Dining, Dating and Dashing: Valentine's Edition

There are two types of people at Middlebury: those who are in committed relationships and those who wish they were. If you’re not in a “Midd Marriage”, you’re romantic life is limited to either alcohol-fueled hookups or banishment to the desolate land of loneliness.  We’re pinned between meaningless sex and sexless solitude. Certainly Middlebury would be a better place if we all just dated a little more.

We have a collective interest in asking others out, getting asked out, going on dates, sampling for soul mates. Yet at the individual level, we’re often unwilling to step into this dangerous territory; the fear of embarrassment is very real.  I’m not sure if it’s the chicken or the egg, but our reluctance to take romantic chances is definitely connected to the “get-smashed-go-cray” atmosphere that dominates Middlebury weekends.

Admit it, you’re afraid to ask her out. With this column, I venture that I’ve got the best excuse of anyone to ask girls out, and yet I’m nervous with every approach. If I’m not nervous, it means I don’t care enough and shouldn’t be asking in the first place. However, what’s worse than the unnerving approach is when I let feigned apathy mask my fear of rejection, and use it as an excuse to do nothing.  It’s easy to get cold feet and say, “Oh, I don’t really care that much.”

After all, I regret what never happened vastly more than I regret whatever has. The sting of a rejection fades a lot quicker than the lingering pangs of wondering, “What if?” There are times when I’m rooted to my seat, sickened by my pathetic inaction.  I know I should do something, but instead settle for a sleepless night, frustrated at my chicken-hearted swooning.

And as far as leaps of faith go, romantic ones are the best ones to take.  You can’t be more vulnerable with someone than by sharing your feelings; people have emotionless sex all the time.  Forget what the doctors say, the heart is far softer and more delicate than the penis. (Don’t think about it too much.) But truly, you win the most when you risk the most.  It’s beautiful to be vulnerable.

What it comes down to is this: a healthy dating scene is like the legendary stone soup. We’ve all got our singleton vegetables that we’re afraid lose by putting out on the table, but maybe if we throw it all into the pot and mix around a little bit, we can make something delicious for everyone to share. You can’t drag your feet to a party then blame everyone else for not being fun. If we want dating to be a part of our culture, we each have to make an effort to date.

Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day; it’s also the full moon, which makes it an exceptional day. You don’t have to be in love with someone to bring her a flower or take her out for a coffee.  The whole point of casual dating is to trial run romance before anything gets too serious. Go for a country drive through Ripton; split a few chocolate truffles made by my good man Erlé (farmhousetruffles.com).  Tomorrow night I want to see everyone out on the moonlit snow, floating in pairs to the Organic Garden. C’mon now, take a chance!

I’m no authority on dating, just another kid who wished he dated more.  In any case, defining the “right” way to date is like choosing the bluest shade of blues; it’s subjective and circumstantial.  This column represents nothing more than my opinions about the predicament of not-dating at Middlebury and my effort to inspire a romantic rebellion. Let me know how your perspective coincides or differs at rkim@middlebury.edu.