The Curse of the Canadian and The Ones Who Got Away

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My dating life in LA is fucking horrible. And by fucking horrible I mean it’s nonexistent. The only relations I’ve had out here have been a few drunken one-night-stands and friendly encounters. Even the majority of those had some sort of connection to people I knew from back home.

I blame part of this on a complete lack of a social life. I had a huge weight on my shoulders to get a job when I first moved to LA. I was in survival mode for a long time. That means I trained myself to stretch every dollar — which means not going out. Unfortunately that has carried on into my working life and now I never go out because I don’t know that many people to actually go out with! All I do is work. The only people I’ve met in LA are people that I’ve worked with. And when working freelance you don’t even get to know those people well…  because after a job everyone kind of goes their separate ways. I came out here pretty much not knowing anyone — and I realize now that I still don’t know anyone.  I’ve made a shit ton of colleagues — but not a lot of “Hey Buddy, let’s go out and grab a drink” friends.

I also blame part of this on my inability to strike up a friendly conversation with a complete stranger. “Oh, that chicks really cute… what do I say? She probably has a boyfriend. How do I approach her… aaaand she’s gone.”  I’m an introvert. Starting a conversation isn’t one of my strongpoints. I’m a work in progress.

But I also blame part of it on a curse. I call it The Curse of the Canadian — and it all started in 2005.

I dated in high school like a normal kid. Everything was great. Then in 2005 I graduated and went on a mission trip to Peru for two weeks. I literally didn’t know a single person on this trip. But I met a girl. She was from Canada. And we fell in love. It was a strong connection. Stronger than any connection I’ve ever had with someone up until this point in my life. We were inseparable every single day. Sat by each other on the bus. Partners while laying brick building a church. Went out into the medical field. Mixed scabies wash together. There was even a night when she snuck into my room (girls and guys weren’t allowed in each other’s rooms) and… well… you can use your imagination. THEN — there was one day left on the trip and we knew we were never going to see each other again. I was going back to the states to start college. She was going back to Canada to finish high school. It felt like my insides were being ripped out. My heart ached. I couldn’t keep her off my mind for a minute. We had different ways of dealing with this situation. I wanted to to spend every second with her because I knew it was about to end. She wanted to spend every second away from me as to soften the blow of our departure. So there it was. Complete rejection after a tense connection followed by a month of depression. I didn’t know it then, but this feeling was going to haunt me for the rest of my life. I give you — The Curse of the Canadian.

Skip to summer 2006. One year later. I haven’t dated in a year. Slew of drunken — just started college —  one night stands. I go to Hawaii for three months. End of the trip I’m in the airport. I see a BEAUTIFUL girl. Of course I don’t talk to her. Go grab some food. Wait. Get on flight. She sits down right next to me! We strike up a conversation about the book I’m reading. She loves the same author.  We connect. End up making out.  Long ass plane ride from Honolulu to Texas. We’re hitting every chord. Flight attendant even started calling us “Love birds”. We got off plane. She lives in Texas. I take my connecting flight home. Never see her again. Depression sets in. God damn Canada.

Winter. Thanksgiving. 2009. Had a few short-lived relationships the past few years. Never felt the way I felt about the two who got away.  I’m in New York City on an art tour with my college. Meet girl on art tour. Start walking together in all the museums. Figure out we both like the same kind of art. This chick is smart. We hang out every day. Sneak off from group and hit up some bars. Walk arm and arm through the streets of New York during the Holidays. Romantic. I’m feeling great. She’s feeling great. Total connection. And this one is from my college! Maybe we can actually start something. Get back to school after the trip. Turns out she has some beefy boyfriend. Doesn’t leave him. God damn Canada.

Spring. 2010. New Orléans. Only relationship I’ve had since the New York incident was hooking up occasionally with an ex.  Four days of drunken debauchery. Meet EXTREMELY cute girl at a club. Dance all night. End up hooking up. She’s super cool and I’d been going through a severe dry spell. Gave me her number. Told me she didn’t want to lose me. By now I had started to realize I was cursed. Finding someone I really liked on almost all of my long distance trips was starting to get annoying. We texted for a few days after I left. I was depressed for a few weeks. My friends were telling me I get too attached. Long story short — I haven’t been back to New Orleans since. Never saw her again. God damn Canada.

Summer 2012. Buy now I’ve moved to LA. Total work mode. Don’t have time for socializing. Work sends me out-of-state. Spend a few months in the South of the USA. Meet cute local chick at a bar. End up hooking up. Super cool. Totally in to me. We spend every weekend together. Show I’m working on ends. I took her as my date to the wrap party. Spend one last great weekend together. Next day I’m shipped back to LA. Haven’t seen her since.  God damn Canada.

Cut to now. Winter 2013. Go out-of-state and hang out with some family during holidays. Meet cousins friend. Hit it off instantly. Super cute. She had me at “I’m reading Game of Thrones” and “I love Star Wars.” Spend two days together. Total connection. Day 1 of meeting her we had a blast. Partied. Talked a lot. Danced. Had a few drunken make out sessions. Told me she would see me again tomorrow. Morning of day 2 I knew I was fucked. (I’m now fairly intuitive when it comes to my curse.) The gut wrenching feeling started coming back. My heart started to ache. I’ve just spent almost 3 years in LA and I fly over 2500 miles away, to a different coast, and I meet a beautiful person who is just as nerdy as I am, who is going to Med School to be a doctor, who isn’t some failed actress or interpretive dancer taking all of life at face value. Someone I would actually like to be around for more than one drunken night. But no. I live on the other side of the United States. So I pulled a Canadian on her and didn’t talk to her for most of the next day. Trying to soften the blow of leaving. I couldn’t even focus on the football game. I was thinking about her and my shitty love life.  At the end of the day, before she went home, I caved and got her number.

So there I was. Sitting by myself at the airport. Waiting for my flight back home. Disgusting people all around me. Asking myself why life can be so cruel sometimes. I didn’t want to leave. But of course I must leave. Come back to real life. Where I have a job and work all day. Where I don’t have someone great to share my life with. By the time I landed in LA the entire trip started to feel like a dream and I was beginning to fall back into reality. I get home and she texts me. And now we’ve texted every day since I got back. Trying to find some excuse to get her to LA. God Fucking Damn Canada.

The post Canadian Curse depression isn’t as bad as it used to be. The feeling of having a great connection and then being completely torn away from it hurts less and less with each girl I leave behind. I know time will heal those wounds. And the more I accept it, the quicker the recovery. But it still hurts. And it’s still depressing to know the curse is alive and well. Forcing me to only fall for people who live far away. So I sit here now and wonder — who I’ll meet on my next long distance trip?

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