I put a poll out on Instagram this week to see what y’all were interested in reading about. And in all honesty, I was rooting for the “behind the scenes of life on a cruise ship” option to win, because the other option is something I’ve never talked about here on the blog before. Partially because I was in a relationship for 99% of the three years my blog’s been around, and partially because I think it’s completely unfair to drag people into a blog who never asked to be there (and might not even know it exists). So, in full disclosure, I’m still not really sure how to do this, but we’re going to try.

Why?

Because y’all voted for it, but also because dating is something I have strong feelings about.

I love dates.

In my early 20s in New York, I used dating in Manhattan as a form of escapism; a window into the Carrie Bradshaw life I’d only seen and heard about, but so desperately wanted to be a part of.

It all started one night as a smartly-dressed, energetic looking Wall-Street type left the cute restaurant where I was cheerily hosting after class, stepped outside with an older couple, and then immediately burst back through the front door and planted himself in front of me.

“Hi. I was just here with my parents and I have to say, you have such an awesome energy and smile. Would you be willing to have brunch with me? If you’re up for it, do you wanna give me your number?” Thank goodness the restaurant lighting was at its dull, evening best because I was blushing like the beets with goat cheese on the menu that night. He was handsome. Nice. And he wanted to have brunch with me! But what was the first thought that went through my head? “Oh my gosh, am I allowed to give someone my number while I’m working? Will I be fired?” (This is Emily Claire Hughes in a nutshell. The guy was attractive, but job security was my immediate concern.)

Luckily, it was allowed ;) And so began the cannonball of my entrance into the New York dating world. As a theater student living in this magnetic, electrifying metropolis, I had a hunger to see and experience things beyond my student life in the East Village. And thanks to a few lovely guys, I had the trip of a lifetime. I sipped craft cocktails on the Upper East Side before exploring the Met (albeit with a very self-centered guy who had a Napoleonic complex), tried top-notch dinners during New York Restaurant Week, and swapped stories and dreams with electric entrepreneurs, savoring wine slightly nicer than “two buck chuck” (if you know, you know) at little wine bars in Alphabet City until they closed.

We all know I’m not a therapist, but I sure do enjoy acting like one… so if I were to analyze myself looking backward, it’s safe to say a lot of my dating behavior in New York stemmed from insecurity. (Ironic, seeing as New York is the place where small-town Emily, the girl who never kissed her first boyfriend, started to blossom.) Looking at a future as an actress resembling the most winding, vomit-inducing (albeit thrilling) ride at Six Flags, I was attracted to stability. I craved independence. And I jumped at the chance to be a part of the society I only knew from singing gigs, and not as an invited guest. These were all things I didn’t think I would ever have.

So I went on dates.

And lots of them.

(You can peep New York-era Emily below.)

On the flip side, something I find worth mentioning is that, in my humble opinion, many of these guys were also dating me to add “that something” to their life which they also aspired to have, but found out of reach. Creativity. Freedom. And an artistic lifestyle that sounds romantic, magical, and the opposite of everything they were brought up to value.

At some point, after the guy who “lost his wallet” and the blind date with my sister’s lawyer’s son (there were a few proper doozies), the universe stepped in to give me a gentle nudge in the right direction, and plopped a wonderful long-term boyfriend in my life, pressing pause on my serial dating tactics.

(The years after that can’t be summed up in the simple sentence or two which I’d love to put here, so feel free to peruse a selection of “Everyday” posts from the blog, in order to understand the growth, travel, and discovery that happened after I left New York.)

Well, years went by, and I said Adios, Ciao, and Tschüss to New York, Portugal, and a seriously lovely relationship. And now, eight years later, here I am: Stable. Independent. And every bit a part of the life I always thought I would need to experience through someone else.* Never in my wildest dreams did I think I’d be a 29-year-old marketing manager living in a bright and airy flat in Hamburg, Germany. I’ve escaped into my own dream, and now I’m entirely unsure of how to proceed.

Living alone suits me incredibly well. I have a community of friends who feel like the coziest, most supportive blanket in the world. And most importantly, I feel simply... happy.

I don’t know. Maybe you could say I did dating entirely wrong the first time around. But I don’t regret it. All I know is that over the past eight years I’ve done some growing. I’ve done some dreaming. And I’ve made a lot of really cool sh*t happen for myself. And as a result, I have absolutely no idea how dating is supposed to fit into my life. I think it should be there. I’d love to stand in my sweet European kitchen with someone, sipping nice wine and nervously chopping onions for a new recipe. I’d be thrilled to meander to the bakery on a Sunday morning, donning sweatpants and the company of a witty human. And most of all, really, this would make all of my dreams come true, I’d love to wake up to a cup of freshly brewed coffee, not made by me, myself, and I.

and I guess that list says it all.

I’m not looking for some grand, romantic introduction to a life I’m longing to be a part of anymore. I’m exactly where I want to be. (Though I could definitely do without the lockdown bit.) And while I’m no longer a hostess at Westville in the East Village, I still have the same roasted beet-red butterfly feeling thinking about who might turn around and come back in the door next to ask for my number. Because he’ll be getting a very different Emily.

I can do brunch on my own.

I’ve got the cocktail parties planned (as soon as we’re out of Germany’s 57th lockdown).

And I’m on track to do some amazing things (if all goes according to plan).

I have absolutely no idea what another person can add to my life.

But I guess we’ll find out.

(Eventually…)

Thanks for accepting my chaotic honesty as I figure out the best way to share all of this with y’all. If you’re keen for more stories like this in the future, let me know in the comments below because I’ve got some ideas up my sleeve that I’d love to share.

So what have I gained so far from this new chapter of singledom?

A walk with a guy who apparently works as a dating coach, despite repeatedly calling me “dear” and “cutie pie” (Sir, I respect your hustle but the year is 2021. Wake up.)
A marriage proposal from a stranger whose name will not be gracing this blog. I kid you not. Brb while I delete the internet from my phone.
A strong resistance to walks around Hamburg’s central lake (The Alster). It’s big. And there are no shortcuts. Once you’re on a walk there, you’re in it for the long haul. (I’d rather run. Alone.)

*Note on my stability: Of course there are some caveats here, and I’m still working on a few things, like how to stop buying used Westwing furniture on eBay Kleinanzeigen for my apartment and figuring out exactly how I need to file my taxes from abroad. So don’t go thinking I’ve got it all figured out.

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You asked for this: My Personal Carrie Bradshaw Dating Evolution