When a 'thing' ends

Upset that a ‘thing’ you had with someone recently ended? Don’t be. It was probably barely a ‘thing’!

To be clear, a ‘thing’ is different for everyone. A ‘thing’ can be when you’re seeing someone, dating someone, having sex with someone. I used to laugh when people mourned the end of ‘things’ that had only been 3 months. Four months. Even 6 months. I had been in two 4-year relationships. ‘That’s nothing.’ I’d think.

But as it continued to (and continues to) become harder and harder to find real, lasting connections with people, rather lovers, I realized I was becoming one of those people upset by the end of, what I would previously consider, short, ‘things.’

Well, surprise! I didn’t like the way that felt! I didn’t like the power that these ‘things’ held and I wanted to do something about it. There had to be a way to make me, make all of us, feel less bad.

And guess what? There is!

All you have to do to make the ‘thing’ you’re upset about feel less upsetting is plug it into this very easy, very mathematically correct equation:

TAW x 4 = MTR(NOM > 5) = TNTM(ALOH) = HT

Confused? Let’s take a look! How many times a week (TAW) did your ‘thing’ take place? Okay, now multiply that by 4 (for 4 weeks in a month). There. That’s your Monthly ‘Thing’ Rate or MTR. Now take your MTR and multiply that by the number of months (NOM) your ‘thing’ lasted. This number should not exceed 5. (If your ‘thing’ exceeded 5 months, it was not a ‘thing’. It was a relationship and therefore I cannot help you). Where were we? Right, we just multiplied your MTR by # of months which gives us your Total Number of ‘Thing’ meetings aka TNTM (not to be confused with TMNT, everyone’s favorite mutant turtles).

Still confused? Don’t worry, we’re getting there. Let’s break down the TNTM of a recent ‘thing’ of mine that ended. My TNTM was 20 (It so happens my ‘thing’ fell on a few holidays which led to some extra meetings). Continuing on, the average length of our hangs (ALOH) was 3 hours (When doing this exercise yourself, only count conscious time together, sleeping hours do not count). So now I’m going to take my TNTM and multiply it by my ALOH which leaves me with my total number of Hours Together (HT), 60.

Wow. 60 hours together. That’s it!

60 hours isn’t even a 3-day weekend.

60 hours is barely 7.5 business days of boning. No way you’re putting that on a resume.

60 hours isn’t even the entire series of the 75 episodes of The Americans let alone the 86 episodes of The Sopranos (Imagine you stopped watching after “Marco Polo” and never found out what happened with Tony and Carmela in the pool?).

60 hours is only three 19-hour flights from Newark to Singapore. Ugh, Newark!

60 hours is a cross country trip from New York to Los Angeles, with a handful of rest stops. Nothing you can’t do alone!

60 hours is only .6% of Malcolm Gladwell’s debunked 10,000 hour mastery rule! You ain’t gonna master a skill and you ain’t gonna master this ‘thing’.

So, let’s get over our ‘things’ however long they were because guess what? You’ll be using that equation again soon enough. Another ‘thing’ is always around the corner. Until then, be grateful of the hours together (HT) we get back to focus on our friends, our family, our work, our pets, and of course, ourselves.

You're doing this to yourself

I took my dog, Remy, outside to pee. He was giving me the ‘I gotta pee’ signal of an intense stare. But when we got outside, Remy realized it was raining and suddenly his urge to pee vanished.

“Come on, baby.” I said. I pulled him to the curb expecting him to immediately hunker down and piss (which is what he usually does in inclement weather). Instead, Remy started pacing back and forth up the sidewalk growing more frustrated with each rain drop that fell on him. He was annoyed, shaking the wet off of him every three seconds. Yet, despite his growing frustration, he refused to pee.

“What the hell, Remy!” I said, getting soaked myself. “You’re doing this to yourself!” As soon as I said those words, I felt my metaphorical foot go directly in my mouth.

You see, the night before I had a date of sorts. I thought I had wanted this ‘date.’ I thought it was my duty to give the traditional back and forth of getting to know someone ‘the ole fashioned way’ over drinks another try. But as soon as I caught myself repeating the same six anecdotes, the same stories I’ve decided make me ‘interesting’, I wanted to jab the perfectly chipped ice cubes of my overpriced cocktail straight into my eyes. I 100% did this to myself. Who cares where I went to college and what my favorite movie is and what’s currently playing on my Spotify? Each date I put myself through was another confirmation that those things don’t matter to me…at first.

What I want to know about someone, above all else, is: Are we physically compatible? What’s the point of comparing our Discover Weeklys or our tastes in film if we don’t know our tastes for each other?

If our bodies don’t fit together nicely, if our tongues don’t understand each other, if my hands can’t find a place to touch, I rather stop right there. But if all those things are working and feel good and feel natural THEN let’s do all the mundane, routine bullshit of getting to know each other. Dating is so much easier once I have a grip on our physical connection. Their stories seem more exciting, MY stories seem less idiotic. If a connection is nonexistent, what a gigantic waste of time! It’s no ones fault, it just is. Having a similar taste in music won’t change that.

So there I was, like my dog, in a situation I knew how to fix but didn’t. One of use uncomfortably pacing in the rain waiting for the sweet release of an empty bladder, the other uncomfortably sitting at a bar waiting for a tongue in their mouth. Despite everything I know about myself, I’m certain I’ll find myself in another date down the line. But instead of starting the night with ‘Shall we get a drink?’, I think I’ll opt for ‘Shall we see if there’s an attraction?’