Is it time to wake up?
Has September ended?
2 Truths and 1 Lie:
My Notes app consists of either bullet-point self-help lists or seemingly endless paragraphs.
I've never met a short sentence I couldn't lengthen.
I'm one self-help list away from becoming my best self.
Three "Wake Me Up When September Ends" Katya Notes, capturing the mood of this moment:
Moreover, these are the most concise and the least embarrassing!
Before reading, you know what song to listen to…
1. Dates, Pre-dates, and Not-dates
Two dating realizations this September:
I'm a great date and not-date, but a not-so-great pre-date.
Dating apps, though, are mostly for pre-dates.
I see the benefits in all three, but I’ve found I’m better at dating and not-dating than pre-dating.
Should I communicate my preference to the kind, eager men in my life? How? And why do I find myself in this situation? Do others?
Friend A went on a second date with a man who worked at a hedge fund. He asked her to meet him at a specific location at 6 PM. "An adventure!" she thought, excited for what seemed like a cute, planned-out date. She wore a date dress and date shoes. It turned out to be a pre-date. They wandered around and sat by the water. The man bought himself a donut. When he tried to kiss her with gum in his mouth, she dodged. He explained that his intention was simply to get to know her and that he was seeing between one and three people. (Between one and three people? What does that mean?)
Friend B met a guy at a party where they talked for hours. He later asked her out for drinks, and she looked forward to a thoughtful, planned date. She wore a date dress and date shoes. However, the place he chose was closed on Mondays, so they walked elsewhere. They each had one drink while he questioned her intensively. It was her birthday week, but he didn't ask which day. He didn't walk her home. She called me, annoyed, on her walk back. Evidently, she didn't meet his criteria for a real date.
Friend C repeatedly invited me on not-dates—complete with reservations at classic first-date spots—at which I excelled. More often than not, he paid. I should have put a stop to it sooner.
At a jazz bar, Friend B, Friend D, and I debated what to do when men hesitate to pay the bill. “I am an independent woman, and they need to know!” “But I want an experience, and they need to know!”.
Ah yes, an experience. A story about the experience. A date.
I crave the assurance of dressing up, visiting a charming venue, and savoring a delightful moment—sometimes even a joyous one.
I crave creating experiences. I crave someone caring enough to create one for me.
Pre-dates are easier and quicker to fit in. One coffee! One walk! One drink!
Not-dates are easiest, as they can spring up anywhere, anytime.
On a pre-date, I am fully myself, staying the same, creating nothing new.
On a pre-date, I forget to create a memorable experience. I am merely a list, matching another list. Easy to plan this interview. Hard to remember it after.
(In dating, forgetting is lucky. I am lucky—I do not have bad dates to remember.)
Dates. Not-dates. I find I don't care, as long as it's a nice moment. The experiences I look forward to—whether a date or not-date—are far more interesting and exciting than the pre-date interviews. Isn't any relationship, of any kind, built one moment at a time? What's the shame in calling something a “date”? We should all be dating—ourselves and each other.
On dating apps, how do I say “I want a real date so I can remember to feel romantic?” without sounding… well, you know?
The missing feature in dating apps… a mandatory "date type" selector:
"I prefer a date""I prefer a casual pre-date" "I prefer to never call it a date"At least then we'd know what to wear.
2. Clubs and Jackets
I woke up sweating from a dream. In the dream, I was wearing a sweater.
The sweater came off and then was lying on a chair—the chair of a dance club. I was looking for the sweater.
The leather jacket I picked up wasn't mine. The big puffy coat wasn't mine either. Where was my sweater?
I woke up.
I yearn for one last dance at a bar this season—free from the burden of lugging a sweater. I'm not quite ready to embrace sweater weather.
3. Borrowing Time and Space
When I arrived in America, I felt as if I were borrowing the country itself. I am here, for now, I thought. Do you want me here? I asked. It’s been over 20 years.
When I got into my first scholar program at my first American elementary school, I felt as if I were borrowing the teachers. I got Student of the Month stickers, and it felt like they were truly mine for just a month.
Fast forward to college: I chose a school and was accepted, receiving a kind handwritten note that I've since framed. One semester at a time, I thought. I loved Wesleyan. I graduated one semester early.
The job I coveted—my manager's position—felt borrowed. She moved on to a different company. In tech, all jobs feel temporary. The frequent layoffs serve as a stark reminder of this reality.
Something good? Borrowed.
Apartment that I pay for and take care of? Borrowed.
Equinox that I pay for and go almost every day? Borrowed.
Any relationship, be it romantic or platonic? Borrowed. It's delightful now, but permanence isn't guaranteed.
Is this anxiety, and/or a product of my past?
Is this a common experience for anyone who is somewhere they “shouldn’t” be?
Is this bad, though? After all, aren't we all on borrowed time?
This isn't imposter syndrome. I belong, but only for a moment.
Three notes for September 30th, published before midnight—success!
If you enjoyed these reflections and would like to read more about any of the three topics, please let me know.
Is this raw form better writing? Or is it the polished prose I labor over for weeks? What's truly worthy of my time—and yours? What helps you think?
Should I publish my phone Notes more often?
Comment, email, share a Note!
Carefully,
Katya
this is so beautifully written, and a really compelling way to capture a month in time! i loved it