What’s the Word for How it Feels to End Something That Never Even Started?

There’s a particular brand of heartache that comes at the end of something too new to have been anything at all. It’s nothing and yet, despite its nothingness, it’s still something enough that you notice it when it’s gone.

There should be a word for that. I’ll bet the Germans have a word for it. Or perhaps the Inuit languages would have me covered. Nothing in English feels quite right.

I’m not heartbroken. My heart was not totally wrapped up in this other person yet, but it did hope to be. My heart did naively allow itself to picture introducing this person to my friends. Imagine a birthday dinner with one extra person at the table. Fantasize about Sunday afternoons on the couch, my legs over his.

I’m not heartbroken. But my heart doesn’t exactly feel great because mixed up in the cheek-flushing hurt and disappointment is the cheek-flushing shame that I’m even this upset to begin with. How embarrassing to get your hopes up so quickly. How silly to have thought something could be different this time. How mortifying to have taken him at his word. How ridiculous to cry when he takes it back.

I’m not heartbroken. I haven’t lost a great love of my life. We never got to the love part. We had only just barely arrived at the like part. This feels different than the bittersweet loss of a friendship or the all-consuming grief of losing a loved one or the disorienting way you feel for a few months like you’ve lost a limb when the person you shared a bed with for years no longer sleeps on their side.

I’m not heartbroken so it’s probably a little melodramatic to be feeling all these feelings at all. But when your hopes float up and then crash down, what are we supposed to call that?

I’m not heartbroken. Maybe a little heartbruised. We need a word for that.

Being Unemployed Feels A Lot Like Being Single

As 2020 continues to cement itself globally as just the friggin’ worst, I find myself unemployed for the first time since 2009, when I packed up a hundred pound purple suitcase and moved to New York City. The company where I was lucky to spend the last nine years fell victim to the financial impact of the COVID-19 closures and so, alongside tens of millions of others, I’ve found myself looking for a new role and I can’t stop thinking about how being unemployed feels an awful lot like being single.

I may be new to the life of a job hunter, but I am quite familiar with being single thankyouverymuch, and let me tell you…the parallels are eerie. Let us read the ways:

When you’re single: It always starts with a breakup. Of course there are a million and one ways to process the end of a relationship, but clichés are clichés for a reason, and I’d be surprised if your processing doesn’t involve some combination of a night with your friends and many margaritas, crying, ice cream, and therapy.
When you’re unemployed: I mean. See above.

When you’re single: After the initial shock and/or grief wears off, the freedom sets in. Literally everyone on the apps (and just like…walking down the street) seems like a bright, shiny, very attractive promise when you’ve been with the same (wrong) person for too many years.
When you’re unemployed: Ask me to check my work email! LOL I CAN’T! I. AM. FREE. Goodbye to my alarm clock and hello to weekday trips to the beach. If you’ve ever felt underpaid or overworked or underappreciated, even a cursory glance at job boards and career pages will make you believe in the limitless possibility of what’s just ahead on your horizon.

When you’re single: Crafting your bio on a dating app is a delicate balance of seeming attractive and available, but not desperate. I’m definitely not single because there’s something wrong with me. I’m still single because I have high standards!
When you’re unemployed: Crafting your cover letters and LinkedIn profile is a delicate balance of seeming valuable and available, but not desperate. I’m definitely not unemployed because there’s something wrong with me. I’m still unemployed because I respect myself enough to hold out for the right opportunity with a company who recognizes my worth!

When you’re single: These days, a breakup is usually followed by scrubbing most signs of your ex from social media, save for a few scattered pics so you don’t seem too chronically alone.
When you’re unemployed: Welcome to tailoring your resume to each and every job description and removing past experience that is no longer relevant. Proud you may be of your stint as a server at the Olive Garden during college (#breadsticksforlife), it sadly no longer warrants real estate on your resume over a decade later.

When you’re single: Oh no no no SIR, you are not going to ghost me. I didn’t even like you! You can’t reject me! I REJECT YOU.
When you’re unemployed: Ever had a recruiter tell you they were declining to move forward with your candidacy for a job you felt you were overqualified for and applied to as a kind of throwaway “safe” option? Yeah. It’s a fun feeling.

When you’re single: You will forever find yourself staying up too late swiping on Tinder and Bumble. You will be unable to account for the last two to three hours.
When you’re unemployed: Anyone up for a midnight scroll on LinkedIn?

When you’re single: Especially in the current online dating climate, even if you actually want a relationship, it’s easy to fear “settling” when there appears to be a bottomless supply of singles just a swipe away. What if your next date is your soulmate?
When you’re unemployed: You may dream of receiving an offer, ANY offer, but perhaps the offer you finally receive leaves a lot to be desired. Do you take it because another may never come along? But what if another does and it’s better? Pays better? Has better opportunities for growth? Has a kitchen with snacks and cold brew on tap?

When you’re single: Have you ever gone on a first date that was so amazing, so in flow, so full of sparkly chemistry that you texted all your friends on the train ride home that he kissed you good night and he wants to see you again and you’ve finally met The One? And all your friends sent “OMG YESSSSSS!!!” and “OF COURSE HE WANTS TO SEE YOU AGAIN, QUEEN!!!” and body roll GIFs and emotional crying emojis? And then you never heard from him again?
When you’re unemployed: You know you aced that interview and the hiring manager asked how soon you could start and said they’d reach out with the offer details later that afternoon, so you call your mom and text your best friend telling them you’re pretty sure you’re starting a new job on Monday. But then Monday rolls around and instead of an offer letter, all you’ve received is a rejection email and so you’re forced to drown your silly optimism in a 4:00 glass of wine.

When you’re single: Okay so generally, I don’t believe in competing with other women, but when you finally meet an emotionally available, employed, handsome man, you can be your most confident, charming self, and it’ll still be hard to not dwell on the hoards of accomplished, stylish, smart, gorgeous, single women right at his fingertips.
When you’re unemployed: Why is everyone else younger and smarter with years of Zendesk and Salesforce experience? WHEN DID YOU ALL GET MBA’s?!

When you’re single: You haven’t had “the talk” yet, but you’ve somehow deluded yourself into operating under the assumption that you’re exclusive anyway until it becomes clear there are others vying for his attention.
When you’re unemployed: I’m sorry, did you say “other candidate”? Cool cool cool. No, right, totally, that makes sense.

At the end of the day, as callous as it sounds, it’s just a numbers game. The many dates and many applications are all in pursuit of just one (or more than one…you do you!) ideal match. And whether “ideal” means a long term commitment or just having your more immediate needs met, may the universe bring you everything you’ve ever wished AND worked your ass off for.

Tinder Aims to Capitalize on My Desperation

Online dating is unpleasant. This is news to no one. It feels superficial, noncommittal, and filled to the brim with flaky, insincere characters. But alas, even before the world locked up and we were all forced indoors to keep ourselves and each other safe, it was often the only realistic way for many of us to connect with potential dates. The IRL meet cute seems like a dating urban legend at this point, a story we tell each other over margaritas to distract from our loneliness with the fantasy that as soon as we stop thinking about it so much we’ll definitely bump into our perfect match while we stock up on cotton balls and Flamin’ Hot Cheetos at Duane Reade.

Until then, we swipe. Personally, I don’t employ a lot of strategy when I swipe — sometimes I’m slow and deliberate and take time to read bios; sometimes I move so fast it feels like some animal part of my brain has taken over and I’m not even really aware of which direction I’m swiping — but on occasion I do like to take advantage of the app’s paid upgrade. I usually do this when I want to grab hold of the reins a bit and when I’m feeling really on my game — really open to dating, really open to actually meeting people, really open to someone please god anyone kissing me at some point in 2020. Bumble has Bumble Boost, Hinge has Preferred, and Tinder has Tinder Gold.

My roommate and I were lounging on the couch recently, complaining about men on dating apps (I feel obligated to note here that sometimes we talk about other things) and it somehow came up that she rarely upgrades on Bumble because it costs much more than Tinder.

“Oh, I’m the opposite,” I said. “I know it’s actually more money in the long run, but $12.99 for a week of Bumble just feels like an easier pill to swallow than $29.99 for a month of Tinder.”

“But Tinder’s only $14.99 for the month!” she replied. “It’s so much cheaper!”

Phones out, subscription options held up side by side, we discovered that as a 33 year old woman, I am being charged double what my 26 year old roommate pays. DOUBLE. 

I’ve apparently been living under a blissfully ignorant rock, because a quick Google search confirmed that many users have been aware of this for years, and that Tinder, despite having settled a massive lawsuit in California and agreeing to stop differentiating pricing by age in that state only, stands by the practice on the whole. A Tinder spokesperson has stated, “We’ve found that these price points were adopted very well by certain age demographics. During our testing we’ve learned, not surprisingly, that younger users…are more budget constrained and need a lower price to pull the trigger.” Translation: older users have the money and are willing to spend the money, so we’re going to charge the money.

And okay, maybe now that I’m in my thirties I should have plenty of excess disposable income to throw at remedying my nonexistent love life, but we’re in the middle of a PANDEMIC here, folks, and I’m UNEMPLOYED, okay? I’ve never had more time to date in my life yet felt less desirable or safe doing so.

I already feel like I’m at a disadvantage dating in my thirties. There was a noticeable decrease in matches after my 30th birthday, so much so that I wish I was a more analytical and data-driven person with the stats to back it up, but you’ll just have to trust me here. I’m getting the sneaking suspicion that I’m now outside of a lot of guys’ set age ranges, either because they’re just conditioned to think younger equals prettier or more fun, or because they assume (rightfully, at least in my case) women in their thirties are interested in a little more commitment and a little less “not looking for anything serious right now.”

So why must I also be at a financial disadvantage?! We’re all on the same miserable (mindset shift, Megan…okay “winding”) journey together, so why are we not paying the same price for the same service? 

And if that’s not going to happen, then I’d like to make a formal request of Tinder: any chance you could hook this 33 year old up with a senior citizen discount?