Paul janka dating tips

16-Mar-2016 11:40

I pivoted 180 degrees and, cheeks hot with shame, promptly left the bar without paying my tab.Several months before this confidence-shattering event, I split up with my college girlfriend of three years.We stood at the other end where the more timid, prefer-to-talk-rather-than-bump-and-grind group of students stood half screaming at each other above the overwhelming din of Top 40 dance music. Ben, a handsome stage actor who can be, at times, ridiculously self-assured, looked at me like I was a soul-sucking ghoul. The girls’ jaws dropped in unison as they shot confused looks at one another.Standing not far from us were two well-dressed dress-wearers, surveying the room in a similar fashion to us. Then, like a cringe-worthy scene from a movie, they burst out laughing, literally, in my face.Only, as I found out at the bar that night, being single wasn’t always so fun.

I never meant for this to happen, but apparently it’s who I am. Not like the archetypical eager-to-please ‘nice guy,’ but someone who embraces kindness as an identity. It turns out I’m not the only one who is confused—my whole generation is collectively puzzled.It’s a much discussed and widely contested concept.BEN AND I restlessly sipped our gin and tonics, scanning the bar for familiar faces—or maybe just feigning purpose to mask our indecision.An overcrowded dance floor on one end of the room played host to the sexual courtship of a hundred-odd sloppily drunk college students. Then, with a puff of sham confidence, I did my best impersonation of someone who felt comfortable talking to girls at a bar and said, “Just follow my lead.” I strode toward the two girls, heart thumping uncontrollably, and said the first thing that came to my mind: “Hi there, my friend and I thought you were cute and we wanted to say hello.” I turned toward Ben, my handsome, confident wingman. Instead of following behind me, he had darted toward a window while I flew solo on our two-person mission.She graduated university and flew home to Toronto while I stayed at school in Vancouver to wallow briefly in misery.

I never meant for this to happen, but apparently it’s who I am. Not like the archetypical eager-to-please ‘nice guy,’ but someone who embraces kindness as an identity. It turns out I’m not the only one who is confused—my whole generation is collectively puzzled.

It’s a much discussed and widely contested concept.

BEN AND I restlessly sipped our gin and tonics, scanning the bar for familiar faces—or maybe just feigning purpose to mask our indecision.

An overcrowded dance floor on one end of the room played host to the sexual courtship of a hundred-odd sloppily drunk college students. Then, with a puff of sham confidence, I did my best impersonation of someone who felt comfortable talking to girls at a bar and said, “Just follow my lead.” I strode toward the two girls, heart thumping uncontrollably, and said the first thing that came to my mind: “Hi there, my friend and I thought you were cute and we wanted to say hello.” I turned toward Ben, my handsome, confident wingman. Instead of following behind me, he had darted toward a window while I flew solo on our two-person mission.

She graduated university and flew home to Toronto while I stayed at school in Vancouver to wallow briefly in misery.

Yet my unhappiness slowly yielded to optimism: I was single.