The thrill is gone
But did I really like it that much when it wasn't?
When Raye sang, “the thrill is gone”, it was about her lover (who sounded like he was bad news, fyi) having gone off her, despite the fact that they were still sleeping together. That’s how I read it anyway.
For me, the thrill of being single was that people (multiple – I know, shocking) were interested in me. But more thrilling than that was that you didn’t know what would happen next. Having sex with someone you don’t know that well is exciting. And risky. It’s also a performance. And the high, for me, was never really actually the sex, but doing something so personal, so strangely intimate with someone you didn’t really know past their Linkedin qualifications and small-talk tidbids (a couple of brothers, born in the home counties, an unfathomable BSc at a Russell Group with an alright reputation, an ex-girlfriend that they won’t talk about except in passing, a fondness for Peep Show/ The Thick of It/ both and they tell you about it all the time and you pretend to find it interesting and funny because you’re single).
The thrill was that it could go at any minute, but that you had it — for now.
Being in a relationship has made me miss that a bit. The thrill, the uncertainty. Judging body language in a dimly lit room to assess whether you should put your hand on his knee or not. Would he like it? What would happen next if you did?
De-coding gestures, morning-after cups of coffee, outfit choices, compliments. Trying to find out what you were to each other. Never knowing. Waiting desperately for them to text you back and wondering what the answer meant over and over again with a friend in the pub. Is the angel emoji good? Or passive aggressive? Is it an ick?
I now never do this, my boyfriend does not send emojis. In fact, I’m not sure he even knows how to. He is an old man in a young man’s body with a phone that is mostly out of charge, or on a pub table somewhere while he is getting up to silly 23 year old shenanigans in an east London watering hole with his shenanigan-prone pals — like he should be.
I don’t feel the need to check when he’s going to text because I feel secure about him. And also, I’d just call. Or see him.
My best friend is in a relationship of many years. When I was single she, and her boyfriend Andrew, jokingly became my “adoptive parents”. But it wasn’t that big of a joke, it turns out. It was only last night, on their yellow sofa, in their Brighton flat, safely cosied under a blanket of woodland creatures and sumptuous blackberries (Lizzy has a single duvet set that I said I particularly loved the first time I stayed over — and was feeling vulnerable – because it had kind looking squirrels on it. Now the sofa bed is always made with that cover on it whenever I stay) that I realised I hadn't really liked the thrill as much as I thought I had.
Lizzy said: “When you were single, you cried a lot more”.
And she is right. I found the not knowing exciting, but not as much as I found it difficult. Casual dating is an emotional battlefield, and at times I felt like I was cannon fodder. Loaning my body, and a bit of my heart for the night to people I got no security from. Seeking it instead from Lizzy, Andrew and the woodland animals whenever I could.
The “thrill” of dating my current boyfriend isn’t there because we are not dating. Getting a text from him is not as exciting as before as I expect to get the text now.
The thrill of not knowing isn’t there anymore because I do know. I know it’s right. And my nervous system, once jittery and hyper-sensitive, is at peace. In my romantic life, I am safe.
I watched We Live in Time recently and I have always fancied Andrew Garfield an ungodly amount, but this time — as the Weetabix employee who dreams of being a dad — I fancied him more than ever. Here come spoilers, so if you haven’t watched it, stop reading.
When he was timing Florence Pugh’s characters’ contractions, stop-watch around his neck, or shaving her head as she dealt with cancer, or helping her birth her baby in a petrol station bathroom alongside two unsuspecting employees, I knew why. That’s the kind of love I want. I have always wanted. As much as I convinced myself at the time that I was ENJOYING MY FUN FREE SINGLE ERA. Typed loudly because I am sure that is how I said it at the pub. I actually wasn’t always. I didn’t want a situationship. A cup of coffee in the morning. A weekend evening. I wanted love. A full English breakfast. And Christmas Day.
The thrill now is a different kind. Not one of not knowing, but of knowing. Knowing that new thrills that I’ve never experienced before are yet to come.
And that’s a much better thrill than wondering if someone you don’t know that well has shown their housemates your nudes. And I like my life a lot better now that I’m in love with a man who definitely hasn’t.
