All great shidduchim are a like, but all failed connections don’t work out for different reasons.
Tolstoy said that; sort of. My logic now follows that when you complicate your method of search, you will create more and more ways for the right connection to elude you. For, (and I hate myself for saying this, because when people say it to me I think it’s bullsh**) the right one will come along when she’s meant to. That doesn’t mean that I won’t try new innovative ways of disappointing myself.
My seven year mission to explore the world-wide web and the rest of civilization for a wife reached a low point a couple weeks ago. I downloaded JSwipe, the Jewish tinder. Tinder is dating boiled down to its lowest from, simple yes’s or no’s routed purely in the most superficial attributes. It’s barroom dating with less romance. A first name and face pops up on the screen swipe left for no, right for yes. Click on the face and you can view a short user-written bio, including location and all of your mutual friends.
Eschewing the social niceties and tact that one doesn’t need while under the umbrella of anonymity, I plowed forward looking for my web wife. I gave my first potential mate-for-life a whole five seconds before discarding her with a leftward thumb flick. I don’t even remember why. Each succeeding women was granted even less consideration. In a short amount of time I started to wonder if I hated women. A month ago I deleted all the games on my phone, so this became my new digital digit addiction. Instead of crushing candies, I was crushing the dreams of every girl who wanted to spend the rest of her life with an unmotivated misanthrope.
There was a left-swipe no for one who was two young, left for mild facial flaws that easily could have been created by the substandard mobile-phone camera used for her profile picture. On and on. I swiped no for too young, too old, and sometimes because I felt like it; sometimes because I didn’t like the way they spelled their name. But mostly, I swiped no preemptively, a safety rejection; the avoidance of shame.
After two days I’d carpal tunneled my thumb and I felt slightly dead inside. Then I wrong swiped; a no that should have been a yes. A prospect popped up that should have been perfect, but after days of muscle memory, I swiped her no and into the digital dustbin she went, never to be heard from again. It was the worst kind of remorse; the remorse that only comes from self-destruction.
I swiped my way through the mini-depression followed, but arrived at the inevitable conclusion that it is not for me. I finished my career in micro-speed dating with an inconceivable losing streak I chalked up to extremely bad luck and an unfavorable format. As of the writing of this sentence, I have deleted the app from my phone and will not be turning back. I don’t fault its existence, but it is not for anything substantial. I feel like the most obvious sentence I will ever write on this blog is this. An app modeled after another app designed to facilitate “hooking up” is not the place to find any sort of meaningful relationship. Secondly, people longer consideration than your entrees.
After deleting the app, my mood levels stabilized and my existential angst over finding a life-long mate returned to their normal healthy levels. I no longer felt the shame over not being chosen at random, the same kind of shame I last felt in the fourth grade when nobody picked me for basketball at recess. I was habitually short in my youth. More than that, my faith in my own ability to attract the opposite gender has returned; and please don’t correct me if I’m wrong.