Learn the story of a man who tells how his love stories are coldly calculated, he says he is not afraid of commitment but confessed the thousands of fears they have when facing a relationship.
We share the incredible story of a man who is in a stage of his life conquering men, has a secret formula to have the men he wants, does a meticulous investigation, compares data, but has discovered that he has a little problem, he has confessed that he started his system seven years ago in Trello the project management program he uses in his work but he has a little problem.
Last year, in the midst of a pandemic, I was a guest on a dating show (which has now passed away). While the cameras were filming, I was sitting on a teal couch next to the host of the show, who had prepared to interview a man who gets neurosis from dating, a man who does spreadsheets with the stages of his relationships. and lists of characteristics of your possible appointments.
I am that man. That’s how I am and that is what I do. In the presenter’s opinion, my neurosis was bad. In mine, it was good. So good, in fact, that I had recently met a man that I liked and with whom I could imagine in the future. "So Alex," he told me. "How about your love life?"
"I started dating a guy, so he’s great," I replied. His face changed expression and he touched the receiver. It was clear to me that my response was not what she expected. The producer came out with her big headphones, those that say "I’m important." He was the kind of person who was definitely excellent at his job, but I was making it difficult for him.
She explained that my love life was not supposed to be good. The reason they invited me to the show is because my standards were too high, I had ridiculous lists of requirements that they assumed were due to an ingrained fear of compromise, as if I was sabotaging myself with a system that would exclude almost everyone. everybody.
But his assumptions were wrong. I have many fears: not being good enough, looking desperate, meeting the guy who on the school bus in fifth grade told me that he had "woman’s hips." But fear of commitment? No. Either way, I wasn’t going to get into a fight with the producer and host of a show I wanted to be out on.
But they were right about something. Without a doubt, I make some incredible lists. I make lists to go out for appointments and develop processes that I evaluate with measurement tools and data. Little bits of information that motivate me to continue navigating a sea of potential boyfriends without having to dock my ship in a mediocre "something is something" relationship.
A relationship like so many couples I know, full of meals without conversations, who are not physically satisfied and regret their lives thinking about what else they could have had.
I started my system seven years ago on Trello, the project management program that I use at work. It was because she had endured too many dire first dates. The guy at Hinge who I think passed off his son’s photos as his own. The attorney whose coming out story was less interesting than his love of tailored suits. The finance guy who thought it weird that I was Jewish and blonde.
I experienced repeated collisions of incompatible values and discovered personality traits that I wanted to avoid. Quotes that made me be versions of myself that I did not like and only made me spend time that I could have invested in my armchair: me, a Vicodin and a book about sadness.
To break this cycle, I decided to make a record of all this. Try to make sense of the patterns and modify them.
This is where the Trello board comes in. To date, the board is divided into six stages and eight personality traits. It is similar to a salesperson business development process, as each stage represents one more step toward a successful deal, and each trait is a characteristic that is most likely to lead to success.
The stages are: by scrutinizing, scrutinizing, scrutinizing, scheduling, scheduled and in appointments. Each person is represented by a Trello card, a kind of digital sticky note.
Before you go out on a date with someone, your card moves from left to right and goes through three stages until we are already dating. If we never get to that point, I archive their card, in which case that person will never be anything more to me than an archived card.
I rate my potential dates based on eight personality traits. I try to know five of these before going to the appointment. After the date I weigh the other three. Before the first date, I try to determine the following: do you make me laugh in your text messages? Do you live in Los Angeles? Do you like your job? Are you willing to go backpacking? Will you answer my calls?
After the first date, I ask myself: does he love himself? It’s curious? He is friendly?
It’s kind of crazy, flawed, and yeah, I’m judging them. My systematic approach is likely to rule out who could make me truly happy. But the alternative of leaving it to chance and relying on chemistry, physical attraction and serendipity is not that it led me to find that person.
I’d rather have something I can work with: chores to do and cards to lay out, rather than strutting around expensive supermarkets looking for a guy my gaze magically meets as we both try to grab the same carton of milk.
So far my Trello system has worked for me, or at least that’s what I tell myself. It has led to quite a few moments of being happy laying next to someone without thinking about my emails, of seeing someone and knowing that I am maturing in ways that matter to me and of believing, no matter how long their card is on my Trello, than to lie there with him was a good investment of time.
This is how I initially introduced myself to the program: it was someone who believed in my system. "The only reason my boyfriends have been my boyfriends is because they had at least six out of eight personality traits," I commented on a Zoom call with the casting director.
But they didn’t want me to talk about it. They didn’t like my rankings. For television, personality traits have to be sexy: face, abs, girth. Traits that eventually fade and leave you with a partner you hate and a version of yourself you hate even more. Someone with whom you irritate because of how he rolls the toothpaste tube and because he does not fill the water filter.
Back in the studio, it was time to re-record the scene and for me to accept my character as "too neurotic to find love" so that viewers would use me as a moral, perhaps an exaggerated representation of their own neuroses.
In that teal chair, my hands were shaking, and I stared at the presenter as she asked her questions.
"Alex, I think you are alone because your standards are too high," he told me. "What you think?".
"Wow," I said. "I have never thought about it".
"You can’t expect someone to meet all the requirements so easily," he said. "If you’re so busy vetoing, then maybe you don’t meet their requirements either."
"That makes sense," I told him. "Maybe you’re right".
Smiled “Now go ahead and have a more open mind. Let people come to you. You have a lot to offer ”. Then he turned to the camera and said, “You all have a lot to offer. Open your minds and hearts and be yourself. Thanks for tuning in. "
He exhaled and turned to see me. “Nice meeting you, Alex. And I am very happy that you are doing well in your love life. Good luck with that boy ”. His words felt kind and sincere. He winked at me as he left, as if I’d walked past his own Trello board.
As I sat there, complicit in my own manipulation, I thought of his advice on television: how my system has created a method of dismissing people with ease, a system that, if continued, would lead me to a lonely life as a gay man, in which he might find validation as a second assistant coach of an intramural soccer team of LGBTQ members, someone who refers to his dogs as his children and who does not believe in putting down roots because to do so would be to admit that he believes in something in which he has failed roundly.
But I’m not there yet. And to date I hate football.
For now, I’ll look at my Trello board with names like "Mark the Emoji" and "David the Weird Cat" and accept that I don’t know if my methods work, just like the people on the reality show didn’t know how to "Alex the neurotic dating ”, that is to say I, would suit him in the episode.
I think of the boy I was very happily dating at the time. The one I talked about while sitting in that teal chair. With his big smile and perfect rating of eight out of eight traits. The guy I don’t date anymore.