Psssttt…..Prefer listening to my voice narrating instead? This essay is also an episode on the podcast!
“I’m in limerence” doesn’t have the same ring to it as “I’m in love”. But given how the term ‘limerence’ has been making the rounds in the world of Instagram and TikTok dating coaches lately, it felt apt to introduce the buzzword in my relationship lexicon.
Because for the first time in a long time, I met someone. And I forgot how giddy, amazing, frustrating, spiraling, debilitating, crazy, butterflies-in-your-stomach, overwhelming, wonderful, fun, lost, scary, stupid, beautiful this part can be.
The psychological experts would jump in and explain that well, it’s exactly what ‘limerence’ means. “An intense, involuntary emotional state characterized by obsessive infatuation, longing, and fantasy about another person – often without mutual reciprocation.” The term was coined in 1979 by psychologist Dorothy Tennov, in her book Love and Limerance: The Experience of Being In Love. The term became trendy online earlier this year when neuroscientist, Dr Tom Bellamy published his take on it with Smitten: Romantic Obsession, the Neuroscience of Limerence, and How To Make Love Last. (It also probably took off because he’d admitted to studying limerence in-depth because he became obsessed with a colleague despite being married and was desperately trying to reprogram his brain….)
Both books are on my reading list but the truth is, I don’t need a thesis to confirm that I resemble the heart-eyes emoji every time a notification pops up with his name on my screen. And I secretly love reverting back to a giggly 17 year old at the sound of his hello.
Like most meet-cutes, this one almost didn’t happen. After a year’s hiatus from dating, I accidentally stumbled back into reopening my love life. And ‘by accident’, I meant that while I was still sworn off the dating apps, I was meeting guys the old-school way of bumping into them in real life, feeling a spark, and letting them take the lead. Likewise, in a plot twist that’s been confounding my close friends, I’ve been dating the Not-My-Types.
The Not-My-Types are the ones your mother should have warned you about. They slowly creep onto you as afterall, they’re Just Friends because they’re Not-Your-Type. They make you laugh. They make you feel seen. You feel so safe around them to be yourself without the ‘pick me’ performance you reserve for the My-Types. You stay up late texting back and forth with them because you’re sharing the stuff that you’re too ashamed to share with anyone else, even for a navel-gazing oversharing writer like me. But it’s cool because you’re Just Friends since he’s Not-Your-Type anyway. Until one day you wake up and realize you have a goofy grin plastered on your face when you’re chatting with them and you did laugh a little too loudly at their last joke even though it wasn’t that funny. The litmus test? When you find out that they like you that way too. Uh-oh, how did this happen?
But that wasn’t how I met him though.
I met him when I literally had a tiff on the phone with a Not-My-Type outside a restaurant, decided in my mind that I was done with this, went back upstairs to a Dinner With Strangers, and found myself seated across the table from this new guy.
Mmm… ok cute smile but Not-My-Usual-Type. I’ve to throw in the term “Usual” in here now since apparently my taste has changed. But by the end of the evening, the Not-My-Usual-Type character became a I’m-Intrigued-By-This-Cutie prospect and thankfully, he felt the same and asked me out.
Now here’s the thing about the Not-My-Usual-Type-But-I’m-Intrigued-By-Them, it’s easier to date them at the start but it gets trickier over time. I know, I know dating overall isn’t for the faint-hearted but hear me out. It’s so smooth at first because while I liked him, I wasn’t the nervous babbling mess that I usually am around a My-Type so it felt really easy and calm while we were hanging out. I could be myself – albeit the flirtier dressed-up version of Rin of course, because I was less in my headspace and more present on our dates. For once, the anxiously attached Rin who would normally check her phone every 15 minutes to see if the guy she liked had texted her, didn’t show up to play. If I heard my phone chime, it was a pleasant surprise to see his name with a friendly “hi how’s your day” check-in. Other than that, I was a perfectly functional human being who enjoyed getting to know someone who seemed to click so well with me.
But I spoke too soon, Anxious Pick Me Rin showed up after the first month of getting to know each other. She insidiously sneaked in when I started to expect the texts as a given and not as a sweet treat to the day. She sat next to me on our dates as I started scanning for micro-expressions on his face to prove that perhaps he’s not as interested in me as I was in him. Then she tried to disguise herself as an Avoidant when she’ll try to whisper in my ear ‘let’s leave before you’re the one who gets left behind’. That’s when I knew I was in full-on limerence. As someone who tries to practice what I preach – and also because I’m shit at staying in the unknown for too long, I did the scary thing and asked “So where is this going?”
To his credit (after the micro-‘yikes’ flashed across his face), he stayed at the table and showed his cards. So in turn, I showed him mine and admitted I was worried about misreading the cues so far. In the end like two mature adults, we agreed and shook hands on the fact that we’re enjoying how well we’re getting along and let’s just see where this goes. As expected, Anxious Rin took a backseat and I felt relieved and went back to being myself. Kinda.
Oh who am I kidding? She still shows up especially since I find myself liking him more and more each time I see him.
On our last date, he’d invited me to a jazz bar. Now a little bit of Rin trivia for context, I’ve always been a jazz and Motown girl. When I was a teenager, one of my first CD albums was Chet Baker that I fondly remember popping into my Sony Discman with the notes of ‘Look for the silver lining when every cloud appears in the blue…..’ lifting me up on long bus rides home after school. Then of course came New York in my 20’s and I used to imagine that the perfect date would involve a jazz bar in the Village and copious red wine because it was oh-so-sophisticated. That never happened and I forgot about that silly daydream. Until I found myself 20 years later, plonked next to him and tipsily laughing over observations, stories and bad pick-up lines. Now most of the songs that night were new to me as he took the time to give me a crash course, but just like in a romcom, the one song I did recognize was the perennial crowd pleaser All Of Me that came on at the end. And in that moment, a little part inside went, oh hang on, isn’t this exactly where I’d wanted to be?
I started the essay with a quote that I stole from a Pinterest board. On January 1st, I sat down with my girlfriends and we all made tiny vision boards for 2025 and used them as our phone wallpapers as an attempt at a manifestation hack. To represent Shy & Curious, I chose “The thing you are most afraid to write. Write that” to embody the philosophy I wanted to uphold when it came to my writing. You see, what’s scary for me isn’t the taboo stuff like sex and loneliness because ironically that’s easy for me to talk about.
Instead I’m petrified about writing when things are going well because there are a 1001 ways this could go wrong. Just taking a peek at my diaries from yesteryear is enough of a cringe fest to remind myself with every “So I met this boy….” , a few pages after it ends with a “….never mind. It didn’t work out.” It’s writing about romance and being smitten that keeps me up at night because the next morning, it could all change completely like it didn’t happen in the first place. And you know what’s even scarier than putting it all out there? When he does actually read the blog too. (Hihi 🙂 )
I still have some moments of clarity where I (a.k.a my close friends) remind myself that it’s still early days and I don’t actually know enough about the real him and vice versa. We’re not exclusive and I also happen to be in the season of my life where the focus should be on Linkedin, not Tinder to put it metaphorically. I’d left my job to see how far I can take Shy & Curious to the next level and it is an adventure I’m excited about. When I started the blog, I was in a relationship that I thought was The One. So honestly, I never thought I’ll be single while carving my path as a writer, let alone become Brand Still Looking For Love in Her 40s for the blog. insert relevant Her World episode placement here. No one ever sat down and wondered, “how does Carrie navigate writing her column while dating every guy who knew exactly what she does for a living?”
I guess she kept her stories to herself unless there was a lesson worth sharing with the world. So here’s mine:
So towards the end of the night at that jazz bar, a friendly stranger next to us who’d been chatting with him, looked at my direction and asked “So is this your wife?”
I could have said something flirty and witty like “Not yet….”
Or smile demurely and see what he’ll reply.
Instead Anxious Rin jumped in, declared it a little too loudly and quickly “Noooo, we’re just friends!!!”
When the words escaped my lips, I was internally slapping my forehead as I’d essentially cockblocked myself. But in fairness, I was in shock when the friendly stranger used the word ‘wife’ because this was the exact thought process going on in my head then:
A) Fine, I’ll admit it. The 17 year old Rin was squealing gleefully that we looked in synced enough that he thought we were a couple.
B) “Wife? Not girlfriend? You mean I look old enough (a.k.a like my actual age) that you would assume I’m a wife and not a girlfriend???”
C) Wife? Mmm… that word sounds really weird to me right now. I’m ok with ‘partner’. I’m ok with ‘girlfriend’. But ‘wife’ sounds so dissonant. Wait, does it mean I don’t actually want to be a wife? Or am I just trying to avoid disappointment in the long run?
So later in the week, I was recounting this story to one of my favorite couples and best friends to get their thoughts. While they were laughing their ass off at my reenactment, the husband looks at me, takes a deep breath and announces his sage advice to me – which I’m going to leave you with as the last thing I’ll share before I cocoon this little bit of my life for myself for now:
“Rin, don’t kanchong. Man man lai.
(Rin, don’t be flustered. Take your time.)