Dating, Dining and Dashing

Middlebury students are connected by no more than two degrees of separation: you either know someone or know someone who knows that person. Though there are many great things about this smallness, I always thought it presented a romantic disadvantage.

The main reason: the gossip-mongering that roars into life at Sunday brunch. I didn’t mind hearing about others’ travails, conquests and failures. I just dreaded being the topic of conversation. So I did what I think most of us do: I built an emotional bunker, sheltered from the embarrassments of casual romance.

I never hoped to squat in this self-imposed “shelter” alone. I preferred the security of solitude to the risks active pursuit, searching for someone whom I might never find, whom I might find only to be ruthlessly rejected by. This school is too small; any rejection would effectively be public. Beyond the indignity of seemingly everyone knowing about my failure, I would be consigned to awkward run-ins until one of us finally goes abroad or graduates.

My limited, slanted consideration of only the potential downsides left me preferring passivity. I reasoned, something will happen if it’s meant to. After all, it never rains on the man who stays indoors.

But the sun never shines on the man who stays indoors. I changed my mind: sitting in my bunker waiting for a perfect relationship to bust through the boarded window is insane. The truth is that if I want to date, I’ve got to be proactive. Even if my fears of the small-school rumor mill are legitimate, I stand to lose most if I let those fears inhibit me.

There will always be convenient excuses to blame our dateless evenings. At a certain point, we each individually bear the responsibility of overcoming these minor adversities. In the case of this particular excuse, that “Middlebury is too small”, we have the chance to reframe the matter. This school isn’t too small, it’s fortuitously “not too big”.

The truth is, we don’t actually know everyone on campus. Certainly, I know a lot of names but I don’t actually know much about the individuals themselves.  What’s more, the reality is that the people you’re most likely to date are neither close friends nor complete strangers, but loose associations. Our lives here are blessed with a preponderance of date-potential acquaintances.

My friends at bigger schools have resorted to matchmaking apps like Tinder.  Even here, nearly a quarter of Middkids have registered profiles on Friendsy (although many may be curiosity-serving, but functionally defunct like mine).  The difference, though, is that we don’t have to rely on services like Friendsy to find people of interest.  We have the chance to use Middlebury’s smallness to our romantic advantage.

Consider the notion that our community’s insularity might be a blessing in disguise. You don’t meet wonderful women only to have them dissolve back into the labyrinth of New York City; you get plenty of chances to see them again.  Ask a friend for an introduction. We can only win if when we take on a little risk.