Boy You Got Me Homeless

A couple of months ago I went on a Singles' Shabbaton. Since then I've been trying to find an angle on which to write about it. Originally I wanted to Queer Eye all the guys, most of who were right on the edge of acceptable, but just needed a female and/or with it male voice to tell them: after age 13 we no longer use Supercuts. But as I wrote that I realized that I don't want to just be critical on here.

Then I was going to write about the relationship that stemmed from the Shabbaton, but for a bit it felt too raw.

Then I became a homeless person. What's the woke term? An unhoused individual?

Naturally I mean this in the most privileged white girl with a lawyer dad but not daddy way possible: I had sublet my apartment to a new girl, and then my move date to my new apartment was delayed by over a week, so for ten glorious nights (it's Chanukkah but better) I do not have a place where I live.

My subletter was kind enough to let me keep my stuff in the living room, and I have dear friends who are letting me stay with them most of the time. Also, I am flying to Florida which I planned before this because whenever I have a single negative thought my Archer nature says "Oh no. Negativity? Sadness? Someone told you something to improve your work performance? Here's how we fix that: buy a plane ticket."

But homelessness did give me the angle on which to write about this Shabbaton so, I guess, Thank You G-D? Sorry for the mean stuff I said about you when I was mad? But also You control the chemical balance in my head so really You decide how mean I am going to be?

I'm excellent at apologies.

Anyway, the Shabbaton. It was well run, the hosts were lovely, the community, was lovely, the shul was lovely, the girls were spectacular. Each had an incredibly cool job or passion project that made them shine. It is my belief that any of us (mostly me but really any of us) could model for an unwoke company that still only hires pretty models and gets flack from the media.

At Kabbalas Shabbos I had the most kavanah I've ever had-I'm just kidding. I said some mixture of hebrew words, the lyrics to Matilda, and the preamble to the Constitution while I stared heavily at the men's side and tried to discern which men were single. There were loads of hotties and I was very excited to meet them all.

After the Friday night meal, all of us got together for the Oneg where I began to pounce on the hotties, only to find that all of them but one were the hostesses husbands.

You heard that correctly folks. I unknowingly flirted with several happily married men while they looked on in pity? Curiosity? Interest?

But there was one guy I liked who seemed to me, to be the class of the field. he was dressed well, he didn't look like an overgrown kindergartener, I hadn't dated him previously, and he was able to string two sentences together coherently.

But naturally, every girl noticed and were all on top of him and as I mentioned before, we were all stunning.

So I did something insane.

I stepped back. I acted chill. I met other guys and other girls and tried not to give away my interest.

This is a Chanukah miracle for today's world. I have never been cool about anything in my entire life. One time a teacher was assigning states for reports and I nearly lost my mind from excitement. When I want something I am like a dog: I immediately pee all over it.

But somehow, from some deep recesses of my brain and after over a decade of therapy, I had finally managed to chill.

And Mr. Class of the Field liked it. Because He wrote down my name as someone in whom he had interest.

Cut to me doing a pageant girl squeal in my bedroom.

Then I got the flu and lost five pounds which was nice except for how seven days I thought I was at deaths door yadda yadda yadda and we went out.

I don't know if the Nyquil burned a hole in my brain or something but I was very open on this date. I've always been open (see: this blog) but this time I just totally let my guard down.

It was great.

Yes, there were hashkafic issues but I was willing to change (until I got pregnant and he was stuck with me at which point I would immediately change back.) But I thought there was something to work with.

Later that week we went on what was perhaps my best date ever? It was very open, very fun and felt very natural.

But he wanted to understand my hashkafa better and fit it into a box.

Being the daughter of two baalei teshuva, from an out of town community, I naturally have no hashkafa. My hashkafa is a group of mitzvos that I heard were good to do. It literally depends on which teacher I had that year, which days I paid attention in class, and what I didn't immediately dismiss as "that's stupid and I don't like it therefore I will say it is not in my hashkafa."

Also, I have a great deal of deep relationships with people across the hashkafic spectrum. Some are incredibly frum, others are super modern. I like who I like and I don't discriminate for hashkafa. I will bond with anyone who gives me attention.

But this confuses people even more. Everyone in my speed dial is basically a Rebbetzin of an entirely different religion.

So I tried to describe my feelings on media (I watch what I want, when I want, with no boundaries but I think I'm better than everyone else because my filth is arthouse filth) where I want to send my children Nolan and Charlotte to school, and which mitzvos I'm makbid on (it's lighting candles early because I'm always punctual and it is a mitzvah that nearly everyone struggles with, guaranteeing me that I get to feel superior.)

Naturally the boy was confused, seeing as he came from a community with actual hashkafos outside of 'give warm hugs!' Every out of town community comes down to giving warm hugs.

So he told the Shadchan that I'm awesome (he's no idiot.) but he thinks that hashkafic differences were insurmountable.

And, because my mental health is awesome, I began to spiral. I was mad at everyone for not fitting me into a box so that I could just get married. I want to be in a box!

Then, this apartment drama happened and I was like oh. I may actually get to live in a box.

Being between things is scary. I hate doubt, I want certainty. I want routine that I break only to go on mind blowing vacations. I want everything to be done in a timely fashion which is within three minutes after I ask for it to be done.

And yet I live in the doubt between worlds, the doubt between personality types, the void that just...fits me best.

So I could try and find a lease on a boxed personality (theoretically) that fits me but I've been homeless awhile and it's the best way to see the stars.

I have to keep trying. I will keep lying to guys and telling them I will change.

And I'll miss the ones who don't buy it.

But I'm trying to be more accepting of others. Maybe I'll find one who is accepting of me.