You Don’t Even Know My Favorite Color

Lately I’ve been wondering if I’m old-fashioned or if dating has genuinely changed that much. Maybe it’s a little of both.

For most of my adult life, dating wasn’t really at the forefront. I was raising children, building a career, paying bills, and trying to navigate whatever life decided to throw at me next. Sure, I dated here and there. I had one long, serious relationship. But if I’m being honest, my focus was somewhere else.

Now my children are adults, and for the first time in a very long time, I actually have room in my life for someone.

Not because I need someone.

Not because I’m looking for someone to save me.

And not because I’m sitting around dreaming about getting married or moving someone into my house.

I simply think it would be nice to have a person.

Someone to grab dinner with. Someone to go to concerts with. Someone to take a spontaneous weekend trip with. Someone I can call when something funny happens on the drive home from work. Not necessarily every day, because I’ve never been the type that needs constant communication, but someone who is my go-to person and for whom I am theirs.

The older I get, the more I realize that’s really what I’m looking for. Connection. Companionship. Someone to experience life with.

What surprises me is how difficult that seems to be.

Lately it feels like every conversation skips about ten chapters.

I meet someone. We exchange messages. Things seem normal. We talk about work, family, hobbies, maybe where we’re from. Then somehow, before they know anything meaningful about me, the conversation takes a hard left turn toward intimacy.

And every single time it happens, I have the same thought:

You don’t even know my favorite color.

How are we already here?

The funny thing is that I’m not a prude. Not even close. I’m a grown woman. I understand attraction. I understand chemistry. I understand that intimacy is an important part of a relationship. I don’t deny that at all.

What confuses me is why it seems to have become the starting point instead of something that develops naturally after people get to know one another.

The other day I had two separate interactions that left me scratching my head.

One was with a friend. Not even someone I was dating. Someone I’ve known, talked to, and genuinely enjoyed spending time with. Out of nowhere, the conversation crossed a line I wasn’t expecting. I remember sitting there thinking, “Wait… where did that come from?”

Then later that same day, a mutual friend added me on social media. The conversation started simple enough. We had mutual connections, he seemed familiar, and everything felt normal. Within no time at all, the conversation had turned into discussing all the things he would eventually like to do.

Eventually?

Sir, we haven’t even established whether I like pineapple on pizza.

By the end of the day I found myself wondering if this is just what dating has become.

Maybe my algorithm is listening to me. Maybe social media has me convinced everyone is experiencing the same thing. But when I scroll through my feed, I see countless people talking about modern dating, hookup culture, situationships, ghosting, and the frustration of trying to find something meaningful in a world that often seems more interested in instant gratification.

And maybe that’s what I’m struggling with.

Not that people want intimacy.

Not that attraction exists.

Not even that people have different goals.

It’s that curiosity seems to have disappeared.

Whatever happened to wanting to know someone?

What makes them laugh?

What they’ve been through?

What they care about?

What kind of life they’ve built?

What they’re afraid of?

What they’re hopeful for?

When did we stop being interested in discovering people and start trying to fast-forward to the ending?

For a long time, I would entertain those conversations even when they made me uncomfortable. Not because I wanted to have them, but because I was trying to be polite. I didn’t want to seem judgmental or uptight. I told myself maybe this was just how dating worked now.

The problem is that every time I ignored that little voice telling me something felt off, I ended up exactly where I didn’t want to be.

In situationships.

In confusion.

In relationships that never seemed to move forward.

In connections where there was plenty of chemistry but very little intention.

At some point I had to acknowledge that continuing to participate in something that wasn’t aligned with what I wanted wasn’t doing me any favors.

There’s a saying that insanity is doing the same thing over and over and expecting different results. If I know I want something substantial, why would I continue entertaining conversations that immediately move away from that?

The truth is, those interactions no longer fulfill me.

Maybe ten years ago I would’ve viewed them differently. Maybe I would’ve laughed them off. Maybe I would’ve convinced myself they weren’t a big deal.

Today they feel exhausting.

What makes me sad is that I don’t think most people actually want less connection. I think they want more. I think most people genuinely want companionship, loyalty, support, and someone to share life with. Yet somewhere along the way, many of us became convinced that the quickest way to connection is through physical intimacy, when in reality the strongest connections I’ve ever experienced were built through trust, friendship, vulnerability, and time.

I still believe good people exist.

I still believe there are men who value getting to know a woman before trying to sleep with her.

I still believe there are people looking for something real.

What I struggle with sometimes is finding those people in the middle of all the noise.

Maybe I am old-fashioned.

Maybe I missed the memo.

Or maybe wanting someone to know my heart before discussing my body isn’t old-fashioned at all.

Maybe it’s exactly the kind of connection I’ve been looking for all along.

I don’t know.

What I do know is that if we’re discussing intimacy before you know my favorite color, we’re probably moving a little too fast.