I actually almost laughed out loud when my poor date told me about his interests. It was our second date, and I had picked Cafe Leon not just for its oh so perfect French snootiness, but also for its proximity to the L train. My date was a Brooklyner, you see. So there we were, sipping our glasses of Pinot Noir and feeling very sophisticated, when we started talking about cities. Somehow, as it almost always seems to, we began to compare San Francisco and New York.
Let’s take a step back here. San Francisco, to me, is a really interesting and beautiful city. Culturally it’s not New York, but I have to admit that over the years I have come to appreciate it for what it has to offer. There really is no comparison – they are two entirely different types of environments. And, I’ve decided of late, you can like them both. As long as, ultimately, you choose to live here in New York. Just kidding. Sort of. Okay, not really.
Going back to the date. It turns out that my date had lived in San Fran for a few years. And even though he claims that he feels at home here in New York, he also stated that he learned a lot of new things in San Francisco. For example, what liberalism is exactly. And what the organic food movement is all about. And, much more important in his life, barefoot boogie dancing.
Yes, this is the point where I almost literally laughed out loud. But I quickly ascertained that he was not kidding and covered it up with a cough.
It seems that my date actually did find the act of gathering a random group of people (approximately 40-50), playing “world” music (can you hear the sitar and mandolin?), and letting the spirit move you as it will, to be an enjoyable activity. To him, it was part of finding a sense of belonging. All the while he was talking about it, I kept picturing this tall, lanky, rather nerdy looking guy dancing barefoot with his pleated Dockers rolled up above his ankles, his blue button down shirt untucked haphazardly, and a bright green bandana tied awkwardly around his head. For some reason, I also pictured him chanting something incomprehensible and being in a trance of some sort. I tried to snap out of it and focus on what he was saying, and asked appropriate questions to seem polite.
First, let me say that this was definitively the point at which I decided there would be no third date.
But at the same time, I couldn’t help but envy that he had found his niche, his “community” as he kept referring to it. I had to applaud that, since I don’t have that feeling of belonging at work, with a particular social circle, or even really in my family. For my date, there is a solid group of people in his life that do these same things – eat organic food, dance barefoot, live in Brooklyn – and he is at home with them. And I think that’s great. It’s not for me, but still cool. For him.
I am down with the live in Brooklyn and eat organic thing. But barefoot boogie dancing – really? That crosses some kind of line…not a conga line, but something equally absurd.
Am I right, people?
Half way...where? 
Right! Wholly and entirely.