I’m two and a half years into my college career, and if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s that what terrifies Whitman students the most, more than school shootings, or climate change or even failing grades, is a committed relationship.
That’s why, after two exhausting situationships, I decided to try actual dating.
One more situationship later, I realized I needed a more palatable offer: casual dating.
So, when I found out that a player on the men’s soccer team was interested in me, I was prepared. I had one expectation: this would be short-lived, just another name to hint at in a future article — my past situationships had conditioned me for that.
That’s how I found myself applying lipstick at 6:30 p.m. on an early spring evening, preparing for yet another attempt at romance while carefully rehearsing words I shouldn’t say — commitment, exclusive, or relationship.
I had my plan and my expectations. Casual dating, I thought, would mean low-effort, low-communication and minimal emotional investment. And considering his involvement on the field that past season, I figured my expectations wouldn’t need much adjusting.
So there we were, sitting at a table with a candle between us, the casual glances, the easy chemistry and the waiter interrupting our small talk every five minutes to top off our waters and ask how we were doing. Everything was smooth, comfortable and effortlessly casual — exactly how I’d imagined it would be.
But in the middle of it all, he said something that froze me mid-drink: “I’m looking for something serious.”
I almost choked, wondering if we had chosen a restaurant too far from Whitman.
A few therapy appointments later, I found myself saying yes and asking him out. Just like that, everything I thought I was ready for with dating flipped on its head.
It’s been ten months since that conversation, and now, here I am — still going on dates, still a Whitman student, somehow still with him. A boy who’s committed, something I thought would take longer to find than an empty parking spot on campus.
