exploration – Brooke Lyn Landon

Why You Shouldn’t Tell Someone Who Uses Dating Apps To Meet People Organically Instead

I couldn’t even count the amount of times I’ve heard people talk shit about dating apps, or try to tell someone why they should meet people “organically” instead. I’m no saint, I’ve called Tinder trash multiple times. Still, I’d never tell someone not to take a chance and try it, nor should you.

I went to 10 National Parks during an epic road trip with a guy I met through Bumble. Obviously that trip wasn’t on our first meet up, but if it was, you’d have my permission to heavily judge my sanity. I connected with another person from that app while in Japan, and we’ve talked almost every day for the past several months. I’m starting a business with someone else I met on Tinder. No joke. I’m also currently looking forward to a new date I have tomorrow because he’s been playing his cards right. We even transitioned from the dating app over to WhatsApp, which for those who don’t know, that means shits about to get real. Not to mention my best friend met her boyfriend of 5 years from a dating app.

Now, I’m not saying it’s all rainbows and butterflies. I’ve been utterly underwhelmed. I have spent many hours having small talk that lead to no meetups and would have preferred hearing nails against a chalkboard over wasting my time entertaining them. I’ve also been borderline cat fished considering his pictures were not at all a representation of what he looked like. If he didn’t tell me what he was wearing and waved when he saw me, I would have just assumed he was a random, unfortunate, and unattractive human. Damn, that’s harsh, but I would have kept that to myself if I didn’t feel deceived, so that’s my excuse for sounding like a heartless bitch.

Regardless, they’ve all taught me something. It doesn’t matter if it turns into a meaningful friendship, a romantic relationship, or brief encounter. They’ve all made me more clear of the kind of man I’m looking for, and the woman I have to be to match that.

Yes, meeting people organically is great, but why not open up our options to new and exciting experiences? There are plenty of fish in the sea, so why not put more fishing nets in there? There’s nothing to lose if it’s either a good time, or lessons learned. Not to mention, those nets will reach places a fishing rod can’t, which is to say there are some people who you wouldn’t meet otherwise. Maybe one does yoga, but the other goes to a boxing studio, and they have no mutual friends, etc. Dating apps might not seem “organic” but in the world we’re living in, what really is anymore?

I’ve heard plenty of comments made about my usage of dating apps.

“You’re going on another date?!”

Yes Susan, while you’re watching The Notebook alone for the one thousandth time, sobbing into your giant carton of Ben and Jerry’s ice cream, I’ll be having a new experience. Ideally free food or drinks too. If you don’t want to use an app or don’t have the time, do you boo, but don’t go around shaming people for having the courage to put themselves out there.

I’m here to tell you that you deserve to make connections to help you grow and have fun. I’m not saying a dating app is the only way for that to happen, but it is one way. That one way shouldn’t make you feel shameful or less than in any way. If anything, I feel like a badass boss babe for showing up and making moves to have new adventures and connections.

If someone wants to use a dating app, let them do their thing without your two cents saying another way is the “right way”. If you’ve been wanting to use one but need that extra nudge to get the ball rolling, take this as a sign and enjoy the ride! The journey that is… not the kind of ride often associated with Tinder meetups. I’ll shut up now.

The Time I Almost Died in Vietnam

Everything was going so smoothly my first several months traveling. Almost too smooth. Then, it all started with a bang, and by bang I mean me swinging the bathroom stall door against the wall while leaving a trail of vomit behind me.

Several hours later, I’m in the hospital in a developing country. One would think that would be the cause of my near death experience abroad. That however, along with loosing my debit card and breaking my phone within the same week, should have been taken as a warning sign for what was to come.

I had no card, no phone, and very few endorphins left in my brain. My friend James, who I met because I was forced to ask people to lend me money, offered to give me a ride on a motorbike to get my phone fixed. We borrowed our hostels motorbike, and headed towards what should have been a 17 minute journey to the phone repair shop.

The wind in my hair, and optimism in my mind, came to a halt as we approached a more than mildly terrifying intersection. Not because the roads looked like a challenge even for the Fast and Furious crew, but because we ran out of gas. We got off the road as quickly as we could. James guided the bike towards a little rundown convenient store on the corner as I walked by his side. At that point, I found the situation pretty comical, and would be lying if I said his frustration didn’t make it funnier.

We started trying to communicate with a local there which turned into a game of charades.

“I don’t know what the fuck this guy is trying to say.” James said in aggravation.

“I know this sounds crazy, but I think he wants me to get on the back of his bike, and for you to get on ours. I don’t know. Let’s just do it.” I said as I hopped onto the back of a strangers motorbike.

I furrowed my eyebrows as I watched the man stick his leg out like he was Jackie Chan about to kick down the bike James sat on. Instead, he hooked his foot onto our bike and put his keys in the ignition.

Next thing you know, I’m flying down a four-way highway during rush hour as James is being pushed along by this mans foot. Cars and bikes were swerving around us and beeping like it was their day job. We arrived at an intersection with so many cars and bikes, you could barely see the pavement.

I closed my eyes tightly and figured at least if I died, I went out with a bang traveling the world. I heard James repeatedly say “Oh my God.” as we made our way through. When I opened my eyes, I felt like I could conquer the world even though I really didn’t do shit. James stared back at me as if to say “Is this real life?” And we both began to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

To say getting sick, loosing my card, and breaking my phone put a damper on things would have been an understatement. It was the kind of damp that reeked of mildew as it tried to dry in a plastic bag.

Maybe I’m being a bit dramatic because there was so much good that came from all of those situations. It’s easy to be so caught up in the moment, that we don’t see the beauty in it. Sometimes the events in life that make us want to hit our heads against the wall, or nearly kill us, end up being the memories we wouldn’t trade for the world.

The Bus Ride From Hell

Many people refer to the sleeper bus from Laos to Vietnam as the bus ride from hell. I think that’s an understatement. This ride felt like purgatory on steroids. I’ll tell you why.

I get to the bus where I see several other Americans waiting to board as I notice people from Laos getting on one after the next. Turns out, we have to wait until all of the locals board.

“Interesting, but no biggie, I’ll wait.” My ignorant, cheery ass thinks to myself, without a clue of the purgatory that awaited.

After waiting for what seems like forever, he gestures for us to come in as though we’re late. Then, I find a place in the back and put my stuff there.

“Nooo!! No!” The driver shouts at me to move. He shouted like he was the kind parent that yells at his kids in public and you’d think to yourself, “Yeah, that poor kid is going to need intensive therapy and be really fucked later on in life.”

Apparently, that back seat wasn’t back enough. I have to share a small space near the freakin’ toilet with the other Americans with no room between us. Essentially, I had to share a bed with strangers unlike any of the people from Laos. I’d be the first to admit I’ve grown up with white privilege. For one of the first times, I felt like it was a disadvantage, and related to other races on a different level than before.

I couldn’t sleep whatsoever. For the first 15 hours the bus swerved and bumped around the mountains and dirt roads of Laos. I regretted not wearing my sports bra. Several times I was legitimately concerned for my life and the girl by my side who would probably get knocked out from me crashing into her. I grabbed on to my seat like the bus drivers imaginary kid would probably hold on to his mother when his dad yells at him.

Finally, the bus stops at 2AM at the boarder as we wait for customs to open at 6AM. My heart dropped as my eyes widened when I heard him take the keys out of the ignition and felt the AC turn off. Next this you know, I’m sweating my ass off to the point where sweat is dripping down my back and face. If there was a white flag, I would have waved it. I felt like crying.

At 5:30 AM I finally decided to try sleeping in the isle because I couldn’t sleep on that faux leather piece of shit. The floor was better, but I still felt like I was lying on a tortilla bought at the dollar store.

Less than 30 minutes later I hear yelling that customs are open. The customs were so chaotic that I’d rather go through the New York, JFK airport, during the holidays. If that didn’t make your skin crawl, you’ve either had a supernatural experience at JFK, or you have never been. No one spoke English and people dismissed you like you were the vein of their existence. Thankfully after customs the roads were smoother and generally it wasn’t as hellish.

Long story long, it was 15 hours of hell, and 12 hours of meh. I’m sure some busses are better than others. So, if you want to take on an experience like this, just make sure it’s more like a bed and less like one of those leather chairs you’d find in a retirement home minus the arm rests and padding. If there are blankets with cartoons and flowers on them, run away because that would be my bus. Also, be prepared to be treated like you don’t exist and surrounded by complete chaos for 15 hours or so.

For the record, I don’t regret it. I would never look back on a plane ride to Hanoi, Vietnam. The bus to Vietnam will be something to remember, and content for a blog post.