You might say I’m a bit traditional. I still use a paper calendar—yes, the kind you jot down appointments in with a pen. Back in my mid-20s, when platforms like eHarmony and Match emerged, the dating scene was forever altered. At that time, all my single friends were signing up, yet it felt like a secret club. After witnessing several successful online matches walk down the aisle, I was convinced it was the way to go.
One Sunday afternoon, I found myself alongside a friend, both of us setting up our online profiles. I tackled a series of personality quizzes and essays about what I valued and sought in a partner. I even created a dedicated email account for my online adventures and dove in, full of hope that I would soon find my ideal match.
However, the initial thrill quickly faded as I reached out to potential matches, only to be met with silence. That was until a guy named David came along and asked me a round of questions. I liked his profile, and he seemed to like mine. My excitement skyrocketed! I crafted my responses carefully, even consulting my friends for their insights.
As David and I continued our online correspondence, I began to develop genuine feelings for him. We exchanged emails daily, until one fateful weekend when I received devastating news—my father had been diagnosed with advanced cancer. I shared this news with David, mentioning our complicated relationship.
Suddenly, the flood of emails dried up. I found myself obsessively rereading our last exchange, trying to decipher what I had said that could have caused him to vanish. I even had friends review the email, but no one could pinpoint what might have gone wrong.
Eventually, I reached out to David, asking if he was alright. After a long wait, he replied with just one cryptic line: “I don’t date girls who have complicated issues.” And just like that, he disappeared from my life.
Heartbroken and shaken, I decided to step away from online dating. In my time off, I went on a few dates, experienced a couple of crushes, and even dated an old college friend seriously. But as I entered my 30s, a close friend encouraged me to give it another shot. She was on a mission to find a man with an accent and had discovered a new dating site focused on global connections. Hesitantly, I agreed to try again.
Fast forward a decade, and there I was, once more spending an afternoon crafting the perfect profile, answering questions meticulously, and selecting the right photos. My friend posted her profile and quickly filled her inbox with messages from eager suitors. My inbox, however, was filled with men seeking a submissive partner or one who met certain physical criteria, or who were primarily interested in my American citizenship. I reached out to a few men who seemed promising based on their profiles, yet once again, silence prevailed. As my friend began dating someone she met online, I chose to deactivate my account.
After two significant relocations in the past seven years to Washington, D.C. and Denver, I tried several other dating platforms, thinking, How else do you meet someone? Yet, after a few unsuccessful dates or no replies, I would always end up disabling my account.
Now at 38, I’ve come to a realization: online dating isn’t for me. While it has successfully connected many couples (and I’ve attended my fair share of online matchmaking weddings), it simply doesn’t suit me. I dislike the idea of curating a profile that may not accurately represent who I am. The process of collaboratively crafting responses with friends feels artificial, and I doubt whether I’m ever truly getting to know the person on the other side. Plus, the whole experience often feels like shopping for a partner, and the ease of ghosting someone is unsettling.
After 13 years and numerous dating sites, I’ve decided to walk away. While it appears that everyone around me is finding love online, I’ve chosen to disconnect. Since logging off, I’ve never felt more content in my single life. I’ve stopped fixating on when I might meet someone and embraced being present in my life.
Instead of wasting time scrolling through profiles, I’m investing my time in activities I love, like hiking and writing. I’m cherishing moments with those I care about who are right in front of me. A deeper sense of joy has blossomed from my decision to simply be, rather than constantly searching.
Without my focus on online platforms, I’ve found myself more open to the world around me, smiling at strangers. You never know what a simple smile might lead to.
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In summary, stepping away from online dating has opened my eyes to the joy of living in the moment, allowing me to focus on what truly matters.