This kind of ease

Thoughts on dating and a feeling I'd love to find again.

Prelude

I write a lot when I’m not writing on Substack. In my journal, in my notes app, in Notion. But one type of writing I always want to do more of (but never make time for) is prose. Narrative story-telling that goes a little deeper.

I’m sure I’m not the only one seeing

lina

’s TikToks on writing columns about your own life all over my feed. I love that she blocks out time to do this and really romanticizes the act of writing. I also love seeing Caroline Montague’s impossibly glamorous writing life.

Since my brain refuses to do nothing on a Friday night, I decided to just write. This definitely is not my usual post but something I had a lot of fun doing. Maybe it’ll end up being a series. Or maybe not. Either way, I hope you enjoy this little palate cleanser.

I've been thinking a lot lately about how dating should feel. Not the swiping, the small talk, or the awkward dinners dressed up as effort. But the rare, quiet feeling of ease. The moment your heart starts racing, not from anxiety, but from the slow, dawning realization that things are actually going well. The creeping suspicion that maybe this was supposed to happen. That you were supposed to meet.

Maybe it's because I'm newly single and trying to remember what dates even look like. What they might feel like. What I want them to feel like.

I keep coming back to Los Angeles, 2018. The Rose Bowl. A blind date I was nervous to say yes to—but did.

You were tall. Like really tall. How shallow of me to lead with that but it was the first thing I noticed. How could I not? You towered over our group like a lamp post in a crowd.

Maybe I let that initial shock get to my head (or maybe my head wasn't screwed on properly that day) but I walked into your arms as soon as you opened them. Hesitantly, you wrapped them around me just as I realized something was wrong. I felt the hairs on the top of my head shift from your breathy chuckle.

"I mean, I was trying to give David a hug but I'll take this I guess."

I've never escaped a hug so fast.

"Rude. I was trying to be friendly." I mumbled, ducking into the back seat to hide my burning cheeks. How embarrassing.

We both knew this was a set up. Still, we gave Oscar-worthy performances in the car, walking into the venue, getting to our seats. The four of us giggled as the band started their set. We didn't know the lyrics, we were just here because David had free tickets. But we chatted and bopped, drank and swayed. Music was music. And we knew music.

When a song I recognized started, I turned to proudly announce it and saw that you were the only one left behind me. A quick scan revealed that our friends snuck off somewhere between the last song and us moving closer together. I spotted them giggling at the bar.

"I think our friends are setting us up", you smiled.

"Really? It wasn't obvious at all," I looked up at you.

The lead singer starts wrapping up the first verse.

Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways.

"So you know this one?" You moved a little closer.

"I do." I turned to face the stage but leaned back into your chest.

Sad to see you go, was sort of hoping that you'd stay.

Your fingers grazed my waist, sending the lightest shiver through me as you pulled me in. The air was sweet and warm that night in LA.

Baby, we both know that the nights were mainly made

For sayin' things that you can't say tomorrow day.

Dancing with you to a band we both don't listen to shouldn't have felt so natural—but it did. Meeting someone new didn't usually feel so fun, but we made it so. When it ended, I glanced back at you, beaming. You took the opportunity and gave me the gentlest kiss.

It didn't feel like fireworks. It felt natural. Easy. Exciting. I knew there would be another.

I drove us all home since I didn't drink and the four of us conversed like old friends. I guess technically it was a car full of old friends—we were the only ones that were new to each other. I walked you out when we got back to Rina's apartment. As soon as we were out of sight, you wrapped one arm around my waist and closed the gap between you, me, and the wall. This kiss didn't feel so innocent and that felt natural too.

"When am I going to see you again?"

"I leave in a week," I replied.

"I'll see you this week then." You leaned in to kiss me again, this time making sure you'd take my breath with you when you left.

Our first real date might have been even better but I always come back to this memory. It's a feeling I keep hoping to run into again.