The Hinge Experiment: Please Do Not Touch Those Eyebrows

Today was one of those days when I feel like I need a vacation from my day.

It started with an eye appointment.

The good news: the retina is still attached.

That seems like a pretty good way to start a Tuesday.

I go back in a month for another check. The purpose of that visit is to make sure I haven't developed macular edema, specifically DME. If everything still looks good, I'll move to appointments every three months to make sure I don't eventually need one of those delightful shots directly into my eyeball.

Because apparently normal people get eye exams.

I get eye exams where the doctor is checking whether my retina is still where it belongs and whether we're going to have to inject something into my eye.

Dating after 50 is exciting.

Then Recovery

After the eye appointment, I went to a recovery meeting for an hour.

Airica knows I'm in recovery.

There's no reason to hide it, and frankly, I'm not interested in hiding it.

It's part of my life.

Just like dialysis.

Just like the prosthetic.

Just like the eyes.

Just like the eyebrows.

Apparently, the eyebrows may actually be the most important part of this story.

We'll get to that.

Then Off to the Vascular Surgeon

After the meeting, I headed over to Novant to have my fistula graft checked.

The good news continued.

Everything looks good.

I don't have to go back for four months.

I'll take that.

So far today:

Retina attached.

Fistula graft good.

Recovery meeting completed.

Eyebrows apparently still under consideration.

Then It Was Time for Mom

I stopped at Come Back Shack and picked up lunch.

For me:

Fried chicken salad with ranch.

For Mom:

Hawaiian chicken salad with fries.

I got to the skilled nursing facility and found Mom asleep.

Instead of waking her up, I left her food on the rolling tray next to her bed.

By then, lunch had apparently become dinner.

I sat in the lobby, ate my salad, and checked movie times.

Why?

Because apparently there is a new Tom Cruise movie called Digger.

Review coming.

Yes, I am aware that my life has somehow become a combination of dialysis, medical appointments, recovery, assisted living research, dating, and Tom Cruise movie reviews.

I'm leaning into it.

And Then My Phone Buzzed

Somewhere in the middle of all of this, I heard from Airica.

And one of her first messages was:

"Please do not touch those eyebrows."

Ladies and gentlemen...

We have confirmation.

For those of you wondering whether Airica actually likes the Ming the Merciless look...

She does.

I have proof.

Apparently, these eyebrows aren't a problem.

They're a feature.

The threading appointment is canceled.

My eyebrows live to fight another day.

The Conversation Continues

Airica and I had another awesome conversation.

We talked about having a wish.

Then somehow that conversation turned into Amazon Prime Day.

Then Christmas lists.

Then Sono Bello.

Apparently, I need to lose about 20 pounds.

This is becoming an aggressive dating strategy.

First:

"Don't touch your eyebrows."

At least she's keeping me on my toes.

Then We Went Everywhere

We talked about the songs I listened to while driving around Mount Pleasant.

We talked about me going to a recovery meeting.

She knows I'm in recovery, so there isn't any reason for me to pretend otherwise.

We talked about my salad.

I even sent her a completely respectable picture of it.

Not a nasty selfie.

A salad selfie.

Apparently, there are levels to dating after 50.

I'm choosing to believe this is one of them.

Then somehow the conversation moved to pizza.

And tiramisu.

Apparently there's some saying involving "Not the tiramisu?"

My 54-year-old brain did not comprehend the reference.

It went straight over my head.

Apparently there are cultural references I missed while I was busy doing whatever the hell I was doing for the last 30 years.

I'll have to investigate.

The Important Part

For those keeping score at home:

The conversation is still awesome.

And we're making plans to hang out this weekend.

Together.

Not hanging out with each other, which would be a fairly ridiculous definition of a date.

That's another thing I like about this.

We're not spending all day trying to figure out whether the other person is interested.

We're actually talking.

We're making plans.

We're learning things about each other.

And I'm not sitting around staring at Hinge wondering why my match disappeared into the digital abyss.

This is different.

Tuesday and Friday Have One Problem

I did let Airica know that Tuesday and Friday nights are already spoken for.

Those nights belong to my fraternity brothers and our Zoom hangout.

And without fail, I get grilled about the date.

How did it go?

What did you talk about?

Are you going to see her again?

What happened?

Basically, it's like having a Greek chorus of nosy brothers who have collectively decided that my dating life is their new favorite television show.

Now they have even more material.

Because there was a first date.

There was a mug.

There's a second-date possibility.

There are weekend plans.

And apparently, the eyebrows have received official approval.

I'm sure Tuesday's Zoom will be completely normal.

Absolutely no one will ask me about Airica.

Sure.

And I'm the guy who almost fell into a booth on his first date.

The Hinge Experiment Update

A few weeks ago, I was wondering if it was time to delete Hinge.

I had no matches.

No conversations.

No dates.

Steve the Iguana was practically packing my bags.

Now?

I've had an actual first date.

It went well.

I'm still talking to her.

We're making plans for the weekend.

She sends me good morning texts.

She likes my eyebrows.

And somehow, I'm okay with all of this.

For once, The Hinge Experiment doesn't feel like an experiment.

It feels like I'm just getting to know someone.

And that's probably the best part.

Now if you'll excuse me, I have a retina to keep attached, a fistula graft to maintain, a movie to review, a mother to visit, fraternity brothers to answer to...

And 54-year-old dating decisions to make.

Oh, and apparently I'm keeping the eyebrows.

Airica has spoken.

Mom Is Making Progress—and Apparently I’m Her Husband Now

This morning after dialysis, I went to visit Mom at the skilled nursing facility.

When I got to her room, she wasn't there.

That's actually a good thing.

She was doing rehab.

I was told that Mom is making progress, which was great to hear. She still needs someone blocking her left leg because it continues to buckle, but progress is progress.

After everything that's happened, I'll take it.

Eventually, Mom made her way back to the room.

And that's when today's visit took a turn I wasn't prepared for.

There's a New Roommate

Mom got a new roommate on Saturday.

Her previous roommate, Jenny, left last Monday. I don't know the name of the new roommate yet, but I do know that she broke her hip, had surgery, and is now there recovering.

The new roommate came into the room while I was there.

There was some banter.

I'm not particularly good at banter, but I participated.

She mentioned that she's also hard of hearing, so apparently Mom and her new roommate already have something in common.

Everything was going fine.

Normal conversation.

Normal skilled nursing facility visit.

And then she looked at us and asked a question:

“Is that your husband?”

Excuse me?

I'm sorry.

What?

GROSS!!!!

I believe there are moments in life when the human brain protects itself by temporarily refusing to process information.

This was one of those moments.

Of all the possible relationships she could have guessed...

Son?

Nephew?

Relative?

Friend?

Random bald guy who wandered into the wrong room after dialysis?

Nope.

Husband.

I guess...Good for Mom?

Once I recovered from the initial trauma, I had another thought.

I guess that's a compliment to Mom?

Maybe?

Apparently, she looks young enough to be my husband.

Good for her.

Unfortunately, that means the other half of the equation is that I apparently look old enough to be married to my mother.

Not good for me.

I'm choosing to focus on Mom's rehab progress instead.

She's working.

She's improving.

Her left leg still needs support, but she's moving in the right direction.

She has a new roommate.

And apparently, sometime between dialysis and walking into the skilled nursing facility, I aged several decades.

Anyway, I'll be back.

I need a few minutes to clean the vomit out of my mouth.

Then maybe I'll introduce myself properly to the new roommate.

“Hi. I'm Niel. Her SON.”

Let's make sure we've got that established early.

The Hinge Experiment: No Matches. Maybe It’s Time to Delete the App?

Well, here we are again.

I opened Hinge, went to my matches, and was greeted by the same incredibly encouraging message:

“No matches right now.”

Thank you, Hinge.

I worried there might be a secret match hiding somewhere. Maybe someone had been trying desperately to reach me, but the app had misplaced her.

Nope.

Still nobody.

Since my last round of matches—Kelli, Missing Gina and Me—there have been no new matches.

Zero.

The Hinge Experiment has become less of a dating experiment and more of a controlled scientific study examining how long a bald man can stare at an empty screen before deleting an app.

At Least Somebody Is Interested in Me

There is some good news.

While my Hinge traffic is approximately equal to that of an abandoned shopping mall...

the traffic to NielFlamm.com is up substantially.

Apparently, people are much more interested in reading about me trying to date than actually dating me.

I'm not sure whether to celebrate or seek professional marketing advice.

On Hinge:

No matches right now.

On NielFlamm.com:

Come on in!

Maybe I've discovered my true calling.

Not dating.

Writing about the complete absence of dating.

At least one of those appears to have an audience.

Hinge Has a Solution, Naturally

The screenshot makes me laugh because immediately underneath “No matches right now,” Hinge offers two helpful possibilities:

Boost your profile.

Or...

Upgrade to HingeX.

Ahhhhh.

The problem may be solvable with a credit card.

I see.

Nothing says romance quite like:

“Congratulations! Nobody wants to talk to you. Would you like to purchase additional features?”

I'm not convinced.

I'm not desperate to meet someone, and I'm definitely not interested in spending money to make my dating life look more active than it is.

It would be nice to meet someone.

That's still true.

But if it doesn't happen on Hinge, it doesn't happen on Hinge.

Maybe It’s Time to End the Experiment

I'm starting to seriously wonder whether I've gotten everything I'm going to get from this app.

I started with Tinder.

That became an experiment.

Then I moved to Hinge.

That became another experiment.

There were matches.

There were messages.

There were “good mornings.”

There were unanswered questions.

There were almost-dates.

There were phone numbers offered.

There was silence.

There were unmatches.

And now we've arrived at the grand finale:

An empty queue.

Maybe Hinge really is “designed to be deleted.”

Just perhaps not for the reason I originally hoped.

Then There’s Thailand...

Another wrinkle in this story.

I've been exploring the possibility of eventually spending part of my life in Thailand, and I've had people tell me something interesting:

My dating prospects may look very different there.

We'll see.

I'm certainly not booking an international flight because somebody promised me a better dating pool.

I'm interested in Thailand for reasons much bigger than dating. If that chapter happens, it will involve figuring out where and how I want to live, healthcare, dialysis, cost of living, culture, food, and whether I can build a life there that I actually enjoy.

But apparently, I've been told that being me may not be quite the dating catastrophe that my current Hinge screen would suggest.

Let's review the merchandise:

Bald?

Yep.

One leg?

Definitely.

ESRD?

Check.

Eyes that have required enough work to qualify for their own frequent-patient program?

Also check.

And yet I've been told:

“You'll do fine in Thailand.”

Well, that's quite the sales pitch.

I don't know whether that's actually true, and I'm certainly not assuming women in another country are going to react to me in any particular way.

They're individuals, not a demographic dating guarantee.

But I admit...

I'm curious.

Maybe the Problem Isn’t Something That Needs Fixing

That's probably the biggest takeaway from this experiment.

I'm not interested in reinventing myself to generate matches.

I have a complicated life.

I have scars.

I have medical realities.

I have recovery.

I have boundaries.

I have one leg.

I have no hair.

I have questionable eyesight.

I tend to write about things on the internet that most sane people would probably keep private.

And somehow I've also acquired an imaginary iguana named Steve.

This is the package.

I'm not everyone's cup of tea.

That's okay.

I'm not looking for everyone.

I'd eventually like to find one woman where the interest, effort, attraction, humor, and conversation go both ways.

If that happens in South Carolina, wonderful.

If someday it happens in Thailand, wonderful.

If it happens somewhere completely unexpected, even better.

And if it takes a while?

I have a life to live in the meantime.

So, Is Hinge Getting Deleted?

I haven't decided yet.

But for the first time since starting this experiment, I'm seriously considering it.

The current standings are difficult to misinterpret:

Matches: 0.

Conversations: 0.

Dates: 0.

NielFlamm.com traffic: UP.

Maybe that's the universe telling me something.

Or maybe it's just an algorithm telling me to buy HingeX.

Either way, I'm listening.

And Steve?

Don't start packing for Thailand yet. 🦎

When Guilt Feels Real: Recovery, Mental Health and Making Amends

The Down a Hole podcast is back, and Fish and I are tackling a difficult question: What happens when someone feels genuine guilt about events experienced during psychosis—even after realizing those events never actually happened?

In this episode, we discuss a man in recovery who believed he had three daughters and had failed them as a father. The daughters were not real, but his memories and guilt still felt very real to him. Should he make amends to people who never existed? Could doing so provide relief, or would it reinforce the delusion?

There is no simple answer. Our conversation explores the complicated intersection of sobriety, mental health, guilt, accountability, and spirituality. We also discuss why someone facing these questions should not try to work through them alone. A therapist, psychiatrist, sponsor or another qualified and trusted person can help determine the healthiest next step.

Watching this episode may offer a different perspective on recovery and a better understanding of how real another person’s experiences can feel—even when those experiences do not match our reality. It also reminds us that listening without immediately judging or dismissing someone can create the safety needed for an honest conversation.

The full podcast is available at NielFlamm.com/podcast.

While you are there, check out the other podcast episodes available on the site. Each conversation explores different experiences, perspectives, and challenges. Watching them may help viewers feel less alone, understand someone else’s journey or begin a meaningful conversation of their own.

Sometimes the greatest benefit of a podcast is not that it provides every answer. It encourages us to ask better questions—and to listen when someone is brave enough to share a vulnerable part of their life.

Caring for My Mother Without Running the Show

Yesterday, during meditation, I felt a conscious contact with a Power Greater than myself. I felt grounded and right-sized.

Then, before a conversation with another alcoholic, a few questions came up.

Are my motives pure when it comes to my mother? Am I doing God’s will?

Without a doubt, I want my mother to have the best experiences she can with whatever time she has here on Earth before moving on to the next dimension. I want her to have care, comfort, choices, and things to look forward to.

That part is clear to me.

But another question followed: Am I trying to exert my own will? Am I taking control? Is my ego involved?

Apparently, my ego also attended the meditation and hoped nobody would take attendance.

After prayer and discussion, I could acknowledge it: I am trying to run the show.

That is uncomfortable to admit, especially after writing so openly about my frustrations with my father. But if I’m willing to share my anger, I need to be willing to share my self-reflection, too.

I can deeply love my mother and still get caught up in wanting everything done my way. I can have good intentions and become attached to being the person who makes the decisions.

My concern for her is real. So is my responsibility to examine how I act on that concern.

I’ve written about money and control, and how I’ve experienced my father’s responses. Now I need to look at my own desire for control.

Whether my father is trying to run the show, appease his ego, or act from some other motive is not mine to judge. I don’t know everything going on inside him.

I am responsible for my actions.

That gives me plenty to work on without taking on a second job managing his spiritual condition.

For the moment, I’m going to relent. I’m going to loosen my grip on how this has to happen.

My mother has expressed that she wants assisted living. After that, the plan is Thailand with me for the 6+6. As long as her care and those plans are being funded, who manages the finances or makes the payments does not need to be the thing I fight over.

The resources need to be there. The bills need to be paid. My mother’s wishes need to remain part of the decisions about her life.

I can do my part: show up, listen, help with arrangements, ask questions, and follow through on my responsibilities.

Then I need to let God control the result.

I would love to report that I have mastered this and will never mentally grab the steering wheel again. Unfortunately, I know the driver.

This will take practice. More prayer. More honest conversations. More willingness to pause when I start confusing helping with directing every detail.

My boundaries with my father remain.

I have identified what I will accept in that relationship and what I won’t tolerate. Letting go of an outcome doesn’t erase those boundaries. I am still responsible for how I participate, what I agree to, and when I need to step back.

I won’t let fear of people or economic insecurity make those decisions for me. When fear shows up, I can bring it into prayer and talk about it honestly instead of giving it control over my behavior.

Today, I feel clearer about where my work is.

I love my mother. I want to help her have a life she enjoys. I can act with care and hold my boundaries while leaving room for things to happen without my direction.

I’ll do my part—and keep practicing the part where I let go.