The Hinge Experiment: Apparently My Date Reads My Blog

Well, The Hinge Experiment™ has taken an interesting turn.

Yesterday, I celebrated that after weeks of absolutely nothing happening on Hinge, I finally had a new match.

Airica.

We started talking. We discovered some things in common. She lives about an hour and a half away, which I don't consider a major obstacle. Most importantly, we started making plans to meet on Sunday.

So naturally, I did what I do.

I wrote about it with her photo.

And this morning, I discovered one tiny detail I probably should have considered more carefully:

Airica saw the post.

Oops.

Time for a Mea Culpa

I had to do a little mea culpa earlier today.

Airica was shocked that I'd posted about her and our Hinge match.

And you know what?

I totally get it.

She's a private person.

I am...

Well...

Have you met me?

I have a website with my name on it where I document my life regularly.

I write about dialysis.

I write about my prosthetic.

I write about eye surgery.

I write about scams.

I write about family.

I write about dating.

I once turned having zero Hinge matches into multiple blog posts and gave an imaginary iguana named Steve a recurring role.

Clearly, privacy and I have a somewhat unconventional relationship.

But that's my choice.

Airica didn't necessarily sign up for the same thing simply because she matched with me.

That's an important distinction.

My Life Is Public. Hers Doesn't Have to Be.

This was actually a good reminder for me.

I'm comfortable putting a lot of my life online.

Airica isn't.

Neither approach is wrong.

But when another person becomes part of one of my stories, particularly someone I'm just getting to know, I need to remember that my comfort level doesn't automatically become theirs.

So I apologized.

No excuses.

No:

“But I'm a blogger!”

No:

“But that's what I do!”

No attempt to convince her that she shouldn't have been surprised.

She was surprised.

I understood why.

Mea culpa.

Lesson learned.

And hopefully, lesson remembered.

But Here's the Good News...

Despite my apparently irresistible ability to create complications before the first date even happens, it looks like we're still on for tomorrow.

Yes.

Tomorrow.

The Hinge Experiment may finally produce an actual date.

Two people.

Same geographic location.

At the same time.

Intentionally.

I'm almost afraid to type that sentence.

Given the history of this experiment, I'm waiting for Hinge headquarters to send someone to my house and say:

“Sir, there's been a clerical error.”

But as of this writing...

We're on.

There's Just One Tiny Problem

Now I need to figure out what we're actually doing.

Details.

Apparently, announcing you're going on a date isn't the same as planning the date.

Who knew?

She's about an hour and a half away, so I'd like to come up with something that's worth the drive but also relaxed enough that we're not trapped in some elaborate four-hour romantic extravaganza if we discover within the first 20 minutes that we have absolutely nothing to say to each other.

That's the strange thing about meeting someone from an app.

We've talked.

We've messaged.

We've seen pictures.

We've read profiles.

But we've never actually been in the same room.

There is still that moment when two people meet and discover whether the digital version translates into real life.

I'm looking forward to finding out.

And Maybe I'll Try Something Radical

Perhaps tomorrow I'll do something completely outside my normal operating procedure.

Experience the date before writing about the date.

Revolutionary.

I know.

And if Airica prefers that parts of her life stay private, I can respect that.

The Hinge Experiment can still be my story without making every person I meet a public character.

Although Steve the Iguana remains fair game.

He signed a release.

Probably.

Current Hinge Standings

After weeks of watching an empty match screen:

Matches: 1.

Woman I'm actually talking to: 1.

Potential date tomorrow: 1.

Distance: About 90 minutes.

Mea culpas issued: 1.

Dates actually completed: Still 0.

That last number could finally change tomorrow.

First, however, I need to answer the most pressing question in The Hinge Experiment:

What the heck are we going to do?

Stay tuned.

Well...

Maybe don't stay too tuned.

I'm learning. 😂

Meditation, a Whopper, and Four Words of Wisdom: Make Good Choices

Tonight, I went to a meditation meeting.

It’s a new meeting, and this was my first time attending. I’d heard awesome things about it; I knew the person guiding the group, and after the last few months—and especially the last week—I figured, why not?

I could probably use a little more conscious contact with the Spirit in the Fourth Dimension to help me be of maximum use to all humanity.

Apparently, immediately afterward, humanity was waiting for me at Burger King.

The meeting ended at 8:00 p.m., which was already way past dinner for me. I hadn’t eaten lunch either.

Correction.

I had half of a King Size Kit Kat bar for lunch.

So, nutritionally speaking, I was thriving.

I was going to make my usual Harris Teeter stop, but then I saw Burger King.

The King was calling.

I safely crossed two lanes of traffic to make the left because, at that particular moment, I wanted to have it my way.

I ordered a Whopper Jr., fries, and—of course—a Coke Zero. I also ordered a Rodeo Burger because I love the onion rings and BBQ sauce combo.

I was sitting there waiting for my food when I heard someone yelling.

I looked ahead, and this dude was waving his hands, obviously trying to get my attention.

I don’t remember everything he said before this, but I definitely heard:

“I just got out of the pen, and I’m hungry.”

I assumed by “the pen,” he meant prison.

Well.

Welcome back to society. Apparently, I was his Burger King ambassador.

The timing was also interesting.

I had recently talked with Sam Taylor (https://www.facebook.com/sam.peralta.18041), someone I previously led on a Learning & Development team, about my dating adventures—including the woman who wanted help paying her rent and then, after one date, her phone bill.

Sam and I talked about something we both tend to do: we don’t typically hand people money, but we’re willing to buy something they need.

That has generally been one of my boundaries.

I’ve also had a roommate who frequently said:

“I’m one paycheck from being homeless.”

I’ve never forgotten that.

I get it.

Part of my recovery is trying to be useful to other people while still maintaining boundaries.

So I told the guy I’d buy him something to eat.

I got my meal and tried to get the attention of the Burger King drive-thru dudes, who, by the way, were really nice.

I asked if I could order another meal.

Nope.

Apparently, once I reached the window, the sacred Burger King ordering process couldn't be disturbed.

I had to drive around again.

That seemed ridiculous.

But okay.

I asked the guy what he wanted to drink.

“Sprite.”

I told him:

“Don’t move. I have to drive around again.”

He started thanking me and told me he had a gift for me.

I immediately said:

“It’s all good, sir. No gift.”

Meanwhile, inside my head, several possibilities were being considered as to exactly what kind of “gift” a guy who had just gotten out of the pen might be planning to give me.

I decided I was good.

No gift necessary.

I drove around Burger King again, ordered him a Whopper meal with a Sprite, paid, got the food, and pulled forward to hand it to him.

He thanked me and told me he would “pay me back on the back end.”

I’m pretty sure I’m never going to see this guy again.

And that’s okay.

I didn’t buy him dinner because I expected him to pay me back.

Before I drove away, I left him with four words:

“Make good choices.”

He looked at me and said:

“Those are some words of wisdom. Make good choices.”

I wished him luck and drove away.

Then I ate my fries.

For me, that was the unexpected lesson at the end of tonight’s meditation.

I didn’t solve someone’s life. I didn’t give away everything I had. I didn’t abandon my boundaries.

I just bought a hungry stranger a Whopper and a Sprite.

I don’t know if he’ll remember the meal or those four words. I don’t know what happens next in his life.

I only know that tonight, he wasn’t hungry.

And tonight, I received another reminder that being of service doesn’t always happen where I expect it.

Sometimes I find the Spirit in the Fourth Dimension through meditation.

And sometimes...

I find it in the Burger King drive-thru.

I had it my way.

And hopefully, both of us will make good choices.

The Hinge Experiment: Sometimes the “X” Isn’t Personal—It’s a Boundary

The Hinge Experiment continues.

Still no magical love story. Still no woman standing outside my door holding a Coke Zero and saying, “Niel, I've been looking everywhere for you.”

But I am looking.

And looking also means clicking the X sometimes.

Recently, I came across three profiles of women who, from what I could see, seem perfectly nice. Interesting careers, hobbies, personalities, and lives of their own.

And I clicked X on all three.

Not because I think there's anything wrong with them.

Not because of their appearance.

Not because one likes preserving food or another thinks dating her is like finding an extra chicken nugget in your meal—which, frankly, is a pretty strong sales pitch.

It came down to one little line in the profiles:

Marijuana: Sometimes.

For me, that's a no.

Before Someone Lights the Torches—or Something Else

This isn't me telling anyone else how to live.

I'm not starting the Niel Flamm War on Weed.

I'm also not interested in debating whether marijuana should be legal, illegal, medicinal, recreational, taxed, sold, grown, smoked, eaten in a gummy, baked into a brownie, or delivered by a talking iguana named Steve.

People make their own choices.

This is mine.

I'm in recovery, and I've learned over the years that I need to know my boundaries and protect them.

Based on what I've seen and experienced, I associate marijuana use with the potential to lead toward other substance use. I also know there is debate and research around the whole concept of a “gateway drug,” so I'm not presenting my personal experience as a universal scientific rule.

I don't need it to be one.

For my recovery, I choose not to have marijuana as part of my environment or romantic relationship.

That's enough.

My Friends Are a Different Story

I have friends and fraternity brothers who may enjoy marijuana.

They're adults.

They make their decisions.

I make mine.

In most cases, they consciously choose not to use it around me.

I appreciate that.

They aren't required to live their lives according to my recovery, and I don't expect them to.

But respecting my boundary tells me something important about the friendship.

They can do their thing.

I can do mine.

And nobody needs to turn Thanksgiving dinner into a TED Talk about cannabis.

Alcohol Is Weirdly Different for Me

This may sound contradictory, but I've gone on dates with women who drink alcohol responsibly.

And I find it absolutely fascinating.

Someone orders a glass of wine.

Then perhaps...

another glass of wine.

And then...

THEY STOP.

What kind of sorcery is this?

Two glasses?

You mean you're not immediately calculating how many more you can consume, where the next drink is coming from, and whether there's enough alcohol available to completely obliterate yourself?

Apparently, some people drink because they enjoy a drink.

Who knew?

That was never how I drank.

For me, drinking wasn't:

"This Cabernet has lovely notes of blackberry."

It was more:

“Excellent. How quickly can we make consciousness optional?”

That's one of the reasons I know I'm an alcoholic and why recovery remains important to me.

Someone else's responsible alcohol use doesn't automatically bother me. I know where I am with alcohol today.

Marijuana hits differently for me.

So I draw the boundary there.

Dating Is Also About Knowing What Doesn't Work

I've written a lot during The Hinge Experiment about wanting matches.

Then I finally cleaned out my matches because conversations weren't going anywhere.

Now I'm clicking through profiles looking for someone new.

But here's something important:

Getting a match isn't the goal.

Finding someone compatible is.

If I ignore something that's important to me just because someone is attractive or because my match queue currently resembles an abandoned shopping mall, what exactly am I accomplishing?

I could click the heart.

Maybe she clicks mine.

Maybe we start talking.

Maybe we like each other.

Then eventually I say:

“Oh, by the way, marijuana use is a boundary for me.”

And she says:

“Oh, by the way, I enjoy marijuana.”

Congratulations!

We've successfully discovered something the profile already told us.

That's not fair to either person.

The X is much easier.

It's Not Rejection of the Person

That's probably the biggest point.

I don't know these women.

For all I know, they're wonderful.

They may be smart, hilarious, compassionate, successful, and fantastic partners for someone.

I'm simply not that someone.

And that's okay.

Dating isn't about determining whether someone is a good or bad person.

It's determining whether two people might be good together.

There are things someone else might see on my profile and immediately think:

NOPE.

I have one leg.

I'm bald.

I'm in recovery.

I write publicly about my life.

I apparently have an imaginary iguana named Steve who has become a recurring character in my dating blog.

Take your pick.

Someone can hit X.

I'm going to survive.

So, Ladies, I Wish You Well

To these three women—and anyone else whose profile I pass because marijuana use is listed:

There is no judgment from me.

No lecture.

No attempt to change you.

No angry finger wagging from the other side of the Hinge algorithm.

Just a recognition that we probably aren't the right match.

I genuinely hope each of you finds your person.

Someone who appreciates your humor, your quirks, your interests, and whatever makes you uniquely you.

I'll keep looking for mine.

The Hinge Experiment continues.

The queue may still be empty, but I'm not going to abandon the things that matter to me just to fill it.

Besides...

Steve the Iguana has informed me that he's completely drug-free.

Finally, a viable candidate. 🦎

“Don’t You Meet Single Women at Recovery Meetings?”

As I've continued documenting The Hinge Experiment™, I've had a thought that I'm sure some people reading along have had too:

“Niel, don't you meet single women at recovery meetings?”

Well...

Yes.

There are women at recovery meetings.

Some very smart, incredibly funny, interesting, and great-looking women are at the meetings I attend.

But there's a pretty significant difference between noticing that someone is attractive and treating a recovery meeting like Hinge with folding chairs and bad coffee.

And I'm very intentional about that.

There's This Thing Called the “13th Step”

If you're unfamiliar with recovery culture, you may have heard of the 12 Steps.

There is no official Step 13.

The “13th Step” is a slang term commonly used when someone—particularly someone with more time in recovery—pursues a romantic or sexual relationship with someone who may be new or vulnerable in recovery.

That's something I have zero interest in doing.

I'm not going to a meeting looking for dates.

I'm not scanning the room thinking:

Single? Married? Divorced? Hinge? Tinder? Is it complicated?

That's not why I'm there.

People walk into recovery meetings dealing with all kinds of things. Some are having fantastic days. Others may be having one of the worst days of their lives.

The last thing I want is for a woman to wonder whether I'm being friendly because I'm genuinely welcoming her or because I'm trying to get her phone number.

I don't want to be that guy.

I Don't Even Know Who's Single

There's also one tiny problem with the theory that I should simply meet someone at a meeting:

I have absolutely no idea who is available.

I don't ask.

Someone could be married.

Dating.

Engaged.

Recently divorced.

Separated.

Happily single.

Not interested in men.

Not interested in dating.

Or perhaps interested in dating, just very specifically not interested in me.

All perfectly legitimate possibilities.

Unlike Hinge, nobody arrives at a meeting with a little sign above her head saying:

“Single. Looking for long-term relationship. Likes dogs, tacos and communication.”

And I'm certainly not walking around afterward conducting a relationship census.

“Hi, great share tonight. By the way, are you seeing anybody?”

No.

Absolutely not.

I'd like to continue being welcomed back.

But Yes, I Notice

Now, I'm also not going to pretend I've suddenly lost the ability to see.

There are women I've met through recovery who are smart, funny, attractive, interesting and genuinely enjoyable to talk to.

Of course I notice.

I'm sober.

I'm not dead.

Sometimes you meet someone and think:

Wow, she's really funny.

Or:

She's incredibly smart.

Or, yes:

She's really attractive.

And then I do something truly revolutionary:

I go to the meeting.

Because there's a time and place for everything.

Then There's One Other Minor Problem

I'm shy.

Yes.

Me.

The guy who writes about his dating life on the internet.

The guy who publicly chronicles getting ghosted.

The guy who invented an imaginary iguana named Steve as an alternative dating strategy.

Shy.

Put me behind a keyboard, and apparently I'll tell the internet everything.

Put an attractive woman six feet away from me and suddenly my brain starts buffering.

Loading...

Loading...

Still loading...

Eventually:

“Hey.”

Outstanding work, Niel.

Absolutely crushed it.

Maybe that's part of why dating apps appealed to me in the first place. There's an obvious context.

We're both on Hinge.

We matched.

Presumably, there is at least some mutual interest.

At a recovery meeting, none of that information exists.

And I don't want to make assumptions.

Could I Ever Date Someone I Met in Recovery?

Sure.

I'm not saying I have some absolute rule that I could never date anyone I've met through recovery.

Life isn't that black and white.

If two people have established recovery, get to know each other naturally, discover they're both available, and there's genuine mutual interest, that's entirely different from going to meetings hunting for dates.

Intention matters to me.

I want women to feel comfortable around me at meetings.

I want someone to be able to talk to me without wondering whether I'm interpreting basic friendliness as romantic interest.

And I especially never want someone who's vulnerable or early in recovery to feel like I'm circling.

That's a boundary I'm comfortable having.

So Back to Hinge We Go...

Which brings us back to my current dating situation.

Hinge isn't exactly setting the world on fire.

Gina has gone silent.

The new matches have dried up.

The dates remain theoretical.

But at least on Hinge, there's one thing everyone has presumably agreed upon:

We're there to meet somebody.

At recovery meetings, I'm there for recovery.

And if someday I naturally connect with someone through that community and something develops outside the rooms?

Wonderful.

Until then, I'm not turning a meeting into singles night.

Besides, my shyness would probably ruin the entire plan anyway.

And if Hinge continues at its current pace...

There's always Steve.

The iguana has no problem approaching strangers. 🦎