought the book I
imagined I would sneer at and laugh at in obviousness, but that on reading, in
fact, offered a swift kick upside my besotted brain. For example: He’s just not
that into you if he’s not asking you out; he’s just not that into you if he has
a girlfriend/is married; and my personal eye-opener at the time: he’s just not
that into you if he only wants to see you when he’s drunk.
But what struck me the other night as I perused the chapter titles was
the one added on after the first printing, the one entitled: Life after
He’s Just Not That Into You.
I flipped there, and the female co-author writes about the
typical stages she’d seen in herself and in those who’d taken the book’s
message to heart.
First, there’s empowerment: YES! I Get It! I see that these
mixed messages are just smoke-screens, I’ve stopped waiting by the phone, I’ve
stopped accepting “Let’s hang out” as an acceptable “date.” My life is awesome!
Then there’s loneliness: Great, he’s out of my phone and out
of my life, what do I do now?
Quickly followed by temptation: Okay, so if I know that he’s just putting up a smoke-screen, and I get
that this isn’t a relationship – then I’m in full knowledge participation, and
it’s okay, right? Then I can’t really get my feelings hurt, right, because I
know that this is not what either of us really wants, right? Besides, the door
isn’t breaking down with guys asking me out on real dates, and I’m lonely,
horny, and just give me a BREAK already!
I called this yesterday, over lunch with a friend, the
cupcake moment.
We all know this temptation. I’ll set it up for you:
It’s someone’s birthday at the office. They’ve brought in a
dozen of the most delicious looking cupcakes from the 4 dollar a cupcake place
with the clever name. Everyone stands around this offering and awkwardly sings
Happy Birthday to the person of honor, and you feel a little proud, and a
little separate as you gouge the cupcakes out of their container and hand them
to your coworkers, expressing that, No thank you, you’re not having one.
You know how you feel after you’ve eaten one, you know they’re not actually as good as they look, and it’s
not worth the calories or kicking off the sugar addiction. You’ve had SO MANY
afternoons where you’ve had half a cupcake, only to return for the other half,
another whole, and maybe, another half or two.
You know that to put one bite of this thing into your mouth
is to set off a series of woeful and painful head moments of debate,
self-derision, and self-pity.
So you’ve been so good. It’s been weeks, or maybe months
since you’ve let yourself fall into the pattern. And sometimes, it’s so easy to
say No thanks, and be on with your day. The cupcakes don’t whisper at you. The
longing doesn’t bite at your throat.
And then you find yourself in the moments when you say, I have been so good – and what the hell good is it doing
me, anyway? What kind of a martyr, saint, ascetic am I, anyway? What am I
proving and to whom?, the thoughts run. …
What kind of martyr or saint am I?
What kind of pleasure-avoiding, overthinking, “principled”-living dullness am I?
So, you stand at the cupcake moment. You’ve seen the outcome
of this moment on both sides, and you don’t know which path you’ll go down. You
stand equally torn toward “health” and “pleasure.” And you haven’t enough
experience yet to know that sometimes health and pleasure are available in the
same situation. And remember, it’s been SUCH A LONG TIME since you’ve had that
kind of pleasure, anyway. That kind of solace.
The final phase of “Life after He’s Just Not That Into You”
is Balance.
The book says, “Life, love, dating—it’s all a process. There
will be highs and lows, disappointments and temptations, and it all might take
a while. If you are just so lonely that you simply have to get into a less than
ideal situation, for God’s sake, get out of it before the guy makes you cry or
mope in bed all day… No matter how long you end up being without a
relationship, you will always be worth it.”
I stand at a cupcake moment right now. “Sometimes I think
‘health’ and ‘reason’ are the great enemies of ‘passion’ and ‘love,’” he wrote
me. And I think he’s right. However, though I don’t have much experience with
them being aligned, I do believe they can be.
Will our heroine submit to the temptation and luster to sink
into the arms of comfort and human affection? Will she turn away from the
alluring embrace and continue to march the lonely path toward an imagined ideal
of a less complicated entanglement?
Tune in to find out!

dating · fallibility · growth · honesty · humaness · learning

The Longest Lesson

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

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There is a phrase around here that says something like,
“Life is day at school: Some of the lessons are easy, and some of the lessons
are hard.”
I went back into my email this morning to grab an old
“Oprah/Deepak” meditation (because even though the last 21-day meditation
“challenge” ended a while ago… the link still works!). The one this morning
centered on the thought, “I attract that which I am.”
Sometimes I love this idea. I feel full of love and
potential and vigor, and love that I am attracting that into my world and
orbit.
Today, however, I heard that phrase, and my guts steeled a
little. I attract that which I am.
This isn’t a tear-down of myself, but these few days, I’ve felt
scared, inexpert, impulsive and mistaken. – I sent the blog that said I don’t
want to “escalate” things with the 25 y.o. to the 25 y.o. … I wrote with it, There’s
probably a better and more graceful way to let you know why I have to cancel
Saturday’s date, but here.
And like pulling the pin on a grenade and handing it to him,
I pressed send.
You can imagine this brought about a series of results and
reactions, which I am now attempting to repair. Inexpertly. And perhaps unsuccessfully.
Yesterday morning, I did some writing about my motivations
for doing this and had a conversation sharing this with someone else. It’s part
of the reason I wasn’t able to write yesterday morning.
It feels sucky, is how it feels. It feels shitty to know
that there are different ways to do things, and know you did it otherwise.
I feel sad because I (rightly) pulled the cord on a
potential relationship, and I feel ashamed of how I did that.
It’s okay. I’m human and inexpert, and learning and growing
and trying.
But, that also means I’m attracting into my world people who
are the same – AND WHY CAN’T WE ALL JUST BE FUCKING PERFECT?? Be kind, and honest, and simple all of the time? It would
make this “lesson” much easier, wouldn’t it?
Can’t we all just get A’s, and “go to the head of the
class,” and all be valedictorians?
Can’t we all just stop stubbing our toes against our own
fears and hardships and boogeymen?
Can’t we all just have lives where we feel confident,
expert, proud, self-admiring, and kick-ass?
Why, in order to get to all the above feelings, must we go
through all the stubbing first?
It sense no make.
And I’m tired of being a flailing human being. I’m tired of
doing it almost right, of showing up almost fully. I’m tired of almost feeling
whole and complete and awesome.
Sometimes, I do. I won’t lie. Sometimes, I really really do.
Sometimes it’s for minutes, sometimes for hours. And even a few times, for
days, I feel like I’m really walking on a yellow brick road toward Oz.
And then the trees start to throw apples at me.
I *get* that “this is all part of the process.” But
sometimes the process sucks.
And in my attempts to wriggle out of discomfort, I land in a
higher degree. By being dishonest, abandoning my truth, trying to make someone
else deal with feelings that are uncomfortable or pave a way for me that is
less rocky, well—I know it’s the very absolute best that, as fallible,
learning, human, I can do today. But I wish, well, I wish I didn’t take that
person and potential friendship down in the process.
(End of tantrum)
(…maybe.)

acting · dating · honesty · relationships · self-care

State of the Union

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Yesterday, I sat with a group of folks, and admitted that
continuing to participate in activities that I’m not 100% invested in (or even
85%) is dishonest. That I was not being honest with my intentions or
priorities—and was thereby wasting time. (You finite commodity, you.)
There was a meditation/writing portion of this meeting, and
so I wrote a series of questions for myself:
  • How is being dishonest with others serving me?
  • How is prioritizing others’ needs serving me?
  • How is NOT prioritizing my own needs serving me?
  • What need am I
    fulfilling by not prioritizing and     owning my needs?
  • How is dismissing my desires serving me?
  • How is devaluing myself serving me?

 Heavy, huh?
But, for me, that’s what pushing important things off to
“tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow” is. It’s devaluing myself, what I have
deemed important to myself.
Because I’ve been hemming and hawing a little on letting
those folks know that I can’t come out and play anymore. Even though I am clear
that my priorities and intentions have shifted.
So… Yesterday, I committed to those folks that I would make
two phone calls. One was to the 25 y.o.
He asked, adorably, if he were in trouble, when I said I
wanted to chat when he wasn’t in a café. I said no, but that it was sort of a
“State of the Union” conversation, so to give me a call back.
He did. And we did.
I’d been feeling throughout this week that this couple-dom
wasn’t on course for relationship-land. It’s a pretty appropriate assessment
after a half-dozen dates. We’ve kept it PG-13, so there isn’t any animal-brain
“must keep orgasm giver” going on.
But, I have simply felt like I’ve crystallized that I don’t
want to date this person long-term. It’s just a feeling, not a fear, not a
defense mechanism. Just a fact.
The big however is, I
don’t want to stop seeing him. And thus, my hesitation.
I really enjoy spending time with this person, getting to
know him, getting to know myself in relation to him. And I thoroughly enjoy our
frisky make-out sessions.
So, that’s what I told him. Pretty much all of the above. I
don’t see this heading toward relationship track, but I enjoy spending time
with him, and I enjoy making out with him.
That the outcomes I saw were we transition to
friends, or do that and try to keep with the sexy-time, or do neither. So, he
asked me, then, what I wanted? If I knew what I wanted? And I said, no. I
didn’t know, but perhaps in talking it out, and hearing his thoughts, we might find
some solution.
He admitted and agreed that he was “along for the ride,” but
not in a place to invest in a relationship. So that pretty much leaves us two
options: continue seeing one another with the frequency we have been, or stop
seeing one another.
I replied, honestly, that the idea of seeing him less was
unappealing to me.
(And I have to admit here, that part of my hesitation in
letting go of this couple-dom is that this person is the first I’ve met who is
really in the theater world, has insights, and knowledge, and can point me
toward plays and monologues and acting worksheets and websites—which he has—and if
I let this go, I won’t have that access anymore.
And that, my dear friends, is scarcity mind. That this is
the first person with those bodies of
knowledge does not mean that he’s
the last person, and to continue a relationship based on a selfish need and
fear of loss is the definition of crappy. Doomed. Dishonest.)
So, at the end of this conversation, we agreed to continue
to see one another on the semi-regular, as we have been, and that if the
ambiguity “gets to” either of us, we can talk about that then.
I did say that I am a person who is wanting a relationship,
and that he deserves someone who thinks he’s the sunandmoonandstars, but, for
right now, no one is blowing down our doors, so… here we are.
I don’t think it’s “settling for less.” I think it’s being
perfectly honest with my desires, honest with my intentions, and my continued
task is to show up in the single world and be available.
That might mean a week more of the hot make-out sessions, it
might mean a month. I don’t know. It is
ambiguous. And we know how I LOVE that. But, I am not willing to let go of this
connection yet, because of what it does for me on multiple levels, nor am I willing
to let go of my intention to have a true partnership with another human being.
In the meantime, I have that list of questions to answer for
and about myself, and some theater websites to explore.

acceptance · acting · change · dating · growth · joy · trying

So??

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

So, what is happening
with the boy (in real life, not in my brain)?
Well, instead of sending my crazy text on Saturday morning,
I sent instead, “Brunch tomorrow?” Luckily my journal, you, and my friends get
the brunt of the crazy, so by the time I get into interacting with human
beings unaware of my brain functions, they get something resembling “normal.”
So, there was brunch on Sunday. During the course of
conversation, without blasting a fire extinguisher of mania at him, he said of his own accord, “We’re dating; that’s what we’re doing.” Oh, Okay. Good to know.
So, then… Dating. There’s another one planned for this
Saturday evening. And, I am unsure if there will be more, and unsure if I want
there to be, but want there to be this one, at least, so I can figure that out
– that’s the whole point of the dating thing, isn’t it? To spend enough time
with someone to figure out if you want to spend your time exclusively with
them? (Not like all your time, just your romancy time.) I’m honestly not sold,
which is as it should be – we’ve been on three dates. Not enough to know much, except we have relatively good
conversation, I am still a little stiff and breath-holdy around him (though I measurably relaxed once he said, “We’re dating”), and really
enjoy his roaming hands. If there’s more than the roaming hands that I enjoy,
only time can tell.
So, that’s the story. I am honestly still tempted to “put on
my love light” and get back in the ring (to mix metaphors). I don’t know the
strength of this one dating situation, so why preclude myself from others. What
that will mean to “get back out there,” I don’t know at all. Maybe just a frame
of mind. I am still single after all,
and I’m not racing to lock it down with this one dude, cuz I’m not sure yet.
Seems … mature, maybe? Realistic? Appropriate?
In much other news, I have an audition on Monday for a
staged reading. I have a role suggested to me for my monologue by the
25 y.o., but haven’t yet read the play – this all means, … I’m not prepared,
and unlikely to have something memorized by Monday. I need a contemporary 1-2
minute dramatic monologue, and all I have/own in my head is the Shakespeare
piece I did the other weekend. So, … if, lord help me, I need to use notes for
this, then I will. It’s just information, it’s just trying. I know now that I
need to have/own more than one piece if I want to be in this auditioning game,
which may one day, who knows,
how-much-easier-to-let-go-of-the-results-of-this-than-dating, lead to the acting
part – the part I actually want.
It’s interesting to me, getting to compare the way I was
clinging to certainty around dating, and am pretty much just joyful to show up
around acting. I actually did a fist pump when I left my audition the other
week! Not because I thought I did awesome, but because I showed up. THAT’S awesome.
Of course, you know I’m going to say something like, “Now,
if I can just allow the fluidity, joy, presence, confidence and love of self I
hold around auditioning flow into the dating world, I’ll be much happier, and
indeed, much more myself.”
Yes, I would say something like that, wouldn’t I?

dating · fear · fortitude · integrity · love · uncertainty

Drowning in a sea of pearls

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

It is unclear if things have devolved in 25 y.o. land, but I
get the sense from his flirtatious texts that perhaps our intentions are not
aligned. It is unclear yet if I will bring up what mine are, ask him his, and
accept what comes of that. Sitting in the ambiguity is uncomfortable. It is
unclear whether sitting in the ambiguity is supposed to be my lesson, or a
lesson here. It is unclear if saying: 
“I don’t know yet if I like you but I
would be interested to find out. If that’s something you want to explore, then
it would be nice to go out again. If not, that’s okay too.” 
is too forward or
just right. Is it pushy, clear, honest, forthright, demanding, off-putting, or
too soon?
I get Goldilocks’ dilemma.
And I have a hard time letting go of the questions. Even
with my full life.
One of the things the male co-author writes in It’s Just a F***king Date is that not every date works out, and then
asks, did I get my heart broken? Sure, but not as much as I would have [if I
didn’t remember it’s just a date].
So, am I heartbroken? No. I don’t even know whether I should
be – what this is. Which, perhaps, is an answer. But I don’t like that
“perhaps” hanging out there like a scab of uncertainty. Am I sad? A little.
But, like above, not nearly as much as I could be. I mean, it was two dates. I
went a little bananas, as we all read, and then I came back to center,
remembered I’m awesome, and went about my awesome life. If this is someone who
wants to join me on my path of awesome, great; if not, as above, “That’s okay
too.” Cuz it really is.
I JUST WANNA KNOW.
Should I erase that name from my date book, or not?
I mean, I have read He’s Just Not That Into You. I do know that if someone isn’t asking you out,
that has a meaning. I do know that sexy texts (which I’m replying neutrally to) are not a pathway to romance. But
I want him to fucking say it. If that’s the truth, if you’re not into me, if
you just want to fuck me, then say that. It saves me a lot of headache. If,
because we had a very intense make-out session, I’m now relegated to the
“hook-up” file in your own date-book, that’s fine too. Just let’s me know, once
again, that the heavy necking should be better left to a time when its earned
itself.
There’s nothing wrong with heavy necking, making out, or
having sex. Don’t get me wrong. But, having recently been very clear with
someone what my casual intentions were, getting those casual needs met, and
closing the casual door behind him as he left, I got to see that although
I acted with integrity, asked for my needs to be met, felt proud of my behavior and was very happy with
the result, I also got to see that what I really want is someone who spends the
night. I want to be that person for you too.
So, hooking up is all well and good, and it is also not yet
decided that if the 25 y.o. says ‘I don’t want to date’ if I will go forward with
something casual, since the previews indicated a blockbuster movie. But, I want
to find out first if there’s an art film playing here, before I buy a ticket
for Bourne 17. 

change · creativity · dating · growth · self-love · self-support · truth

Look! SHINY!!

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I downloaded the book yesterday, It’s Just a F***ing Date, by the same people who wrote He’s Just
Not That Into You and It’s Called
A Break-up Cuz It’s Broken.
One of the first things the introduction says is, you’re
obviously stuck in something you don’t like doing, or you wouldn’t have picked
up this book.
I love their books. I first picked up Not that into you when I was living in South Korea. It was a lark,
there weren’t that many books in the English-speaking section of the bookstore,
and I thought it would be more funny than anything to see the stupidity of
these women who didn’t get that these guys just weren’t into them; that these
women needed a book to spell it out for them in order to stop knocking on the
closed, booty-calling door.
And yet. Of course, I got to see that I was one of those
huddled women justifying all kinds of behavior (theirs and mine) in the hopes
of romance. 3 a.m. text = he’s just not that into you. Not able to hang out
sober = he’s just not that into you. Has a girlfriend? Sweetie, come on, where has your self-respect gone?
When I broke up with my last serious boyfriend in 2011, I
was wrecked. Walk into the house and stand inside the front door empty for several minutes wrecked. It felt like every day I was hit by a Mac
truck. And yes, I was the one who ended
it. But that didn’t mean that there wasn’t love there, that I didn’t care about
him, about us, it’s just, we weren’t meant to be an us.
My brilliant friend Katie once told me the following: The
thing about grief is that something is broken, but you’re not, and you’ve got
to keep going.
I had no idea how. So I picked up Cuz It’s Broken. It gave some practical advice, funny anecdotes, and
a great dose of compassion. And in time, it healed.
I love their books. So, having read an excerpt from their new It’s Just a F***ing Date book
a few weeks ago, prior to this new dating thing, I thought to look at it again yesterday, considering that my manic phone checking was probably not what the
gods of serenity have in mind.
And here’s some interesting intel I’ve gathered. One of
their questions is, When was the best period in your life, and What was going on
that made it great? My answer was surprising and heartening: the best period of
my life is happening now, the last few months of my life. What’s happening in
it? Playing in a band, signing up for acting classes, going on auditions,
planning a trip to the sea shore with my cousins, buying a new (to me) car,
upgrading my wardrobe, going on a meditation retreat, eating well, seeing live
entertainment, working the steps.
Also, I was using the Gratitude Journal app on my phone that
dinged twice daily to remind me to pause & write something in.
When did this change, it asks? When I was asked on a date by someone
I’m interested in. That’s when.
Suddenly, my center of focus has veered sharply toward
someone else, what they think of me, if I’m approved, if my life activities are
good enough, if my success is enough, if I’m prudent but sexy enough.
In short, what changed is that all the things that attracted
someone to me in the first place, all the things that were bringing me joy, and
self-esteem, and hope, have been tossed in favor of what you think of me.
This is a terrible
recipe for self-love!!
This is not the first time that my eyes have wandered off my
own music chart onto someone else’s in the orchestra of life and dating. I’d
explained to someone once that if life were an orchestra, the most important
thing is that we stay on our own page, with our own notes, listening to
what’s happening around us, but focusing actively on what’s in front of and important
to us. It would be a disaster if the oboe began to play the notes of the viola.
But, that’s what has happened for me before; I get worried, I get crazed.
Not attractive to me. Or to you.

So, what can I actively do to get back to that place, the
book asks next? Well, for starters, I can type some things into my daily
gratitude app. I can choose two photos from my portfolio to send to this
modeling agency that may be a dead-end, but I was stopped on the street for. I
can go back on Theater Bay Area and find another casting call, and I can find
another monologue and start on that.
There are PLENTY of things that I can do to get back to that
place, because in that place I was simply doing what fed me, was important
to me, was fun, and enlivening.
And one of the changes can be to remember, it’s just a
f*cking date and was never meant as the end
goal – the whole “meet you on the way to meeting me” DOESN’T WORK if I stop
trying to actively meet myself, you know.
It’s time for me to allow the mass rush of thinking about
this, the boy, etc., recede into just one part of the array of my life. I have so
much else I was doing that created now as the greatest period in my life—and, really, it is. 

compassion · dating · fear · isolation · love · self-love

Cookie Monster

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

Otherwise, who would eat the blackened one?
This single line is the first poem of my first chapbook, back in 2010.
The essence of its meaning is the idea that I must eat the blackened cookie in
order to save others from having to eat it. In fact, it meant that I would choose that cookie above others on the savory plate just so
no one else would have to touch it. I would throw myself on that sword before
you even had to see it was there. I would do this for you.
That was 2010. I revisited this question a little while ago,
and asked myself, if not me, then who would? No one, came the answer. No one had to eat the rotten,
blackened thing. No one had to throw themselves on a sword. There is
enough that we can all have a chewy,
chocolate chipity experience. There is enough that none of us have to be
a martyr and I can let others choose around the thing (or choose the thing) if they want.
Today, in my new dating world, I find myself, per metaphor,
rushing to knock others over on my way to the hearty cookies. I am not patient
to wait for the tray to be passed around the table—if there’s a way to get the
good cookie, I will elbow your ribs to find one. In the process, I will annoy
or anger you, or I will eventually upset the whole tray, and no one, including
myself will get a cookie.
Because this way, too, the belief is there is not enough.
Call it cancer, age, healing, I am
not willing to eat the blackened one anymore. I am not willing to drink the
dregs, settle for less, diminish my worth, stand silently… or, apparently, be
patient. In an effort to reverse years of sour cookies, I am finding myself
clawing my way to the better ones. But only here, in this dating world. Only
here, am I getting to see where I have long-harbored ideas of lack, and so
perhaps one could call me “grateful” (gag,
sputter, gasp) to have the experience now
and the perspective on myself to see what is happening.
I WANT CONTROL. I am so attached to an outcome (the good cookie), I think
that I can poke or wink or smile or demure or hearty laugh or intellectual
conversation or sex or heavy or shared interest my way toward that outcome. Yet, see above: upset
tray.
In many ways, it’s the same as
diving for the blackened one. It’s a manipulation of the results. The belief
follows that if I eat the blackened one, you are saved, and you are able to
love me. The belief was that if I ate the sour cookie, I am the silent, steady
rube whom you will reward for my sacrifice with accolades.
Both manners of being are born out
of the fear of lack of love. Fear that I will not be taken care of.
It does not surprise me that a
monolith of emotions and emotional backlash and predatory fear have arisen as I
step into the dating world. It simply confirms why I’ve stayed away as long as
I have. I know there is work to be done here, and avoidance is a great way to
not have to feel those feelings. To not have to look at the monster and,
perhaps, Hulk-like, calm it down until it reverts back to a normal, California
girl.
If you stay out of the dining
room, you neither have to eat the blackened one nor cut a path through to
the full ones.
But, eventually you get hungry. 
My object now is to whisper in
that girl’s terrified ear, There is enough (love).
If you wait and allow the tray to be brought to you, you can have one. If you allow yourself to focus on the rest of the meal, the chicken and potatoes and brussel
sprouts (cuz you know you love em), the tray will come to you. If, instead you focus jealously on
GETTING A FUCKING COOKIE you will miss the bounty that’s in front of you.
Which is another way to say that
my being so singularly focused on the outcome I want around this (or any) situation, I’m actually making myself miserable. I notice that calculating all the angles to
my end-goal (through poking and winking and sexing and making you see
me) is taking me out of the joy of the
experience. It’s removing me from my center, my self, and from the fucking
thing I wanted in the first place: to date.
I certainly am learning things!
And I am going to try to eat my potatoes, and TRUST that I can be present in the
moment, and let all the other moments follow in their own order and time. I
will try to trust that I can relax into the moment, into the joy, into the newness and the awkwardness and the hilarity and the growth, because there is enough. 
And, who knows, if
the cookies do run out, maybe there’s a Junior’s Cheesecake in the kitchen. 

acceptance · change · dating · internet dating · trying

Let.The.Horse.Pull.The.Cart.Molly.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

One guy’s profile on Tinder read, “Let’s just tell people we met in line at a coffee
shop, and I said something charming.”
Because (forgive me if you did) who wants to say, We met
online.
My dad met his fiancé online. My mom met her boyfriend
online. My coworker is happily married to a man she met online. To name a few. 
So, what’s the big deal? Will this stigma end? Is it a
stigma, or is it just me and my highfalutin ideas of how people should act and
meet and love?…
So, how did me and the 25-year old meet? Well, according to
my highfalutin idea that I would “meet someone on the way to meeting
myself,” in fact. Amazingly.
We met at the Theater Bay Area auditions last Sunday. He was an auditor (i.e. some kind of representative of a theater company who watched all the auditions–casting director, director, who knew), I was a volunteer.
We repeatedly caught one another’s eye during the day, but the day passed without a word and was ending. I didn’t want to let the opportunity to meet him pass by, because either he’s
someone in the theater world I’d like to meet, or he’s just a cute boy I’d like
to meet.
Everyone milled in the lobby at day’s end, and I simply
walked up to him and said, “Hi, We’ve been glancing at one another all day, and
I just wanted to introduce myself.” He replied that it was the red I was
wearing that caught his eye. And, that I was very beautiful.
We chatted, we laughed a little, and in the end, I gave him
my card, utterly ambiguous to either of us whether our intentions were personal or professional.
Then, his email later in the week, and the ambiguous Saturday afternoon meeting
that turned into half a date. And last night into a full one. 
His beard hid the fact he’s 7 years younger than me, could have been anywhere around 30, til I asked on Saturday outright.
The agony I poured into my friends’ text messages yesterday
morning about the age gap! “He was in diapers when the Challenger blew up.” “He
doesn’t know Corey Feldman before rehab.” “He didn’t suffer neon like the rest of
us.” Though born in the 80s, his earliest memories begin in the 90s. This is a Millenial. 
My friends’ resounding response was: Just go on a second date,
doofus.
You don’t even know if you like one another yet; stop
manufacturing reasons to make this a no.
One friend in particular had good insight about the
generational gap. About the desire for aligned frames of childhood reference. Her husband is from
Germany, arrived in the States in 1995. His American pop-culture references
only go back that far, even though he’s of similar age. She said she walks down
memory lane with her friends. And that’s enough.
What are the need to haves; what are the nice to haves?
What about the “He’s employed, attractive, intelligent, ambitious,
Jewish, tall” part of the equation?
Then again. Your 20s are so much different than your 30s or
any other years (that I’ve lived so far). There is a certainty about the world
and your place in it that you have in your 20s that completely shifts by your
30s. There is a hubris about your knowledge. The development of those few years
is drastic. I know. I’ve lived it, and
watch others live it. I know that people who are 40 look at me and how I think
I fit in the world, and smile good-naturedly at my naïveté.
Though, perhaps it’s my own hubris that I can know where
another person is on their developmental path.
There is no definite here, there’s only exploration. More
opening, more meeting, more laughing and softening. The part where you (I) feel
comfortable enough to be silly–if that part even comes to pass. You
can’t even know yet if you like one another, and so all the questions about how
you met, about generational alignment, about maturity and Back to the
Future references AREN’T EVEN RELEVANT yet.
For now, I, said doofus, went on the second date. And this
one was unambiguous. 

change · dating · opening · truth · vulnerability · writing

Dance of the Cerebellum.

Molly Daniels HayesLeave a comment

I usually don’t friend on the first date.
There’s still too much of the game to be played before you
get to see my trivialities, my lols, my 8,000 vanity shots.
There needs to be order about the thing, this dating thing,
this ‘I wasn’t even sure if it was a date until I asked you mid-non date about
it’ thing. And you told me that you hoped it would be. And so it was.
I write everything here. I write about love and sex and
alcoholism and family dysfunction and self -exploration and -derision and
-love. I write about healing and change and acceptance. I write about
banalities and wrap them in a coat of revelation.
I only just began writing again, and I won’t censor because
you’re here now. Even though, that’s what the game is. That’s what the
beginning is. It’s an opening, always by degrees. Here are my cards, the ones
okay to be seen. Next hand, here are a few more—are you folding yet? Am I?
Here, one by one, is the rest of the deck, a little coffee-stained and edge-frayed.
I had a dream about you the night you asked me to
dinner. I dreamt you told me you were 18. And we kissed. And I pressed mine to
your soft, full lips.
And yesterday, when it happened in real time, you told
me you were 25. And we kissed. And you pressed your soft, full lips to mine. …
I usually don’t friend on the first date.
There’s too much to be known and unknown, to be veiled, and
slowly opened. Too much trust to be laid down before I am willing to open
myself and what I offer here. And too much I want to say here in this writing–to myself and my friends–about that process of
opening. This is my platform, my cauldron of community, where we all get to dive in and find the pearl at the
bottom.
And I need to dive, explore, create, and parse. I need to
tease and relate and recall and make sense.
I am a Libra, after all. Communication is our oxygen.
If I friend on the first date, you’ll see
that I know what a Libra is and does. That I talk to trees and ‘heart the 80s.’
That I argue with myself about every last particle of myself.

“Respond to Friend Request.”

I usually don’t friend on the first date.

“Accept.”

But I guess there’s an exception to everything.