I knew I needed to do something drastic when I found myself crying into a bowl of ramen at 12:30 p.m. on a Thursday.
It was the week before bar exam results came out, and I was so anxious that I’d burst into tears during lunch with a friend. “I don’t know how to help you anymore,” he confessed.
It was the second time I had taken the California Bar, and the idea that years of school and studying could come to nothing was too much to bear. I had put everything into becoming a lawyer. Who and what would I be if I failed?
I couldn’t keep asking friends to hang out just to watch me cry, but staying home to stress by myself sounded awful. I then had an idea: I would set up dates for the entire week.
It would force me to leave the house
The brilliance of this plan was that I would be forced to leave the house and not talk about my mental anguish, which would be an undeniably insane topic on a date.
I’d been so busy studying that I hadn’t dated for a while, so I went digging in my contacts.
For Monday, I set up a date with a guy I had been on a few casual dates with months before. For Wednesday, I set up something similar, and for Thursday I arranged to see a guy who had an offputting energy, but also a boat. For Friday, I planned to meet up with an old flame from school who was in town, which left me with Tuesday to fill.
I opened up my long-neglected Tinder and scrolled to find the cutest person with a halfway-decent opening line. Amid all the “Heys,” one message caught my eye: “You look fun to dance in public with.” It was an odd line, but it made me laugh, and besides, I am fun to dance in public with. “That’s incredibly random, but you’re right,” I responded. “Want to get a drink on Tuesday?”
I really liked my Tuesday date
Monday’s date was fine. We were clearly better suited as friends, but the evening was a pleasant distraction. The next night, I met Mr. Tuesday at a bar, where I ran into a snag in my plan for a stress-free week of casual meet-ups: he was even cuter than his pictures. I was usually a confident dater, but now I was extremely nervous. Thrown off my game, I told him the truth when he asked what I did: “I’m…maybe going to be a lawyer?” I teared up and explained everything. He was extremely kind, and we talked about it as long as I needed to.
Mr. Tuesday hadn’t had anything on his profile about being into art or literature or politics, but our conversations about those things were much better than those I’d had with dozens of guys who had emphasized them. I spent the rest of the week musing on the muscular guy who liked Jane Austen, who knew my biggest professional insecurity but wanted to see me again anyway.
I genuinely don’t remember anything about Wednesday’s date, but I know I canceled Thursday’s. I was somehow finally calm enough that an evening in my own company sounded better than being at sea with an obnoxious, almost stranger.
I passed the bar and married Mr. Tuesday
On Friday, I learned that I passed the bar. My friends bought me Champagne, after which I did manage to keep the date with the old acquaintance, albeit tipsily. Mr. Friday seemed bored when I told him I had passed, which was unimpressive given that Mr. Tuesday had already texted to check in and congratulate me.
That week I was raw enough to be authentically myself, with someone I hadn’t had time to typecast like I normally did. Mr. Tuesday and I went on another date, then another, then another, and ultimately moved in together. He had liked me before I was a lawyer and was the first person to support me years later when I admitted that I was unhappy with the law and wanted to do something else.
We’re married now. Our first dance was to Louis Armstrong’s “La Vie En Rose,” one of many, many times we’ve had fun dancing in public together.
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