Tender are the Hunters | Travel Dating Diary - August 2025
August saw me back on the road after 3 months in Antalya, Türkiye, and a wonderful thing happened: train travel returned! My desire to travel by train was a main inspiration for this project/adventure.
I took an overnight bus, another bus, another bus, one flight, and finally, for the romance of it all, a train, traveling within and to three different countries: Türkiye, Greece, and Austria.
In contrast to the massively sexy July I experienced (read about that here), August had a shockingly low number of dates coming in at: 0.
Zero dates in August.
And not for lack of trying! I had the apps going. I flirted with strangers.
However, being on the road and staying in places for shorter periods is always trickier when it comes to finding good dates. And crying a lot also doesn’t seem to help (I’ll explain…).
It seemed to be a transitional month.
Blog Outline:
Comments and reflections from Part 6 (July 2025)
Travel schedule and maps
August Travel Dating Diary - potential dates and reflections on love and dating
Romance x Rail - Part 7 - August 2025
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Romance x Rail - Part 7 - August 2025 //
Reflection on Part 6
GA - Avoidants Gonna Avoid
The reaction to July’s blog was so overwhelmingly positive, I was floored! I got so many wonderful, loving texts from friends and family members. “Gosh, sorry about the heartbreak, but what a great piece of writing!” was the general consensus. Oh, the inextricable link between heartbreak and art!
It was my guy-friend GA who most put my heart at ease with his detailed feedback:
You had an amazing moment with him [Can 18], a passionate kiss that made you feel alive and whole again - thats rare and precious. And even though thats all that it will ever be (and thats ok), you are so lucky to have had that evening. We live a short life, so treasure these moments, and be strong for the difficult ones.
He is avoidant 101, he is afraid of closeness and not willing to do the work (cultural block? Helplessness? Surgeon symptom? ) all good theories, who the fuck knows, what is important is that he latched on your blog as a perfect reason to walk away. You did him a favor, he didnt have to sabotage the relationship anymore like a good avoidant. Thats my take. I hope I am not stirring too many feelings, although there is something beautiful about romantic melancholy too, sweet sorrow, the Portuguese call it Saudade.
“What is important is that he latched on your blog as a perfect reason to walk away. You did him a favor, he didnt have to sabotage the relationship anymore like a good avoidant.“ !!! Oh. My. God. This is exactly it! We can spend infinite amounts of time analyzing and agonizing over “what if I had said this or that…what if I had taken the blog down, what if, what if…”, and at the end of the day, people are going to be exactly who they are. I gave him the perfect excuse to do what was already in his heart.
Bless you, GA.
SW - Nuns Kicking Each Other?
“I wish you had posted the nun meme.” The nun meme? SW texted me her reflections as I was sitting waiting for my bus to depart the station in Istanbul, heading to Greece. It’s wild to think that a little over a year ago, I had arrived at this bus station from Sofia with no cell phone service, no Turkish language, no prior travel experience in the Middle East—with the faith that I was going to somehow figure it out and maybe even love it, along with a healthy dose of naive delusions. Wandering around with my luggage, I couldn’t find the Metro station and cried before mustering the courage to stop someone and ask. I’d saved the directions to my Airbnb as screenshots on my phone, knowing that the SIM card I’d used in Bulgaria wouldn’t work in Türkiye. The someone spoke perfect English, pointed me in the right direction, and I boarded the Metro just fine, transferring to, confusingly, another metro system with a different name (the Marmaray, Istanbul’s private line, as opposed to the public one) and to the front door of the room I was renting. There in Kadiköy, on the Asian side of Istanbul, I asked a shop owner if I could log onto his wifi so I could call my host to let me in. I did it! And I only cried once!
What a difference a year made—now Türkiye felt like home! I sat comfortably at the same bus station that had brought me to tears, enjoying a piping hot plate of the best part of a classic Turkish breakfast, menemen, eggs fried with chopped tomatoes and peppers.
The nun meme that the Persian guy from the cafe, Mr. Robot Sad Eyes, had sent me when I told him that I didn’t think we’d had a 2nd date scheduled.
“Oh, I hadn’t thought we’d had a date,” I said. He sent me a very strange meme of nuns kicking someone on the ground, made stranger by the fact that he’s not from a Christian country.
I searched back through my WhatsApp messages to find it. Omg! It wasn’t nuns! It was women in burkas! That makes SO MUCH MORE SENSE. Of course it was burkas!! Hahaha. In Daniel Kahneman’s book Thinking, Fast and Slow, he outlines two systems in the brain: the automatic one that makes snap decisions and judgments (fast), and the more rational one (slow). Our fast brain runs a lot more of the show than most of us would like to admit. Having been raised with some Catholic church and Sunday school in the mostly Christian nation of the United States, my brain automatically decided they were nuns. Burkas in Muslim countries are just not a part of my fast brain. And upon doing some research, there’s even more nuance my brain doesn’t yet have: the black gowns and head coverings these fighting ladies are donning are called “chadors," not “burkas”. A handy infographic:
Okay, so for the life of me I could not save the gif from his message in WhatsApp (is this just life post 40 now??) but I caught some screenshots. You get the idea:
This gif was how we left things between us, btw.
I love travel dating.
LH - Need a Little Tenderness
My friend LH responded to Part 5 a little differently.
“I have been reading your blogs and I love them! [But I’m worried that they’re starting to be] overexposed, like a blinding light. That’s not the right environment for a tender new love to grow.”
She wondered if I might want to, “Keep writing but hold back.”
“Like an operating room, those bright lights can be so exacting in your assessments of these men and where they are injured and wounded. That’s not where you find the kind of love you seek. It’s in the quiet and tender places.”
I did get what she was saying. I could feel the exacting quality of my assessment of Can 18 and the unfairness in it. My friend AC had warned me when I started this project: another friend of hers had started something similar and used it as a platform to harangue the men she was dating. “Not a good look.” And certainly not the energy of creating a tender new love.
Had my heart switched into bitterness? I didn’t want it to stay in that place, if so. I’ve reflected on what’s fair to share about dates and what’s not fair. I’ve tried to stay respectful, positive, and often tender in my writing. It was only Jean 1 and Can 18 in which I’d brought a more critical lens. Why? Upon reflection, it’s that my tender part felt betrayed by each of them. Jean 1’s dishonesty and Can 18’s retreat—both done with dismissal of what we had already created together and the disregard of the softness of my tender heart. But certainly, the negative behaviors of both were born of their own tender parts, their bleeding internal wounds. Maybe it wasn’t my place to operate on those wounds, as LH put it.
I stayed on the word “tender”. I’d named my consulting business Tend Collective with the meaning of “to care” like tending to a garden, and “tend to,” as in the habits we form. Tend Collective’s “Our Story” page states, “The word and root ‘tend’ and their varied meanings are perfect for the mission of Tend Collective, which seeks to increase the care of people in work settings, to change behaviors and habits, and to stretch people and businesses into new, uncomfortable realms.”
According to Merriam-Webster dictionary:
“The word tender is a child of tendre, an Anglo-French adjective that denotes softness, delicacy, or love. Tendre is also a French verb with the meaning "to offer" or "to stretch or hold out," and English speakers and writers have fully embraced both words—first adopting tendre as an adjective in its native senses and then as a noun and verb referring to the offering of something to another, such as money or assistance.”
To stretch or hold out—like the body part that allows us to stretch: tendon. It’s interesting to see the origins of a seedier aspect of the word tender:
“As an adjective, tender originally specified things having a soft or delicate texture or consistency, like freshly baked bread, porcelain, or limestone. American lexicographer Noah Webster (Dad) took note that people also called a particularly soft, juicy cut of meat from the loin of an animal tender and that they referred to such succulent cuts as tenderloin. He was the first to define that word, as "a tender part of flesh in the hind quarter of beef," in his 1828 An American Dictionary of the English Language. Later in the century, tenderloin was cooked up as a name for a district of a city devoted to vice of one form or another that invited political and police corruption—basically, such districts tempted politicians and police to partake in juicy servings of graft.”
Did you know this about “tenderloin” neighborhoods? I didn’t!
The song Tender is the Night by Jackson Browne came into my head. Growing up, Jackson Browne’s music was a staple at my dad’s house. His was one of the first concerts I remember going to—when I was around 12 years old.
Here are the lyrics to Jackson Browne’s 1983 hit song:
Between the darkness on the street
And the houses filling up with light
Between the stillness in my heart
And the roar of the approaching night
Somebody's calling after somebody
Somebody turns the corner out of sight
Looking for somebody
Somewhere in the night
Tender is the night
(Tender) when you hold your baby tight
(Tender) tender are the motions
Tender is the night
Between a life that we expected
And the way it's always been
I can't walk back in again
After the way we fight
Just outside, there are people laughing
Living lives we used to lead
Chasing down the love they need
Somewhere in the night
Tender is the night
(Tender) and the benediction of the neon light
(Tender) tender are the hunters
Tender is the night
You're gonna want me tonight, when you're ready to surrender
Forget about who's right, when you're ready to remember
It's another world at night, when you're ready to be tender
Tender (tender), tender
Tender
Tender
Tender
Tender
And in the hard light of an angry sun
No one remembers what was said or done
Tender are the words they choose
You win, I win, we lose
tender is the night
(Tender) the benediction of the neon light
(Tender) tender are the hunters
Tender is the night when they hold each other tight
tender are the undercover
(Tender) the stranger and the secret lover
(Tender) tender are the motions
Tender is the night when you hold your baby tight
Tender
Tender
Tender
Tender
Tender
Tender
The interesting juxtaposition to this and many of his tender-hearted songs, which often have to do with deep emotions, yearning for love, and social justice issues, is that at the time, Browne was often in the press for rumors of domestic violence. A quick Google search of the issues pulls up accusations going every which way between him and partners such as Daryl Hannah and Joni Mitchell, with a public statement in Far Out Magazine that the allegations were never proven. I saw comedian Fred Armisen once speak about why he was so entralled with yacht rock of the late 70s/early 80s, in promoting his soft rock parody show The Blue Jeans Committee. He said he loved the contrast of alpha-masculine men like Eagles frontmen Don Henley and Glenn Frey singing soft, heartfelt songs. Maybe these songs are a carrier of emotions, but not the same as emotional stability. They may have also provided an excuse to not do the inner work of emotion regulation, though I’m sure these songs have inspired countless people to reflect on their lives and actions. “See how emotional I am in my music? I’m one of the good guys!”
This song evokes an image of a couple up too late, all the way until dawn perhaps, tempers flying. Browne reflects that in the houses around them, other people are living cherished lives of laughter and closeness. I had an era of watching sunrises after chaotic all-nighters—I was on drugs. The mornings always did have a desperate quality to them, as though life was going right on by without me. I imagine Jackson Browne, at the height of his fame and musical success, was using plenty of substances. They tend to have the effect of making things feel acute and imperative—great for music writing. Tender is the Night captures the precarious aspect of our yearning for romantic love—the dangerous way in which we’re hoping it will complete us and how the disappointment when it doesn’t can so quickly spring into rage.
A second review of the lyrics shows me that the couple is fighting and the tenderness of the night subdues them. Throughout evolution, as darkness fell, we evolved to pull each other close for safety. In the dark, we are more vulnerable—we have fewer defenses, especially before the invention of the neon light.
The climax of the song, the bridge, is compelling:
“And in the hard light of an angry sun
No one remembers what was said or done
Tender are the words they choose
You win, I win, we lose”
Tiredness and weariness come over us in the night, and we must stop trying to prove ourselves correct. The ego needs to rest, and we give into the tenderness of remembering that we’re on the same side as our lover, after expending so much energy to “win,” a losing battle when we’re trying to cultivate love and connection.
I grabbed onto this lyric, phrase:
“Tender is the night
(Tender) and the benediction of the neon light
(Tender) tender are the hunters
Tender is the night”
Tender are the hunters. Tender are the hunters? In what way is hunting tender? How is romantic love a hunt?
I imagine a wild cat on the prowl, hunting for its prey at dusk, eyes darting at the slightest movement. Is the search for its mating partner done with the same intensity? The drive to reproduce compelling the animal forward: must eat, must reproduce, must not die, must not go extinct. These drives are primal and required. Despite the long evolution of the human brain and neocortex, the rationalizing part that makes us distinctly human, we too must satisfy our primal instincts or perish.
In the vulnerability of life or death, we find the tenderness of hunting for a mate. While the responsibility of perpetuating the human race does not lie with any one or two individuals, the primal urge is in each of us.
The neocortex and the stories we create provide layers of tenderness in our role as hunters. Humans uniquely have insecurities, pride, hopes, and dreams. As we hunt for a lover or partner, we are flooded with these stories. We stretch and reach for each other out of necessity, beyond the primal need to reproduce, is the mammalian need to care for and about each other and to feel cared for. The wounds we carry make us pull back or lash out. We play dead or brandish our claws in an attempt to protect our soft, tender hearts, feelings, and need to feel loved.
Hunting for love requires a fierceness—we must allow our softest parts to be seen and tended to. We must retract our claws. We must come alive and allow ourselves to be seen and known.
Hunting predator mammals come out at dusk or dawn—using the dim lighting to their advantage to catch prey. During the day, it may be too hot or bright. At night, too dark. Have you ever felt that fleeting sense of desperation right as the sun goes down? I wonder if it’s a holdover of fear from our most primitive incarnation as evolutionary beings.
And of course, we must consider that nighttime is when the other vulnerable reaching happens—physical intimacy. Many men conflate physical with emotional intimacy, wanting it to absolve the day’s transgressions. In dysfunctional relationships, the argument is simply forgotten once bodies come together. In healthy relationships, each partner’s needs are tended to in words and actions when the sun rises the next morning.
How did I want to move my Romance by Rail challenge forward with the tenderness that would cultivate a sprouting love? I have been exceptionally mindful to treat my subjects with kindness and respect when they have brought their soft hearts and laid them down at my feet, such as with Can 31, the sweet man with whom I vacationed in Kaş. You’ll notice my language is quite protective of him, and more vague. Energy match.
I will continue forward in this way, but add one thing: notice who brings tenderness and rewards mine. This is the stuff of long-lasting connection.
Travel Route
I traveled from/to:
Antalya, Türkiye —> Bursa, Türkiye - by overnight bus
Bursa —> Istanbul - missed the ferry, had to catch a bus
Istanbul —> Thessaloniki, Greece - by bus
Thessaloniki —> Vienna, Austria - flew
Vienna —> Innsbruck, Austria - train, finally!
How long I was in each place:
Antalya - May 7 to August 8
Bursa - 2 nights
Istanbul - 2 nights
Thessaloniki - 2 weeks
Vienna - 2 nights
Innsbruck - arrived the final week of August and staying until Oct 1
Title | Part 7: August 2025
Antalya, Türkiye
At the apartment where I lived for two months in Antalya, every day walking to and from the city center to the coworking office, I had to walk down the street I called “Wedding Dress Road”. This busy street has no fewer than 20 separate wedding dress shops. The giant, fluffy, and sparkly gowns seemed so over the top that I questioned whether these businesses were fronts for something else. “Women aren’t really getting married in these dresses, are they?” I asked my friend US, someone who has been living in Türkiye for many years, and has attended many Turkish weddings. “Oh, I can assure you that they are.”
“Seems like a scam to trap women into marriage,” I offered. Women are sold this dream of a fairy tale wedding. They can be a Disney princess for one night, and it’s been made to seem so alluring that they don’t realize the trap—they’ll be washing dishes and mopping floors for a man for 50 years (the Cinderella story in reverse). While many Western countries have become more egalitarian between the genders in marriage, the majority of the world has not. Wrapping up weddings in shiny satin fabrics, delicate lace, and bejeweled rinestones is a bow on a turd of a package for most women worldwide. I’m not just being cynical—when you review the rates of domestic violence, that is, violence perpetrated by husbands against wives, in most places in the world, the statistics are horrifying (see my deep dive here). Women aren’t just doing unpaid housework for the patriarchy; they’re also being psychologically and often physically harmed.
In a TikTok I made two years ago with 167,000 views and counting, I share that, based on historical analysis by author Gerda Lerner in The Creation of Patriarchy, this system of male domination and oppression originated in ancient Mesopotamia when humans became sedentary, developing agriculture. At that point, children were seen as helping hands and therefore valuable commodities. That women were necessary to produce said commodities made them monetary objects as well. Marriage was born and was a paid transaction, making marriage the first form of enslavement (that we know about).
I’m not anti-marriage or anti-wedding! But in our quest to liberate women everywhere, it’s important to question structures of oppression. Philosopher Riane Eisler writes in The Chalice and Blade about how societies who value women and the traits we’ve deemed feminine such as partnership and care, do better as a whole.
“[If we pursue] a positive economic future...this will entail facing up to the fact that our 'masculine' militarism is the most energy-intensive entropic activity of humans, since it converts stored energy directly into waste and destruction without any useful, intervening fulfillment of basic human needs.”
So, much of my time in Antalya was spent looking at all the wedding dresses in the windows on Wedding Dress Road. I did eventually see customers and fittings so these shops were indeed selling their wares as advertised. I was often accompanied on these walks by one or both of my roommates. Certain life experiences have made me feel especially held by the universe. Finding myself with two incredibly warm, wise, and fun roommates in Antalya, completely by chance this summer, was one. I rented a room in a co-living apartment associated with Coworking Antalya, the coworking office and community I discovered last summer and joined again when I got back to Antalya in May.
The roommates are IH (male) and MT (female), from Iran and Brazil, respectively. When MT moved in about a month after I did, she initiated all-roommate hangouts and dinners. I started talking to my other roommate more as a result of her deliberate friendliness. One morning as I sat eating breakfast, IH came in and I was finally ready to connect. “Sorry I wasn’t around much the first month,” I told him. “I was really just barely getting by in a way. I felt heartbroken that this guy here rejected me so quickly, then I got shingles. I buried myself in my work, leaving the apartment early and working late.” I watched his careful and methodical movements as he made coffee, made his own morning meal, and washed dishes that weren’t even his to wash.
We started in and discovered that we were the same age, had eerily similar life stories in terms of substance use recovery, a nomadic lifestyle, and mental health resilience. Soon, we were an hour into a heart-to-heart conversation on topics such as our life motivations, struggles in past relationships, our similar personalities, how we coped with being highly sensitive people, and how we’ve worked to overcome the lifelong pull of short-term high over long-term reward. He sent me a link to look at my Human Design profile. I entered my info and we were the same type: Manifesting Generator. I shared how I’d recently gotten off of Wellbutrin, the antidepressant drug, and how at a meditation retreat in April in Los Angeles, I’d gone in pleading with my higher power: I’m so tired of battling depression, please help me see what I need to do and I’ll do it! “You’re depressed because you’re not feeling. Feel deeper. Go more into your sensitive nature,” was the message I received. Another hour went by. Our apartment did not have an AC unit in the kitchen, so this was real dedication—a sweat lodge bonding and healing moment! I was drenched in sweat by the end of our deep chat, but it was worth it. Antalya was regularly 95F/35C with 75% humidity this July and August.
“I moved to Sweden from Iran and realized I needed to get help and go to rehab. When I got there, everyone was just like me: also from Iran!” Hearing this made my heart ache. I don’t think it was just about feeling the pain of cultural dislocation for these Persians in a Nordic country, as my roommate brought his preexisting health needs with him across continents. It’s about the pain of a country and people living for decades under an oppressive regime. I’d heard from many others this summer that “they really like to party in Iran. So many drugs! Probably offered drugs more there than anywhere else I’ve ever traveled to.” Doesn’t quite match up with our stereotypes of what a religiously conservative country should be like, does it? But where people feel hopeless and helpless, you’ll find substance use. The cocaine rats in the classic experiment stopped going for the cocaine water when they had a fun and interactive living environment (called “Rat Park”). It was the caged existence that ever made them drug fiends in the first place.
As I reflect back on my own struggle with drug addiction at age 19, what was my cage? I’d dabbled in drugs and partying my senior year of high school, with my whole life ahead of me—and it was a life full of promise. I’d gotten accepted to the #1-ranked public university in the US, UC Berkeley, the elite institution that was a dream college destination for so many students, not just in the United States but around the world. I should have been thrilled. But I found myself retreating. After every bender, I’d come to in reality and obsess about how to escape again. Was my cage the treadmill of performance as affirmation? After so many years of top grades, perfect test scores, leading student service clubs, running around from extracurricular to extracurricular, auditioning for and making state honor choir, running in and winning a teen beauty pageant, getting the lead role in the high school musical, performing…performing. When I finally got what I was supposed to want: admission to the top place, I didn’t feel better. I felt worse.
It was a particularly cruel type of cult to be raised into: chase, perform, achieve and you can have the American Dream. You can have it all. Kids should have more time to play, laugh, and frolic without the pressure of performance. Traveling has widened my understanding of what a successful culture is. While the US is rightfully coveted for its economic opportunity, in other places, like Türkiye, for example, people often prioritize each other. On any given night in Antalya, every coffee shop patio is filled with people in every seat, laughing and talking with their friends into the early morning hours, their voices and gesticulations growing increasingly animated as they imbibe more caffeine, sugar, and nicotine. Most Turkish people I met said they would rather live in the United States and I don’t take for granted the freedom and opportunities that have historically been available there all the way up until recent years. The US has been a beacon of hope for immigrants for over 2 centuries—people who wanted to leave oppressive class systems behind and start fresh. But as Nigerian American travel influencer Glo Atanmo (who married a Bosnian man and moved to Sarajevo with yearly extended stints in Bali and Bangkok) said in a recent post, “The US sells consumerism as freedom. It’s not.”
It does seem as though buying things is the American Dream. We drive to and from work, alone in our giant vehicles. At the end of the day we sit in our homes, far away from bustling city centers. We watch Netflix, doom scroll Instagram or Facebook, order things on Amazon in which we’ll never have to talk to another soul, and wonder why so many of us are on prescription medications.
The cage rattled against the most of course was my own mind. It was mean in there—cold! Rat prison. In another rat experiment, it was shown that rat pups who received the most licking from their mothers grew up to be the healthiest and most well-adjusted ones. I needed someone to pull me in close, envelop me in a warm embrace with no expectation that I owed them anything in return, licking my hair, saying, “there there now. It’s all going to be okay—this life. There will be challenges, but you’ll get through them all in the end. You’ll do just fine.” And to whisper, “You are so loved. I’m so glad you’re here.” This was often (not always) missing in my upbringing and it added an extra sense of urgency to my turns on the performance hamster wheel.
Mantras of the over-achiever:
Maybe if I achieve enough, then they’ll finally notice how great I am.
If I can just get to the next milestone, I’ll finally feel good.
If I do enough and do it perfectly, then I’ll be lovable.
Back to the present, one night I came home from a 10-mile (16km) run (still out there achieving, naturally…), exhausted, and my roommates had left me a piece of a roasted chicken, rice, and roasted vegetables for dinner. I could feel myself resisting their offering, unable to take in the love (see July’s update for more on my struggle with receiving love). “I didn’t earn this,” my brain raced with thoughts of unworthiness, “What did I give in return?” Forgetting that people get a lot of satisfaction out of giving kindness to other people. One night, we had a movie night, and IH bought popcorn to pop on the stove, melted butter, and poured it carefully over the top for each of us. I felt so tended to. A little rat pup fully licked.
Finding myself with these two kind and thoughtful roommates at this time when I could have felt so alone was such a gift. Despite the trials and tribulations of my dating adventures, I was gifted the most extraordinary and nurturing friends. I didn’t go on any dates in August, but I had these beautiful, inspiring, and nurturing friends, all of us under one roof.
Can 18 and I were back together a grand total of 5 days before splitting again, as outlined in excruciating detail in the previous chapter’s summary. It was July 31st, closing out the month, that he let me know that he just could not even.
Had I paused the dating apps that week? Deleted and reinstalled? I’m not sure, but on August 1st, I got a message on Bumble from someone I’d matched with during the previous year’s travels, but never met IRL.
Note: Every man in my blog that is a date or potential date gets the name “John” but in their respective country’s language, followed by the number signifying the order in which I interacted with them. I have not met 32 dates—some I mention even if we didn’t meet up.
Ivan 32 | Bulgaria | Early 30s | Bumble app
This guy, Ivan 32, and I matched in Sofia, Bulgaria, just as I was departing on my way to Istanbul (read about that in RxR blog #1 here). We had chatted for a bit on the app, and he said he’d love to meet up if I was ever back in town. I had found Sofia to be an enchanting city, just perfect, really—it was a place in which I’d extended my original trip by a few days. See my trail running summary of Sofia here.
We had matched at the beginning of June 2024, so it had been a little over a year since we’d been in touch. It felt so random to hear from him! Based on his profile, he seemed quirky and weird in intriguing ways—I think mostly from the tattoos visible in his photos and a bio that implied some time spent in different places in the world. “Ivan 32 really values environmentalism,” it read in the interests section (users choose 5 special interests to highlight and can especially feature one. Mine, btw are “yoga, science, being active, therapy, and nutrition”). It can be rare to find matches who care about important issues. I was curious!
As anyone on the apps can tell you, so many of the interactions are boring. Here is a smattering of messages I got while in Antalya. The majority are like this. Usually, the conversation doesn’t get better from this starting place.
But I was in no mental state that week to move anything romantic forward, as I was still releasing the resurfaced dream of a life with Can 18, short-lived as it was. My broken-hearted cynicism shone through our exchange:
Alison: I just thought that…mm…after years of therapy, the last year of which I paid $700 a month…that I would stop choosing to get into relationships with men with avoidant attachment. And then I did that…twice
Ivan 32: Well it feels like you got scammed by this therapist tbh. not only did you fall once, but also a 2nd time, good numbers in this racket.
He asked if was into him and wanted to try meeting IRL.
Alison: I think you would need to ignore me first…should we chat again in another year??
Ivan 32: Then I guess up until then you’d be drooling over me, am I right?
Alison: Yes, but you’d also have to be a little bit mean. Maybe lie about something as well.
This dynamic in which I kept him at arm’s length seemed to really endear him to me, which was, ironically, a red flag for me, though fun. I just want to meet someone (tender-hearted?) who believes in love. I think of the Rumi poem:
“Out beyond ideas of wrongdoing and rightdoing,
there is a field. I’ll meet you there.
When the soul lies down in that grass, the world is too full to talk about.
Ideas, language, even the phrase ‘each other’ doesn’t make any sense.”
Can’t I just lie down and rest a minute in the grass, otherness dissolving into mutual knowing?
But it’s funny, I can’t even rest in the myth created in this poem’s translation by white dude Coleman Barker. In searching for a better translation of the Farsi in which this poem was originally written, I happened upon one by Ari Honarvar:
از کفر و ز اسلام برون صحرائی است
ما را به میان آن فضا سودائی است
عارف چو بدان رسید سر را بنهد
نه کفر و نه اسلام و نه آنجا جائی است
“Out beyond wrongdoing and right doing, there is a desert
The desert beckons us as if it were the oasis
We long to hold one another in its lush grass
and drink from the clear spring
The moon whispers in my ear:
I have one foot in that desert
But don’t ask me to meet you there
For in that desert of disillusionment,
just as with right and wrong,
you and I and even oneness
cease to exist”
This translation involves a test of disillusionment—a desert tricking us into believing it’s a wellspring. Of course, that’s how life really is—we reach the oasis only after being tested. Often our biggest blessings come only after enduring dark nights of the soul, beseeching our creator, “Why have you forsaken me?”
Text conversations with Ivan 32 were a game of cat and mouse. A little bit of chasing, a little bit of playing, a little bit of hiding, and neither player exactly wanting to get down to defeating the game. Merriam-Webster dictionary defines the game of cat and mouse as “the act of toying with or tormenting something before destroying it”. As we texted throughout the month, sometimes I felt like the mouse, sometimes the cat.
The cat on the prowl for prey or a mate has the same instinctual energy. Was I going to find something real with this guy—or was I being toyed with? Of course, though, before meeting in person, we will play with our prey. There’s simply not enough information to know if we can let our guard down, revealing the soft heart.
The day I left Antalya, my goal to do better at receiving love encouraged me to ask IH to help me carry my heaviest piece of luggage down the four flights of stairs and out to the street. He happily helped. He gave me a big hug. “Wait, switch sides so our hearts are touching.” We switched from a right-sided to a left-sided hug. We pulled away, and he put his hands on my shoulders, looking me in the eyes. “Don’t get depressed,” he said firmly. That was an order.
Maybe the universe has a magical, cosmic sense to it, and maybe it doesn’t. But the connection with IH and our eerily similar life experiences seemed not merely coincidental.
I felt certain that we’d been placed together for a reason. There was a cosmic soul connection. IH was a reminder that I was not alone out here on this little blue sphere floating around in a vast galaxy among infinite other galaxies, he growing up in Iran, and me growing up 7,000 miles and an ocean away in California—different countries, language, and culture, but shared pain, growth, and healing.
The day after departing Antalya, pulling in many facets of our conversation from spiritual to recovery, I sent him the perfect meme:
One additional highlight this month was a workshop I taught at the coworking office. Every Saturday in the summer, my friend AE hosts an ice bath challenge. The first weekend in August, I offered a workshop called “Coffee Meditation” after the ice bath. I used to teach it at Three Jewels NYC Buddhist Meditation Center in 2015. It’s based on the teachings of karma by Geshe Michael Roach.
The Four Steps of Coffee Meditation—Geshe Michael Roach, The Karma of Love:
State Your Desire Clearly: Articulate what you wish to manifest in a single, concise sentence. This clarity sets a precise intention for your goal.
Plan to Help Someone Else Achieve the Same Goal: Identify a person who shares your desired outcome. Devise a specific plan to assist them in reaching this goal, ensuring your actions are genuine and focused.
Take Action to Help Them: Implement your plan by actively supporting the individual. This could involve offering guidance, resources, or any form of assistance that aligns with their needs. Help them at least 1 hour each week.
Reflect on Your Actions (Coffee Meditation): Before sleep, reflect on the positive actions you’ve taken to help others. This meditation reinforces the karmic seeds you’ve planted and prepares your mind for the manifestation of your desires.
In the workshop, we practice deep, reflective listening and empathy. I came away feeling strongly connected to my activity partner, the group, and humanity. It was a reminder that if ever we are feeling lonely, we can always offer a listening ear to someone else in need.
I may not have had any romantic dates in August, but this workshop was a meaningful practice in emotional intimacy with others.
Bursa, Türkiye
I had the apps going but most locals were confused, messaging me “what are you doing in Bursa?” I did not see or hear a single other western tourist the entire time I was there. It really was a tourist gold mine that way. We’re always searching for places that seem untouched—still authentic in some way, even though we’re all more connected to each other than ever.
Bursa was like stepping into another dimension.
The baristas at the cute coffee shop I went to immediately clocked my “otherness”.
Barista 1: “Where are you from?”
Me: “California”
Barista 1: “Spain?”
Barista 2, swooping in for the save: “America”
Barista 1: “the United States of America!”
Istanbul, Türkiye
Can 33 | Turkish | Mid-30s | The League app
Can 34 | Turkish | Mid-30s | Bumble app
There were two dating app matches who I had yet to meet who live in Istanbul. One, Can 33, an engineer, I matched with on The League, which matches you with other users in your time zone but not necessarily your city, the other, Can 34, in the film industry, I had matched with on Bumble when he was in Antalya enjoying a beach vacation. By the time we got around to chatting on the app, he was back in Istanbul.
I thought about reaching out to either of them but I needed alone time. I was only in Istanbul for 2 nights. It’s funny, now, a month later, writing this, I would absolutely reach out for a date. But at the time, I needed a spacious reset, and probably a break from Turkish guys, tbh. I was connected to both of them on Instagram. They watched my stories and I theirs, although they rarely posted much.
I had an absolutely enchanting time in Istanbul, a place you may remember, where I lived for 5 weeks from May to June 2024 and then returned to with my mom and friend LH in October. The summer temperature was just right—not oppressively hot and humid like Antalya, but still decidedly summer, not yet crisp Autumn.
I remembered my rule to take myself out on dates to make sure that I never needed to schedule a date to make myself feel special. I found a cute wine bar and ordered a glass of Turkish wine and a bowl of spaghetti. I had a lovely evening to myself. I wandered around taking photos of the romantic Beyoglu neighborhood, talking to a daughter-father shop owner and product designer duo about the ins and outs of selling products ot the American market (the career I had in my late 20s to early 30s before going to grad school).
I flirted with the hostel manager, having him explain all of his varied tattoos to me. I talked to a shop owner about how he used to have a sister store in San Francisco. I bought a bracelet with the classic Turkish royal blue evil-eye on it. Time to get serious about warding off vampires, ghosts, and zombies. I sat at the cafe in the image above, making 6 hours of edits to my last travel dating post, RxR Part 6. A guy sat next to me at the counter and we chatted for a while.
As I posted photos from my time in Istanbul, both Cans messaged me. “Hey….!” Can 34, in response to a street photo of young revelers in front of a bar, said, “that’s my neighborhood! I was out the other night.” The next day I posted a photo fo a particularly enchanting street with colorful multi-story apartment buildings. “That’s my apartment!”
“I’m already in Greece :/.”
Thessaloniki, Greece
Ioannis 35 | Greek | Early 30s | In the Wild
I took a 10-hour bus from Istanbul to Thessaloniki, Greece. I much prefer long buses over flights if I have the time. I love traveling over the landscape, absorbing the essence of it through the window. I was curious to visit this up-and-coming digital nomad destination to see about it as a long-term living possibility. Greece offers golden visas through real estate purchase. Maybe I could open a co-live/co-work space.
When I got to my hostel bed that evening and lied down, I couldn’t keep myself from sobbing. Months of tears poured out for at least an hour. There was nothing I could do so I let it all out, stifling the sounds in my pillow so as not to disturb the bunkmates sharing the room.
When I came to, I gave myself a pep talk, “You have goals. You do not have time to wallow. Let it go. Focus on the future you’re creating.”
This attitude helped me bring my most magnetic energy into a cute coffee shop one morning (or more likely I was ovulating), where I gasped and put my hand to my heart the barista was so hot.
I honestly cannot remember how the conversation started but I stood there at the counter while he made drinks for all sorts of customers—a 10 year old boy who wanted to be strong enough to carry a whole tray of drinks to his family, but Hot Barista swooped in for the assist—and we enthusiastically chatted about so many topics for…probably an hour! Vibes were 🔥. He was honestly so good-looking that I asked him if he’d ever considered a career in modeling. It seemed a crime for him to make coffee when the good Lord had given him such precious other gifts.
“What are you doing now?” he asked me. “Just filling out these postcards,” I held up the stack. I explained that my work day starts in the evening when I hop on calls in California’s time zone. Waaaaaaaaaas he going to ask me out?? Seemed like he wanted to.
His replacement coworker came in just then and he started his clock-out check-list. “She said I should think about modeling,” he said to her, pointing at me. “Good, then I can take your shifts and get more hours,” she joked back. I took my coffee and postcards to a table outside. He stopped by on his way out and we added each other on Instagram. “If you’re ever back in the area,” he said, “we should hang out.”
I have such trouble convincing some men that they could probably get me to do whatever they wanted. Change my flight? For the right romance! Come back soon and deliberately? I’ll be there! But so many of them leave it in the realm of possibility. It’s a perfect time capsule in their head—the fantasy of what could have been, if only.
I wasn’t sure I’d be back. The heavy graffiti throughout the city, but especially the American-esque focus on car travel and 6 lane traffic cutting right through the middle of town, was what I was trying to flee! Not sure this is where I want to settle and open a business, I thought. After two full weeks, the city had grown on me from my initial shock. But I wasn’t convinced.
My last night in Greece, I received news from my mom that it was possible her cancer had spread to a new location in her body. She was really worried! So was I! That night, tears came flooding back. My mind raced with the worst of all possible thoughts: what if my mom passes away before I have the child/ren I’ve always wanted? Before I meet the love of my life?? This was devastating to ponder. I thought of the recent misadventure with trying to develop a relationship with Can 18. Life was so short and precious. When we find someone and we’re compatible and we care about them, why run away when you could support each other through all of the hardest life things? Why not just be there for each other instead of making it so hard?
But of course, the real lesson was for me—why spend even one millisecond more trying to make it work with a runner when life is so precious and valuable? I doubled down on moving on quickly! Time to find someone who would make life’s most challenging moments feel okay if we were in it together.
Vienna, Austria
I fulfilled my lifelong dream of staying overnight in an Ikea store. The hostel was perched atop a multi-level Ikea, on the highest 2 floors. We could peer down into several levels of the Ikea maze from the hostel. It truly felt like we were right in the Ikea!
I chatted with a few men on the apps, but no dates.
I was wandering around Vienna, annoyed as I was about to start my period, and it was much colder and windier than seemed appropriate for a mid-August day, when suddenly I heard bass music in the not-so-far-off distance.
“Follow the bass,” I thought as my feet started shuffling in that direction. I came upon a free dance party in a plaza and joined in, buying a beer and staying for one DJ changeover. My mood lifted.
Using the Google Translate app for some text written on a tent, I gathered that it was a protest that public funding should also go to music and art for young people—not just Mozart of the oldies. Fair enough!
Innsbruck, Austria
I hopped on a train in Vienna and enjoyed the gentle rocking of the car over the tracks, the gorgeous Austrian landscapes through the window, and the hum of passengers speaking in low voices.
Nearing the end of the month, I settled into a cat-sitting gig that would take me into October. I used the same website I used last September, Trusted Housesitters, to find this couple who were going on a long surf road trip for 5 weeks and needed someone to care for their sweet cat, Pepe. I’d passed through Innsbruck in Part 1 of my trip, April of 2024, but I had the misfortune of being very sick and so, slept through all 3 days. It was great to be back! I thought I’d date some outdoorsy guys—it’s a mountain town for trail runners, rock climbers, skiiers, snowboarders, cyclists, and adventurers.
The game of cat and mouse started to heat up with Ivan 32 and I lined up a couple of dates to start off September so stay tuned for Part 8…
