This Is How (3 page)

When I tell this to other New Yorkers they laugh and gasp, “That’s crazy! You have to get out more.”

But if I ask them, “So when was the last time you walked along the esplanade in Battery Park City?” the answer is inevitably, “Oh, I’ve never been down there; I hear it’s nice.”

So even if you think that statistic doesn’t apply to you, I bet real, green money that it probably does.

Do you seek out fresh neighborhoods in parts of town you’ve never seen so you can discover a brand-new dentist every time you need your teeth cleaned?

Once you’ve dropped of your stained suits at the dry cleaner’s, are you really going to rotate your filthy garments among all the local cleaners each week?

When you run out of saltines, are you going to go to the nearest store, or spice it up and head over to the supermarket on the other side of town?

I suspect you go about your daily life more or less as I do: as though clamped firmly to an invisible length of monorail track.

The reason I live in Manhattan is not because I “enjoy taking advantage of everything the city has to offer” like a dubious personal ad; it’s because I’m both wasteful and a glutton. I like knowing I have everything right here beside me so I can let it all spoil in the refrigerator next to the broccoli.

Maybe you aren’t even aware of how small a geographic circle you live in. But until you stretch your borders just a little, you can’t say you’ve so much as lifted a finger when it comes to finding love. What you’ve done is wait for love to quit its job, apply for work as a FedEx driver, and put in a request to work on your particular route.

This isn’t leaving it in God’s hands; this is tying God’s hands behind His back.

It’s like pacing up and down the condiment aisle at the supermarket and hating on yourself because you can’t find a single thing you want to eat. “Oh my God, I can’t stand chutney! And
horseradish
? That’s for awful old people. This is a hateful store. They hate love here.”

It’s unrealistic and passive to expect to meet somebody who shares not only your interests and sensibilities, but also your daily routine.

And if you really aren’t all that bad and your world is a wee bit bigger than what I’m describing, you still need to get your Napoleon on and take over a little more of the world.

For example, if you take a subway or walk to work each
day, do you ever alter your course? Do you ever get on the wrong train, on purpose?

Because I believe destiny and chance are the oldest poker buddies in town.

You need to go places you have never been and order food you have never ordered and wait in lines you have never waited in before.

If you want to go to the museum on Saturday, go instead to a Little League baseball game.

Once you’ve opened your world a little, then you need to open your mind.

Because another thing lots of people believe is that they will know the person when they meet them. There will be an instant, profound recognition.

Maybe.

Maybe not.

If you are to be really truthful here, do you think it’s possible that over all the time you’ve been single, every now and then you’ve fantasized about what it might be like to meet this special person?

Who hasn’t done that, right?

Do you think it’s possible that each fantasy leaves behind just a little bit of residue?

So that maybe without even realizing it, your brain has kind of formed a visual image of what this person looks like?

If I asked you to—right now, quick—describe the person you will one day meet, even for an instant, does a human form flash in your mind?

If you have such a mental image of the person you expect someday to meet, it could be acting like a coffee filter, automatically catching those minuscule pieces of ground-up insect
and Colombian coffee–field mouse tail, shielding your attention from people who do not resemble the blueprint you have generated over time.

I don’t believe in the concept of a soul mate. Because we are all unique, but we’re also simply too similar.

I think out of seven billion people, there is probably more than just one soul mate. Surely, the paid employee in charge of each person’s love life has taken into account the possibility of fatal snake bites and heavy falling objects.

Or maybe there’s something wrong with you and that’s why you’re single.

Maybe you’re like the guy I had a date with once, who was perfect in every way except for his hair, which looked fantastic and smelled like vomit. I wrote about him in one of my books so I’m consciously repeating myself here, for those keeping score.

Who is going to tell you that your hair smells like vomit?

This is the sort of thing that will ensure you check the “single” box on every application you ever fill out for the remainder of your life.

So, make sure there’s nothing like this going on.

Are your teeth weird? A lot of people have really scary teeth. If they all knew they had these teeth, they would fix them. Ask your best friend and say to them, “Tell me the friggin’ truth.” If you can afford to fix them and you want to, great. But that doesn’t really matter because fixing the weirdo teeth isn’t what makes them okay. What makes them okay is knowing you have
them. And being totally cool with it. Imperfections are attractive when their owners are happy with them.

Are you one of those people who says on a first date, “I’m really not in any hurry to meet somebody, I figure if it happens, it happens”? Because those are the most desperate people of all. I’m just saying this so that if you are this person, you aren’t hiding from anybody.

There is no shame in being hungry for another person. There is no shame in wanting very much to share your life with somebody.

It’s my understanding that human beings have fairly regularly sought the company of other human beings, pretty much throughout history.

This is, in fact, merely being truthful about what it is we are, biologically: social.

Personal ads and dating websites work. Anything that hurls your ass into the orbit of other living people can work. But there’s still a mistrust of the Internet.

A while back, I watched a documentary about suicides and the Golden Gate bridge. During an interview with the best friend of a man who leapt to his death, the friend spoke about how he’d had a conversation with this suicidal guy and the suicidal guy was excited about meeting some woman online.

The friend told him, dude, what are you doing? You’re not going to find true love on the Internet. You’ve got to get out in the world, face-to-face.

I did something I almost never do: I talked back to the TV. I said, “You killed your best friend.”

Of course you can find love on the Internet. Exactly as you can find love at the Department of Motor Vehicles, the dry cleaner’s, a bar.

Saying, “There are a lot of psychos online. That Craigslist Killer? Yeah, forget the Internet,” is just as loopy. Ted Bundy killed college girls. Should you drop out of college just to be on the safe side?

All of these are things you can do that are a little more proactive than just waiting. Somebody said to me once, “I’m doing the online thing. Most of the people you meet are just totally not right.”

The truth is, most people you meet
are
totally wrong for you, whether you meet them online or at an after party for the Oscars. Which is why meeting truckloads of people is almost a requirement. It doesn’t matter how many “wrong” people you meet; what matters is doing everything possible to meet that one person. Don’t try a new venue—like online dating—thinking you’ll meet “better” people; try a new venue because you’ll meet
more
people. It’s like with diamonds. It can take more than two hundred tons of ore to yield one high-quality diamond. Nobody is obsessing over all this ore; they’re focused on that diamond.

Being single isn’t a real problem.

It becomes a real problem only when you believe the powers and forces of the universe have conspired against you.

When this happens, you’ve begun supernatural thinking.

You need to scrape your face against reality. You need to realize that being single when you don’t want to be single anymore says nothing about your lovability, attractiveness, or quality as a person. It says volumes, though, about the limits you’ve established with respect to looking for and meeting new people.

If you’re single and you don’t want to be, meet more people. It is, in fact, that easy.

Then again it could be that meeting people isn’t your problem at all. Your problem is keeping them.

Does that sound familiar?

Maybe “they” always turn out to be “assholes” and they never call you again after the third or fourth date.

Maybe it’s uncanny how good you are at finding these freaks.

But maybe? It’s not them.

Maybe you’re one person during the first several dates, but then maybe you change into a completely different person once you’re more comfortable.

I have definitely done this. I’ve also wished repeatedly that the effects of Photoshop could be carried over into the real world, for dates.

I just wanted to be the best person I could be when I first met somebody.

This is common. And it’s called
lying
.

The best person you can be is the person you are when you are alone on a random Thursday. That’s who you are.

When you are on your best “dating” behavior, when you’ve pulled yourself together and are pretty much the person you plan to be full-time, in the very near future, this is called make-believe.

The desire to impress somebody when you first meet them is caused by a tiny, invisible, freelance divorce attorney who sits on your shoulder and tells you what to do.

Be the person you actually are, not the person you think you should be. The theoretical, vastly improved, Oprah magazine–cultivated New You is a nice weekend project to tinker with. If you want to improve as a person do this slowly,
over time. And not all at once, as you sit down at the bar and open your mouth to talk about your true self on a date.

It is much better and wiser to appear on that first date looking as you do in real life with your real friends on a real weekend.

Because here is the truth: if you want to have a chance at meeting somebody with whom you are genuinely compatible, never put your best foot forward. There’s no such thing as taking out an advance against your future personality. It never works to go on dates disguised as the person you plan to be.

Never, ever try to impress somebody.

Be exactly the person you would be if you were alone or with somebody it was safe to fart around.

Be that person. Be the person you are right now, alone, reading this book.

And then meet people.

Then hold out until you meet somebody who is utterly impressed.

Because then? You will not have impressed them. They will have been impressed by you.

The difference may seem just a matter of semantics. But it’s not. The difference is finding a person who’s right for you.

Not one you think is correct.

The other ways won’t work. Even if they work for a while . . . they will fail. You will always slide back into being who you actually are. And the person you are with will want a refund.

BUT
.

If you meet somebody and they love you when you are
your true, awful, not-ready-yet, boring, not cool enough, not handsome enough, not pretty enough, too fat, too poor self? And if you love them back so much it makes you calm? And they have flaws and you do not mind a single one of them?

That means you get yourself to the church and you pull one of those priests out of bed and you have him cast one of those wedding spells on you. If you’re gay and this happens, you just might have to rent a car first and drive to one of the states that operates a few hours ahead.

Because if you found that, you found
it
.

Do you understand that you are exactly attractive enough and thin enough (even if you weigh four hundred pounds) and smart enough and funny enough, even if you cannot tell a knock-knock joke without fucking it up? You are exactly everything enough to the person who thinks you are.

Just like when you look at them, your eyes will get all wet and girly. Because of their beauty. Even if by any ordinary, reasonable standard, they’re short and old and have bad skin.

To meet your soul mate, you have to be exposed to other people. And you have to be willing to show them your soul. You have to be only yourself. If it makes you nervous or uncomfortable to do this, good. Even better. Because that’s you, too.

You cannot make a mistake on a date with the right person for you.

If you stand up from the table and accidentally trip and the
tablecloth along with everything on it lands on the lap of the person sitting across from you . . . if they are the right person?

That will be the moment they realize they love you.

Maybe this happens when you are twenty-three. Or maybe it happens when you reach fifty-four. Or maybe seven days after your eighty-sixth birthday.

Two hundred tons of ore is a great amount of ore. If, after a reasonable amount of time and effort you remain unhappily single, my suggestion is that you employ the services of a cat or a dog.

Both cats and dogs are known hiding places of soul mates.

They are also very, very good at getting strangers to talk to them in kind voices. Which, it should be noted, could be of some use to those who might otherwise be too shy to step forward and say,
hello.

I
KNOW A WOMAN
who has mentioned her weight—and how she needs to lose it—every time I have seen her for the twenty years I have known her.

I have no idea what she weighs but she looks great and her boyfriend is handsome and fascinating and thinks she’s hot. She’s not skinny. She has hips and boobs and thighs; she looks great, she looks right.