Anybody Can Do That

Anybody Can Do That.

It’s amazing to me how often complete strangers tell me that as their reaction to something I do, can do, or have done.  I’m not necessarily looking for praise, but I’m certainly not looking for denigration.  

As an example, about a month ago I decided to dive into dating once again.  Don’t worry.  It only lasted a weekend before I had enough of it, but I tried.  This time around I decided to try out the Hinge app.  Allegedly, the people who choose this app are more interested in actually meeting someone and forming a relationship.  It was easy enough to set up my profile, and I’ll admit that I appreciated their approach which was less “write an essay about yourself” more “choose three questions to answer or ask”.  If anything it allowed for an infusion of a little personality in the endless scroll of potential dates who like to travel, are inexplicably on a boat and borrowed a small child for a non-threatening photo.  

One of the questions you were offered was to play a game of Two Truths and a Lie.  I was down with this.  I can usually come up with a good one, but I always forget two of the three statements I have chosen in the past. So, it’s like the first time every time—including right now.

Please join me in a little game.  Here are my three statements.  Two are true.  One is not.

1. I competed in 6 triathlons in a single year.
2. My lack of dancing ability led to a demotion.
3. My childhood pet was a parakeet.

Without fail, the triathlon statement is always chosen as the lie.  And the triathlon statement is the only one that I ALWAYS use because it seems so unlikely, but is absolutely true (and a huge source of personal pride).  Most people don’t think I could do one triathlon, much less six.  I’m not surprised by that in the least.  I’m no athlete.  I was always chosen last in gym class.  In fact, growing up, my 6th grade PE teacher was the only person who ever made fun of my name—literally booing me when it was my turn to play table tennis (the only game in which I had any level of proficiency).  Whether that seemingly innocent roast at the hands of an adult led to the other kids actively working to keep me from ever getting close to the ball during the basketball unit that started a week later, I’ll never know.  But one thing’s for sure, when another girl saw the basketball heading my way (and me realizing I had to jump into action and put my best foot forward for my team), she wasted no time physically pushing me out of the way and onto the floor sending me sliding perilously toward the open doorway to the main hall.  The only thing that prevented me from sliding out of the gym was my shoulder and the door jamb.  The game didn’t stop. She was mildly disciplined, and I was told to sit on the bleachers for the rest of the week.  

Look Argentina, before you start crying for me, know that my lack of sporting ability and the subsequent societal pressure not to even bother isn’t the only thing that makes me an unlikely candidate for the title “athlete”, much less “triathlete”.  I’m clumsy.  I’m not just regular clumsy.  I’m professional-grade clumsy.  I’m walking-on-a-flat-path-in-perfect-conditions-with-no-obstacles-in-the-way-but-still-managed-to-injure-myself clumsy.  I’ve sprained my ankles 5 times (almost 6 if you count my recent episode walking out of a hotel which ended with me toppled over my luggage, legs splayed, with my dress over my head). Knowing all of that, it’s clear why this personal fact is such a surprising one. 

Despite all of this, the triathlon statement is completely true.  Sadly, anyone who has guessed this incorrectly doesn’t even know about my history as a clumsy benchwarmer.  They just know that I don’t appear to be athletic.

Given all of this information, it is probably obvious that the other true statement is about dancing.  That’s another story—as funny as it is humiliating.  So that means the lie is about the parakeet.  I wanted a parakeet.  I wanted to name it Perky. I settled for a parakeet puppet for which my dog didn’t particularly care.

So, that’s the game, but let’s get back to the dating.  

Hinge app.  That’s where I was.  Well, it seemed promising enough.  I had a clever conversation starter.  It wasn’t as charming as I would have hoped.  I did manage to start a conversation with two different guys.  One was nice.  We went on a date.  It was fun.  And then we never spoke again.  The other was a pill.  Carrying on a conversation with him was like pulling teeth—perfectly healthy teeth that did not need to be pulled.  It all started with the Two Truths and a Lie.  Actually, that’s not true.  It all started with a picture of me and an owl, about which he quizzed me on my knowledge of owls and essentially told me I didn’t know anything because he had watched a documentary about owls which made him an expert.  Then it moved to him hating all music I mentioned and getting annoyed when I was able to hold a coherent conversation about the music he liked (which was super obscure and definitely not my bag, but generally a topic I know well regardless of my personal feelings).  I should have ended it there...but, not one to let sleeping dogs lie, I kept responding which led to this:

Random Stranger: You’ve never done a triathlon.

Me: No, that one is true.

RS: Yeah, but you probably just did the short ones.

Me: I didn’t do IronMans if that’s what you mean, but I did 2 Olympic distance and 4 sprints.

RS: Right.  So short ones.  Anybody can do that.

Me: I don’t think that’s necessarily true.

RS: Yeah, well those aren’t even real triathlons.  How long are they?

Me: An Olympic is roughly a 1-mile swim, 25-mile bike ride, and a 6-mile run.  It’s what they do in the Olympics. It’s definitely real.

RS: Yeah, but the sprint ones aren’t.

Me: Yeah, those are shorter, but you still do three events back-to-back.  I think the shortest one I did was a quarter-mile swim, 12-mile bike ride, and a 2-mile run.  It’s still a challenge.

RS: Maybe.  It still isn’t hard.

And there it is.  My accomplishment wasn’t an accomplishment at all. It was just something that anybody can do.  It doesn’t matter that I trained 4 days a week for several months to get to the point of being able to do it or that I know that physically I couldn’t do a triathlon right now without starting over with the training.  Anybody can do that, so I shouldn’t feel good about myself for doing something that I never thought I could or would do.  To add insult to injury, that guy (and usually anyone who has ever made the “Anybody can do that” claim) told me he doesn’t exercise, so he didn’t come from a place of knowledge.  

I wish I could say this was the first time I have had this conversation, but it wasn’t.  I’m amazed by how quickly people are willing to minimize the achievements of strangers.  This isn’t limited to dating, although it happens frequently on first dates (or the first conversation one has before most likely NOT going on a date).  

It isn’t just athletic achievements.  It’s anything.  My job.  My hobbies.  Everything that I can do is apparently no big deal because ANYBODY CAN DO THAT.  And yet...not that many people do it.

What really bothers me about the whole “Anybody can do that” claim is not the fact that it isn’t entirely true.  It’s that by making the claim that anybody can do doesn’t make anybody want to do it.  It has the opposite effect.  It makes people think it isn’t something worth trying or putting the effort into doing.  It’s a passive-aggressive statement with the intent to dissuade someone from trying in the first place.  It encourages mediocrity by making the claim that nothing is extraordinary or worthy of pride.  Nothing is an achievement.  It’s just a thing that anybody can do.  

And, more disturbing yet, immediately brushing off another person’s talent, skill, or achievement as something that “Anybody can do” is just an easy way to quickly chip away at their self-confidence in a bid to get the upper hand.  It is no different than the guy who greeted me by insulting my choice of shirt as a way to trick me into doing whatever I could to curry favor with him.  It wasn’t a winning strategy with this girl, but it’s a trick that must work on others.  He wasn’t the first, nor will he be the last man to insult me upon first meeting me with the claim that it was just an innocent flirting tactic.  

Belittling another person, whether they are a stranger or a friend, is unacceptable.  Starting off a relationship with malicious criticism is dangerous.  While I am the protagonist of my own story, I also played a part in this cycle.  I stuck around for far longer than I should have or even wanted.  Why?  Because I didn’t want to hurt their feelings?  Because I didn’t see that I had anything better to do?  Because I felt some sense of obligation, despite the fact that they were complete strangers?  Maybe.  More likely, I didn’t walk away because being told that I’m nothing special spoke to that awful part of myself that tells me the same thing.  That little voice the creeps up throughout the day reminding me of all of my failings—real or imagined.

But that’s where the triathlons came in.

Just so we are all clear, I didn’t win any races.  I was a turtle.  But I finished, and I liked it enough that I kept training—because the achievement of crossing that finish line made me feel pride in myself that was absent most of the time.  I remember being at the track during a running practice when I realized that the only time of the day when I was consistently nice to myself, when my internal dialogue was positive and encouraging was when I was running.  Extend that to a race, and that meant that for at least 2 straight hours, I was my greatest champion—and sadly, the rest of the day, I was my greatest critic.  That feeling of pride, of being encouraged, and ultimately, of being empowered by my own thoughts carried over into other aspects of my life.  

So, when random strangers tell me my accomplishments are no big deal because “Anybody can do that”, it infuriates me.  Big accomplishments require blood, sweat, tears, and patience.  Diminishing those achievements by telling someone “Anybody can do that” just chips away at their self worth and gives credence to the nagging internal voice that would rather just sit on the couch.  It prevents them from doing all the work that will get them to a place where they CAN do that.

For me, as someone who did compete in 6 triathlons in a single year, being told that “Anybody can do that” takes away the power of knowing I DID do that.  And it was a huge deal.  

And maybe one day I’ll meet someone who thinks so too.

I Just Thought He'd Be Boring

So I decided to throw my hat back in the dating ring after a little hiatus. It seemed like time to put myself out there and find out what my new home had to offer. I admit that I was a little gun-shy after the last guy I went out with suggested a pre-dinner threesome. That encounter made me question dating after 40. Are the only available men complete weirdos? Socially awkward oddballs? Completely flawed in ways that can’t be corrected? Who wouldn’t start to wonder such things? Granted, my sample up to now has been relatively small, consisting of only three men (and they were British, so that probably adds another layer of bizarre behavior that a Yank such as myself might not understand). Of the three, one was normal. The other two, well, they had their issues. Despite this, I decided to throw caution to the wind and optimistically hope that maybe it was just British men over 40.

 And that’s what led me to Bumble. A few weeks ago, out of boredom, I decided to see what this little app was all about. Straight out of the gates I was confronted with single, never married, no kids 40-something men who took great issue with my single, never married, no kids status. This was no shock. I’ve battled this particular dialogue for awhile now. It is dumbfounding, but it happens frequently enough that I am in no way surprised. The typical conversation goes a little something like this:

Guy: So what’s your story? Ever been married?
Me: No.
Guy: Really?
Me: Really.
Guy: But you have kids?
Me: No. Never married, no kids.
Guy: Buy why? You just don’t want to get married?
Me: I didn’t say that. I’ve just never been married.
Guy: Why not?
Me: No one ever asked.
Guy: And no kids?
Me: No. I feel like the kids would have come after the marriage I haven’t had.
Guy: Oh, so you don’t like kids?
Me: I never said that. I like kids fine. I just don’t have any.
Guy: So you don’t want kids…
Me: It’s not that I don’t want kids. I just don’t have any. And honestly, I’m 41. I think that ship has sailed.
Guy: Why are you looking to meet someone if you don’t want kids or to be married?
Me: Neither of those assumptions are true.
Guy: Then why haven’t you been married?
Me: Honestly I couldn’t tell you. But, I believe you’re in the same boat. So why is this an issue?
Guy: That’s different.
Me: I doubt that.
Guy: I just don’t see this working out if you are against marriage and kids.
Me: I didn’t say that. I just haven’t been. There’s a difference.
Guy: Well, I’m a traditional guy. I don’t see how we can work this out.
Me: Yeah, you’re probably right. It’s definitely me.


That conversation alone is enough to put a girl off dating. I mean, how many times must I justify my life choices? Sometimes in this life, things just happen the way they do. And if you’re a dude looking for a lady, wouldn’t the lack of ex-husband/screaming children baggage be a positive attribute? I once had this same conversation with a Hungarian bartender who was married, had three children and openly cheated on his wife with multiple women. In fact, this conversation occurred after he propositioned me, and I turned him down. He told me he was disgusted by me because I was (at the time) 35, unmarried, and had never had children. His reason (and the one I am given 90% of the time): I’m a traditional guy, and I don’t agree with your values. My values? The values where I’m fully self-sufficient, I don’t lie, cheat, steal, or sleep with people outside of my relationship? Those values? It is maddening. But I digress.

Back to Bumble. Despite this knowledge, I was still willing to give it a try. And yes, the first guy I talked to was very upset by my unblemished past. But that’s fine. I was annoyed by his holier-than-thou attitude. Things improved the very next day when I had a date with an awesome guy. We laughed, we talked, time stood still. I was okay with the fact that he had kids. He really seemed like my match. We planned to go out again. And then he disappeared. So, perhaps he was not so perfect after all. I also met a striking and successful Aussie who seemed to be interested in interviewing me as a potential agent to introduce him to clients for his wealth management firm. And I had a rousing night out with a fella who arrived fifteen minutes late due to his dog’s “tummy issues”, was already tipsy, insisted on doing shots, kept trying to force me to kiss him, smoked weed while we played pool and mocked the fact that I had told him in the first few minutes of our meeting that I wasn’t a smoker. He was pretty convinced that he was going to get some action, and his choice of bars was a clue to that mindset as it was next to his apartment. Sadly (for him), he did not, though I did walk his dog.

After that week of excitement and disappointment, I decided to take a break. I also went out of town for a couple of weeks, so it was easy for me to delete my account and rethink my strategy. My takeaway from that round of meeting and greeting was that dating over 40 had its perks. All three of my suitors had good jobs. For me that’s a welcome change. I’m often the adult in any given relationship scenario, so I was pleased to be on more even ground. Despite a few red flags, they had their lives in order too. I didn’t see myself having to become a life coach, and I felt like things were looking up despite the letdowns.

Then I embarked on round two.

Wednesday is the day I join Bumble. I’m not sure if it’s a thing, but it happened twice in a row. So maybe. Things started out similarly in my second attempt. I did match with several people. I had a few conversations. Most of them devolved into nothing. I matched with many of the same people I had matched before. I decided to widen my scope of interest an swipe right on guys that I normally wouldn’t. I figured it wouldn’t hurt to meet someone a little out of my usual criteria (Side note: In retrospect, I realize that this strategy led me to the threesome guy, so it may be faulty). It was effective in getting more matches. I also decided that I had a responsibility to myself to start a conversation with everyone with whom I matched. That was also mildly successful.

On the whole, I wasn’t terribly moved by any of my matches. They were nice enough, but they didn’t share my sense of humor. I found them to be a little dull, but I decided to be open to anything. On Thursday, I had dinner with a really nice and quite shy guy. We had stilted conversation, and I could see in his eyes that I lost him when I was regaling him with my story of escaping a mafia shakedown at a pizza place in Russia. My stories don’t land with all audiences. I know that, yet I try. I managed to salvage it a bit, but I could tell that we were two very different people. If he were to tell the story, then I definitely was the weirdo in this scenario.

Friday I was asked out by three different men. I accepted two of the invitations because the third conflicted. The first invitation was a coffee date. He suggested dinner and a movie (novice move), but I insisted on coffee. I had been increasingly annoyed by his conversation, mostly because he was a little dull and persistent. So, I thought a 45 minute coffee date would be ample time for a date. This proved to be the correct choice.

If I were to write a Yelp review of this date, the title of my review would be: I Thought He’d Be Boring, I Didn’t See the Crazy.

We met at Starbucks. He wasn’t pleased with this option as he was campaigning for dinner at the Cheesecake Factory (clearly he doesn’t know me), but I was adamant about the coffee date. I figured that if I really wanted to have dinner, I could bring myself to flip through that menu for a few hours. While Starbucks may not be cool or chic, it is a place with chairs, tables, and other people. Little did I know at the start of this date the value of those other people.

The date started out normal enough. He was more attractive in person than he was in his photo, so that was a plus. He was nice and polite. He bought my tea. We sat down and chatted for a little bit. As usual, my job came up as a topic of seemingly endless conversation. He was an engineer, but had little interest in telling me about his work. He was obviously intelligent, and was interesting enough. We chatted about cycling and running. He suddenly became concerned that I was a gypsy and had no home. Apparently, I’m the first woman he met who has a job. That should have been of concern to me, but I brushed it aside. As usual, my work life was perplexing to the typical 9-5’er, but that’s par for the course. On the whole, things were going swimmingly. I wasn’t particularly interested, but I was having an interesting enough conversation.

Everything was more or less hunky dory, until he decided to tell me about his ex-wife. Immediately, I became skeptical. Who complains about their ex when they first meet someone? Alas, I was in it, so I put on my plastic customer service smile and I listened…and listened…and tried not to show my fear.

He launched into the tirade about his ex-wife when I asked him what he liked to do for fun. He told me that I needed to understand that he once was a fun, sociable, active guy, and then he married an awful woman. He felt completely duped as she lived in Miami, and he flew to visit her once a week for four years. He thought she was fun, but he realized he was dating Florida, and not her. When she moved to Texas, he discovered that she was a miserable person. She didn’t like to do anything, and she didn’t want him to do anything. In fact, he wasn’t even allowed to go to the gym because she didn’t trust him while he was away for any amount of time.

At this point, it seemed like the usual ranting of a scorned divorcee. I smiled and empathized when necessary. This rant went on for what felt like forever, and it was obvious that the divorce was recent. In my estimation, he was not in a place to be dating, and I wasn’t upset about that since I was getting less interested by the minute. Then, he revealed more details to me.

“I was under investigation by the FBI,” he announced. I just responded with a quick, “Oh, uh huh” because that’s a totally normal thing to reveal. Yes, apparently, he was flagged as a Taliban recruiter. I continued to smile, and I wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. He was Iranian, and I thought the trajectory of the story would be that he was an innocent victim of racial profiling. That would have made sense. That would have been better. That’s not what he told me. “The whole thing was ridiculous. I had two computer terminals in my house, and I went onto a Taliban website. On one computer I posed as a recruiter, on the other I posed as someone interested in joining. I was trying to get into the minds of these people. I wanted to know how they think, and why they do the things they do. I was just doing this on my own. But the information I was getting would have been really valuable to companies or to the FBI.”

I could feel my eyes widening, and I tried to keep it normal. I reminded myself that this is just like when my guests go on a racist rant about which they are convinced I agree. You smile, you nod, you walk away. Reveal nothing. Just don’t make them mad at you.

He continued with the story, which led to the FBI showing up at his door one day with a pile of evidence against him. According to him they told him that they knew he wasn’t a recruiter. They knew he was just some “freak” (his word) who was messing around. They wanted him to stop, and they opened a four-year investigation. In that investigation, they found nothing. He mentioned that it was crazy because he works for the nation’s largest defense contractor, and he never lost his job. So, obviously he was completely innocent. In the end, the FBI closed the case and sealed the records. Nothing they found could ever be held against him. He signed a non-disclosure agreement saying that he would never speak of the details. I’m not sure what the agreement said specifically, but I question whether or not this particular first date conversation was acceptable. From my end, it certainly wasn’t. However, better to know all of the skeletons right off the bat?

With such a shocking revelation, you’d think that would be the end of it. But it wasn’t. He continued to tell me about his ex-wife. He detailed the collapse of their marriage. It was clear to him that it was entirely her fault because she was an awful person. They have a child together, and he was fighting for custody. He lamented that had they been living in Iran, his ex-wife would have no rights and this would be a non-issue. Rather than leaving it at that, he gleefully described the non-status of women in his home country by motioning to the bottom of his chair and saying, “17 Million women are under there. They aren’t even thought of.” Sensing that this was, perhaps, upsetting to the woman across from him, he added, “Don’t get me wrong. Iranian women have made great strides. It’s better than it was.” It was a true moment of empowerment for every woman in Starbucks.

It was during the bit about the kid that he pulled out his phone and handed it to me, telling me to read a text exchange between he and his ex-wife. I should add that he did have a tiny moment of self-awareness where he expressed his concern that he may have overstepped and lost any chance of me ever talking to him again.

I know I haven’t been on many dates lately, but I’m pretty sure that’s not normal. I felt so awkward looking at that phone. I couldn’t bring myself to read it. I pretended instead, and when he asked if I understood it, I nodded. Lucky for me, he felt compelled to expound upon the text. As it happens, his ex-wife had an affair and believes the baby is not his. Shocking, I know. He then told me all about his plans to get the baby back, his refusal to take a DNA test, and a bizarre manipulation to pretend to fire his lawyer to get her to implicate herself in some way. He also may have revealed that he too was unfaithful, but that was completely beside the point.

This bit went on for a long time, and I was finally able to glance at my watch. It had been an hour. Ever since the FBI story came up, a man sitting at a table across from me became interested. We made eye contact a few times. He didn’t help me, but he definitely looked concerned. I continued to smile and listen and plot my escape.

I really thought the story was wrapping up at this point. I mean, how much more could there possibly be? It wasn’t. He needed to tell me more about what an awful wife this poor woman was. She apparently went to bed at 8pm every night. Looking back on it, he assumed that she was probably tired from having all of those affairs while he was at work. Because she went to bed so early, he needed to entertain himself, and that’s when he developed a hobby.

A hobby. That’s what he called it. You know, like model airplanes or crossword puzzles. His hobby was going onto LGBTQ websites and posing as a lesbian, or a gay man, or someone interested in transitioning. He would talk all night to these people. Thankfully, he didn’t detail the conversations, as I suspect they weren’t innocent. After months of doing this, his wife found out. Shocking, I know. He informed me that it was strange she was able to find out since he takes his phone everywhere, including to the bathroom—which may be where these conversations took place. One day, she found the phone, and she saw the conversations, and she filed for divorce. "Obviously she was looking for an out, and that was the easiest one," he said. (Right.  Obviously. That was the only possible avenue. Right.)

He felt this was a good time to reassure that he, in fact, was not gay. I simply responded with, “Yeah, of course.” However, what I meant to say was, “Gay is the least of my concerns. You have managed to throw up so many red flags in this monologue that the best outcome is that you are an asshole. And that is enough for me to never want to see you again. Unfortunately for you, being an asshole is minor when you compare it to all of the other things you appear to be.”

I glanced at my watch again and was surprised that in only ten minutes I had endured so many twists and turns. He thought it would be a good idea to suggest we grab dinner, and I managed to quickly turn him down. I thought things were finally winding down, but he kept talking. He complained about his wife some more. He was angry that she comes off as the good one and he comes off as a gay man. He told me that she accused him of having HIV and is taking a test. It just kept going. He detailed his financial picture and informed me of how much money he had in his bank account and how much his lawyer costs. It was madness. I grabbed my scarf to try and signal an end to this disaster. Honestly, I don’t know how many more shocking revelations I could take.

Thankfully, he did take that social cue, and he started to wrap up. His parting words to me were, “I’m not good-looking enough to be a gigolo, or rich enough to be a sugar-daddy, but I hope I can be something in between for you. I’ll carry your groceries. I’ll make phone calls. Whatever you need me to do. I’ll do it. You can come to my house and watch movies. I have a great couch.”

What I wanted to say was “I don’t think you’re in a place where you should be inviting new people into your life. I encourage you to take a long hard look at your choices and see how you got to this point. Also, you might do some research into appropriate behavior and acceptable conversation topics.” But all I could say was, “That’s very nice of you. Thank you for iced tea. It was nice meeting you. Have a good weekend.” Admittedly I wanted to know what phone calls he would make for me and why? That’s an odd service to provide. But, I opted to let that question linger without resolution. After all, I can only assume he was proposing a trade of “services”, and since he led with a potential AIDS diagnosis, I was definitely not game to push the issue.

As I walked away, my smile quickly turned into a silent scream. What the hell just happened? I mean, seriously, I just thought he’d be boring. I didn’t expect a sociopath.

It’s hard to follow up that date with another one, and I wasn’t looking forward to round two, especially since my suitor had chosen an upscale prostitute bar as our meeting point. Unfortunately for him, I canceled. He unmatched me, and I blocked the crazy person. I suddenly felt very differently about "ghosting".  What goes around comes around, I suppose.

So that was my second go at Bumble. I think I’m off of it for awhile. Round one was a fluke. I’m afraid to see what happens in round three. Surely there are normal men out there with good jobs and clean pasts. This week they were obviously in hiding.

...And I can never return to that Starbucks.