#70: The First Week

A phone call; a first date; (half) a roast duck.

On the morning of March 8, 2020, I left my flat to walk off my nerves. It was characteristically grey out and I, being forever bullish on spring, had worn too little (a black top, a baby blue sweater, jeans). Ten minutes into my walk I ducked into a coffee shop to phone a friend; I figured my mouth and brain would help expend some anxious energy, like a hamster on a wheel, leaving me naturally sedated for what was to come.

Given the goal it’s unclear why I ordered a black coffee, but I did, and sat with it at the window before calling Cheryl, with whom I spoke frenetically about everything I was excited for, interspersed with all the things that could go dramatically wrong. (Needless to say the phone call didn’t render me the picture of breezy nonchalance when lunch rolled around, but Cheryl and I will now have that twentyish-minute-long panic to fondly look back on.)

Before Ivan, I’d only met one person through Hinge, and despite making several lasting friendships through Tumblr, Lookbook, and Instagram in my teens, dating apps felt like a part of modern adult life I—a person who goes bright red speaking during team meetings; who still reminds herself to sustain eye contact during one-to-one conversations—simply wasn’t cut out for.

There it is! In retrospect, v nonchalant of me to simply write ‘Goldmine’ and not ‘DATE.’