by Why searching for connection in nightlife is basically futile
I went to a club in Hackney last night with no expectations, which automatically made it the best night out I’ve had in months. That’s the thing about lowering your expectations until they’re underground: everything’s a pleasant surprise.
There was a guy there who actually listened when I talked. Like, genuinely listened, rather than just waiting for his turn to talk about himself. He wasn’t trying to sleep with me. Wasn’t trying to impress me. Wasn’t trying to be charming. He was just… there. Talking to me like I was a person rather than a conquest.
I found out later he’s married. Obviously. The only men who actually treat you like a human being are already taken. The attractive men who are single and emotionally available don’t exist. That’s probably not true, statistically, but it feels true and that’s all that matters when you’re drunk and disappointed.
I was thinking about the way we write about London like it’s this amazing place full of interesting people doing interesting things. But really it’s just millions of people looking for something real while settling for something convenient. Everyone’s got a story. Nobody’s story is interesting. We’re all just variations on the same theme: lonely people pretending not to be lonely.
What made last night special was that I went home alone. Alone and satisfied because I’d actually connected with someone, even if that connection led nowhere. Even if he never thinks about me again, even if I’ll never see him again. For one night, I felt like someone actually saw me.
I’m going out again tonight to the same club because I’m stupid and hopeful and probably looking for something that can’t exist. But at least if I find it again, I’ll recognize it.
