I didn’t think C was the love of my life. I didn’t even think she was going to be my girlfriend. But I was happy to be there, walking side by side beneath the warm lights of Chicago’s French Market, still giggling and swaying under the influence of a first date’s customarily sweet awkwardness.
Those who suffer from dating burnout, a term describing the hopelessness and cynicism daters often feel about finding long-lasting love — especially in the age of dating apps — might wonder at my willingness to go out with a woman from Tinder, even while thinking that she would not be my person. For many, that knowledge contradicts the purpose of going on the date in the first place — to receive a return on the investment of a perfectly curated profile, a couple of days of messaging beforehand, a well-groomed appearance on the day of the date and ultimately to settle down.
But as a young queer woman on Tinder and Bumble, I’ve found that burnout (which seems to primarily affect straight users) is often a result of misplaced expectations. I realized that one can circumvent this fatigue by approaching dating apps with open-minded curiosity and an eye toward finding joy in connections, irrespective of outcomes. This mindset is particularly crucial in women-loving-women relationships, allowing for a unique exploration of sexuality and queerness.
Dating app burnout has caused Gen Z and others to turn away from the apps and move toward in-person, old-fashioned methods. While I believe wholly in the virtue of these traditions, I propose a perspective altogether different from the dominant dating burnout philosophy, which implies a subscription to the notion that dates not leading to long-term partners are not worth one’s time.
Instead, I basked in the brief tenderness of my time with C. We met on Thursday and she was to return to school out of state on Monday — we would have no time for a second date. This did not stop us from appreciating one another’s company. As we walked to Marshall’s, she told me the story of her childhood through her glasses: At first, the pink and purple ones in grade school that broke when another student opened a door into her face, up until her current blue tortoise shells that she preferred less than her contacts. Once at Marshall’s, we walked through the aisles making sardonic comments about the products and tried not to smile when our fingers grazed.
I had just come from a long-term relationship with a man and felt out of touch with the WLW side of myself — so these small moments bore a great meaning to me. To walk with a woman, to touch her hand and feel the heart pitter-patter, was simple and good — even if she was set to leave in but a few days; even if I didn’t think she would be mine. I had to accept the notion that that which is not long-lasting could still be worthwhile, and abandon the idea that meeting people is simply a means toward entering a relationship. Rather, meeting people, forging a connection however brief, finding these little instances of queer communion, is the end.
Of course, dating apps are rife with men who are entitled, proud and even dangerous. And there is an unparalleled joy of meeting someone for the first time in person. But for me, the dating apps were an opportunity, a dedicated space in which I could intentionally reconnect with my sexuality and connect for the first time with a host of lovely people. And there was something salutary about sharing my time and space with these women, something affirming to see myself exist in a romantic context with other women after such a long time away.
L and I had been talking for a number of weeks before we met — and when we finally did, it was like we had met many times before. Our second and last date, we took one of her YA volumes from the shelf and laughingly read lesbian smut to each other. We stood at her kitchen counter in our underwear shaking Everything But the Bagel seasoning into split avocados and playing For the Girls card game. The Willis Tower glimmered faintly in the fog beyond her wide windows.
It was casual, yes, but not meaningless. Impermanent but memorable. It was a contrasting point to the disappointment app users feel when their “path to love” has not been realized. But burnout can be so easily sidestepped when one adjusts their expectations and allows each connection to live as itself. The express aim should not be to find a spouse, nor even merely to enter a serious partnership, but to delight for a few hours in the strange and new company of another person.
I still text C and L today, months after we met. A bond is made and kept. The future glows with possible, if improbable, things.
Finley Williams is a junior in the College of Arts and Sciences. She can be reached at [email protected]. Kaleidoscope runs alternate Tuesdays.