Dear James: I Miss Being on Dating Apps

Editor’s Note: Is anything ailing, torturing, or nagging at you? Are you beset by existential worries? Every Tuesday, James Parker tackles readers’ questions. Tell him about your lifelong or in-the-moment problems at dearjames@theatlantic.com.

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Dear James,

I’m a man in a relationship with a woman I met on Hinge a little over a year ago (we’re both in our early 30s), and things have been absolutely great. I love her, my friends and family all love her, we’re planning to move in together later this year, and ideally this all ends in “happily ever after” with marriage and a kid or two. By all accounts, I’ve won the game of ring toss that is online dating. And yet, part of me misses playing the game.

Throw a rock online and you’ll hit some article about everyone being fed up with and burned-out by dating apps. But I feel bittersweet about the fact that my days on the apps are, presumably, over. I saw every match and first date I went on as a symbol of hope and possibility. Of course, I experienced disappointments, and yeah, I was ghosted lots of times, but I had plenty of good times too. Through dating apps, I met brilliant, hilarious, beautiful, and incredibly kind women with whom I enjoyed stimulating conversations and intimate moments of multiple varieties, and I’m a little melancholic at the thought that I won’t experience any of that again.

Are these normal things to think at this point in a serious relationship? I’m a bit of an anxious person, and this discomfort definitely seems like something an anxious person would feel in the face of an impending major life event. But is there a point where this nostalgia for the apps stops being something I’ll get over and becomes something I need to address?

Dear Reader,

Sex, sex, sex. Here’s what I think about that:

Two important things about sex
must be clearly and constantly stated.
One: It’s the greatest thing in the world.
Two: It’s quite overrated.

Under current conditions, the laws of time and space, etc., choosing a partner means un-choosing all the other partners. It’s not a brilliant system, but it’s what we have. Either you whirl around incontinently, “intimate moments of multiple varieties” a-go-go, or you pledge your genitals to one person and settle down to await … whatever happens next.

Eros, the uncontrollable spirit, the force that through the green fuse drives the flower, is mounting a bit of an assault on your imagination right now. This is completely normal. It’s not going to stop, either. Eros hates domesticity; Eros hates a sensible choice. Eros even hates the right choice—which is twisted, but there we are.

Don’t worry about the “happily ever after” just yet. One thing at a time. (Also, “happily ever after” doesn’t exist.) Move in together; see how that feels. Treat your dreaming libido as an itch rather than an imperative: You don’t have to act on or indulge its every flutter. Unmet needs are like pull-ups for the spirit. Your nostalgia for Hinge is not a problem, in my view, until you go back on Hinge. At that point, it’ll be time for a rethink.

On your team,

James

Dear James,

More than 20 years ago, when I went through a long-distance breakup while abroad, I didn’t care about getting back any of my things. Yet my ex-boyfriend spent a lot of time and money packaging and shipping everything to my relatives’ American address.

For a long time afterward, I remained too hurt, bitter, and poorer than him to even want to think about it. But now, all these years later, I feel like I should have contributed to the cost and should at least make the offer. I’m not sure why. Maybe the thought has crossed my mind because his children are probably going to start college soon, and the money, I figure, might be helpful to him. Or maybe it’s because the causes we once both believed in seem doomed today—they could possibly use some money, and he might donate what I send him.

I mentioned the thought to my husband, who thinks it would look strange to make an overdue offer so many years later—especially because I didn’t really stay in touch, except for a couple of emails or letters in the years immediately following the breakup.

What do you think?

Dear Reader,

I think this is a good idea. I agree with your husband: It will look strange. But so what? “Better late than never” is one of my go-to proverbs. (And I’m always late, so I go to it a lot.)

Perhaps even more important than the money here is the belated acknowledgment of the effort your ex put into taking care of your stuff in the aftermath of your breakup. Whatever else went down—the rights and wrongs, the who-said-what, the foaming water under the bridge—in that respect, he looked after you. With even a certain dogged gallantry. You know all of this, of course, so go ahead and make it right: Rebalance this situation, for yourself as much as for him.

Blowing kisses to my debtors,

James

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