On Millennial Dating in Your Late Twenties: A Rant
Prelude: If you know me, you know that I love men – I think they’re wonderful and amazing, and I have great godly men in my life who I trust and respect deeply – this is not in reaction to any men in particular beyond the few yahoos with whom I have “horror” stories, bless their hearts.
I’ll start by saying, I find it unnerving that men who date online are annoyed by the fact that women find their height to be important.
First – in my experience – men lie about their height. By at least 2 inches. And a girl of solid character like me is rightfully concerned about someone who lies about something as insignificant (in terms of things you would lie about) as their height, because what ELSE are you lying about??
Second – I’ll just state what anyone over 5’9″ is thinking – it’s super unfair that the short girls care about height. They’re ruining it for us Amazons out here.
That said, after and inside of the years I’ve spent trying to find a kind, secure, Jesus-loving man who is over five feet and ten inches tall – both on the inter-web, and in “Real Life” – permit me the opportunity to let the well-meaning, “older”, married folk who are concerned about us twenty-something millennials-who-just-can’t-seem-to-figure-it-out in on a mildly-important, true-to-my-life-experience fact:
Dating these days is exhausting, and – I would argue – way harder than it was for you.
For Christians who didn’t meet their soulmates at their private Christian universities, or in YWAM, or at BSSM, or in the Bible study on campus when they were 19 years old, our options for good godly people really slim down in our twenties – especially if you’re choosing a church for the Spirit, and not because of the of-marrying-aged-parishioners options. Just that spiritual and emotional gymnastics routine in itself (as in, trying to decide whether you will or won’t choose where you worship based on how many single people there are there) won’t bring much energy to a soul.
Especially for a woman who is wired to respond to pursuit – having to “put oneself out there” over and over again is wearing. I really only have the stamina to do it for a few weeks at a time until I need to take a break.
“Being too picky” isn’t the problem here. And on that note, if I had a dollar for every day two people arbitrarily gave me either end of the advice spectrum: “stop being so picky” or “don’t settle for anything less than God’s best!”, I’d be out of student loan debt by now. Of course they mean well, but clearly there’s more going on here that can’t be solved by following either of those directions.
As I was saying, if you think “being picky” means I won’t seriously date someone who smokes pot, or is a kinda-sorta-if-my-lady-wants-to-drag-me-I’ll-go-to-church attender, or someone who breaks off our relationship because I won’t sleep with them before marriage, or someone who wants me to be subservient and “submissive (read: defer to him every time we disagree) wife” then okay, YES, you’re right! I am being picky!
Because that’s what we’re dealing with today, folks.
The culture has convinced most people – especially in my city – that they can choose their own truth. There is no moral code. “Love” wins the day every time – and you can define Love however you want to.
As a person who doesn’t align with those values, maybe you can see a little clearer how dangerous it would be to partner myself with a person who does. We would be ill-matched. We would, worst case, end up adding to the horrific divorce rate.
It’s hard. It’s complicated.
And I know tomorrow I’ll be writing about how I’m a whole human being right now, and I don’t need a husband to complete me, so please choose a different first question during meet-and-greet at church than, “So, are you married?”.
And then the next day, obviously, I’ll be writing about how I’m trying to be in it for the long haul because I refuse to give up hope that there isssss my Charlton Heston out there sommmmewheeerrrrre (childhood crushes never fade, amirite).
to be continued.
Written with a commitment to post within a few minutes of expression, very little spellchecking, and willingness to embrace the inevitable vulnerability hangover.