I'm too heavy

Hovered over the keyboard of my iPhone 7, my fingers surged with anxious energy. No, I wasn’t about to check my account balance, dial in for a job interview or
choose the toppings for my Domino’s delivery— quite the contrary— I was formulating a message on my latest, millennial dating endeavor: Bumble. 

Bumble, unlike its dating app counterparts, puts the ball almost entirely in the female’s court, (at least in my experience with the ‘females seeking males’ interface) so in a nutshell, it’s the ‘Sadie Hawkins dance’ of dating applications. Contrasting with Tinder, in which either party can make the first move, Bumble requires that women initiate a chat in 24 hours or less. 

Two things that make my stomach hurt? Making small talk via text and time constraints. But for some reason, I am oddly infatuated with Bumble. It’s kind of like pairing black and blue. We’re not entirely sure about how we feel about the color combo, but we do it anyway.

Alright, so on with the point of this article and the elusive “I’m too heavy” title. I’m getting there. I swear. 

As is customary on my blog, I’ll now delve into one of my many fatal flaws as a human. Today’s focus: my irrational fear of “coming on too strong.” I certainly don’t feel this way in regards to every single element of my life, mind you— I once wore a ball gown to a pizza shop— but as far as dating goes, it is a tremendous worry of mine.

So there I was, on Bumble, wrestling with the daunting task of composing that first, initiative message to my match. My thought process went a little something like this: How do I come across as calm, cool and collected while also being straightforward about what I want while also acting somewhat sexy while also not making this boy run for the hills? At least for me, the fear of coming on too strong applies to every single human interaction I ever make— romantic, or not.

Why are we so worried about being “too much”? When did that ever become a thing? 

As I write this post, I’m sitting on a bench in Washington Square park. I chose the first seat that I saw, which just so happened to be facing a jungle gym infested with children. After about 17 minutes of sitting here just blatantly staring like a total creeper, I’ve come to some conclusions.

The best and worst feature that children encompass is their filter— or rather, their lack thereof. Tiny humans express whatever the fuck comes to mind, whenever the fuck it comes to mind. They might be seated next to you in a pew at church, but if something in their tiny brain says “I’m hungry” you bet your tiny cup of grape juice that the kid will make it known to not only everyone in the building, but also the heavens above.   

But never has a screaming, red-faced child paused to consider “hey, maybe I’m coming on too strong with this.” 

So, when did we develop the fear of being “too much”? The answer to this question varies, but I believe that my concern stems from my crushing fear of rejection, which I began to experience the moment I got cut from the school production of Pinocchio. But if not for being cut from the play, I wouldn’t have discovered how much I enjoy writing. If I’d never uncovered that joy, this blog wouldn’t even exist. 

Ok, enough about Pinocchio. Plain and simple, here are some sentiments that we must practice: 

You will be too much for some people. Those are just not your people.

In regards to Bumble, I’m not too much for him. He is simply too little. 

Never, ever, EVER dilute yourself because someone can’t handle you at 100 proof. You aren’t shitty, watered-down tequila, honey, you are PATRÓN. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

You will always be too much for someone. Too kind, too smart, too relaxed, too loud… 
But as Samantha Jones from Sex and the City says in season 4, “Honey, if I worried about what every bitch in New York was saying about me, I’d never leave the house.” 

Back to the children in the park analogy— one of the clearest memories I have as a child is ruthlessly pushing my poor friend Abbie headfirst down a snow-covered hill in grade school. In kinder words, my mom basically said to me: ‘Katy you seriously fucked up now go say you’re sorry.’  

I don’t pride myself in many things, but one of my strengths to this day is apologizing for my mistakes. “Sorry I’m late,” “Sorry for hitting your mailbox with my car,” “Sorry for eating all of your leftovers when I was drunk” …you get the picture. 

Always, always apologize for your mistakes. But don’t you dare apologize for being who you are. 

You aren’t too heavy, they are just too weak to carry you. 

You aren’t too much. 

You’re damn perfect.

Image is not my own; via Flikr.