#NerdsUnite: My name is Alicia and I'm doing 50 dates in 50 states (Chicago #2)

<editorsnote> Nerds, meet my buddy Alicia. She's about to embark on a 50 dates in 50 states dating documentary. She's here today to talk about her views on life, love, and all things through her nerdy little eyes. I only have one more thing left to say ... HIT IT ALICIA!! </editorsnote>

#TalkNerdyToMeLover's Alicia Ostarello

I figure it’s almost my civic duty to have multiple dates when Megan and I sleep on the same floor twice in a row, so as we spent two nights in Chicago, I went out with two wildly different dudes. Read about date one with Danny, here, or skip right ahead to my second first date in Chicago with Tadd.

I probably spend way too much time thinking about the theories of dating these days. To be fair, everyone single and not super stoked on staying that way forever and ever probably over-ponders how to hook up and how to stay hooked. But lately I’ve been wondering which works better on a first date: something low key and easy to escape from or something wild and adrenaline-inducing.

For my second date in Chicago, I went with option two. My personal Adventure Consultants, ZOZI, had a “Fly a Plane” experience for sale in the area. A few clicks, one phone call and one text later, Tadd jovially agreed to take off in a Cessna airplane with me.

Interestingly, our first daring stunt of the morning wasn’t our AM, small-plane flight. Rather it was getting Tadd into our empty-tank-light-on Huckleberry Fit and then barreling down the freeway in order to make our reservation on time. Thank God for the fact that neither Tadd nor Megan nor I were psychos. Or worse … not morning people.

Maybe Tadd would add his own daring stunt to the drive–being the moral support to a complete stranger (me) who absolutely hates flying and just might cry on the plane. Which I didn’t mention until we were cruising the freeway.

When we finally arrived, we were greeted by a dog and a friendly office clerk. Then, we were ushered to the Cessna, handed ginormous headphones and buckled in. I began hyperventilating, but attempted to look absolutely nonplussed (mostly by keeping my sunglasses firmly planted on my face so neither the pilot nor Tadd could get a good read on me. So sneaky). And then we were taxiing. And then lifting off.

I had my eyes closed, so my only sense of the first ten minutes of the flight came from Tadd’s joyful remarks and conversation with Steve, the pilot. “Look, there’s the romantic rock quarry!” and “Wow. Just. Wow,” and “Oh, there’s the Chicago skyline,” and “Huh, I wonder who’s flying the plane?”

At that last one I jerked my eyes open and saw Steve had removed his hands from the controls. Laughing, he urged me to grab onto mine. Timidly I reached out, grabbing the helm with as much enthusiasm as a great-aunt takes hold of a Texas Longhorn bull’s horns.

And with that, I was flying. Mostly straight. Sometimes a bit to the right. Once to the left in a large loop over Lake Michigan. And finally, I yelled “CLOUD! CLOUD!” and pulled my hands off the controls looking panicked at Steve, who very kindly navigated us through the white fluffy monster of doom.

Back on land, high-fives and thank-yous were exchanged. Did I feel closer to Tadd because of our wild experience? You bet your sweet elbows I did. I even extended the date and invited him to brunch. After a lingering brunch at an Italian cafe (think every stereotype of Italy prominently spewed onto the walls, flooring, lighting fixtures, and yes, even in the bathroom sink), we piled into Huckleberry Fit for what I assumed would be a quick trip back into town.

Well, contrary to this Californian’s belief, rush hour in Chicago starts at 1:00pm sharp and might never actually end. Stop-and-go it was for the better part of 75 minutes. With Megan rolling the cameras from the backseat, Tadd and I had two choices: NPR or an unprecedented span of talking. We chose the latter — or perhaps the latter chose us. Regardless, with Ira Plato’s voice in the background, we hit topics that can only be described as intimate — disclosing the sort of information you typically only tell someone close to you. Someone you trust.

Admitting stories about past significant relationships, why they didn’t work, what we missed about those people and how we coped. Talking about what makes us anxious, how phobias can grow on you when you’re not expecting them, and what life is like on the other side of fear.

First dates aren’t always home to empty shells of conversation, containing no substance besides a wayward granule of sand. Rather, first dates can be a secure space for revealing difference facets of yourself without fear of another person expecting you to be one way or another. You can tell anything to a stranger and while it may be shocking, it will not be shocking that you have said it. A stranger — aka a first date — doesn’t know anything about the you persona you’ve been perfecting your entire life. To a first date, you are able to be anything. In return, they are able to respond in any way. And together, you create a space where anything is possible. Even sharing vulnerabilities and looking for acceptance. Which, when you think about it, is kind of wonderful.

#nerdsunite

Alicia Ostarello has combined her talents in talking to strangers with degrees in English and Sociology and is currently taking a road trip across the country with one goal in mind: to go on a first date in every single state. Follow her trip and the documentary film being produced about it, 50/50: A Dating Documentary on Facebook at facebook.com/5050ADatingDocumentary.