Half Hearted: The Thesis

There's nothing quite like a date with someone from France to make you question your passion. I was faced with the questions of 'are you having fun?' and 'you are bored, aren't you?' constantly. After two dates next to someone gasping, dancing with glee, and (I kid you not) clutching at their crucifix, I feel less like a lonely heart and more like a cement-hearted datebot. A third date is unlikely.

But, unlike most problems, this can't entirely be blamed on the French. Job, schedule, and lack of 'fun money' have really turned me into a mopeypuss lately. Six months into my life in Toronto and I like the city, but I'm not pleased with the wet garbage bag of leaves that is 'Toronto Cam'.

Those following along in the Half Hearted At-Home Workbook will have noticed my overall thesis starting to gel. I believe that you can't hope to change the people you like, or inexorably alter fate and the world to get love; you can only change yourself. Once you're good enough, then you can get to the subtle nudging of clubbing a suitable partner into submission. Thus, why can't I find an engaging, intelligent, and sexy partner that lights my fire? Probably because I'm the bellyaching ghost of a formerly excited person.

Granted, All the exciting sex and interesting engagements I've had recently were thanks to a pseudo-passion. I cobbled it together out of the flames of jealousy, anger, and embarrassment. Unfortunately, I'm not a lunatic. So time has quieted those feelings to a dull throb. Besides, someone holding on to any feelings like that six months later is as smouldering as a thirty year-old who still stands by his high school trophy case.

Unfortunately, passion is impossible to fake. I mean, what do you do, tear open your shirt? Talk louder? Put on a Spanish accent? Those would make me look like I was sarcastically making fun of the passionate or, at best, like I had borderline personality disorder. Nope, if the Angelas Basset and Zachs Braff of the world have taught me anything, it's that your passion must be, by a series of whimscal events, recaptured.

So, I've begun to take measures to reclaim that fire which is rightfully mine. But, not being in the plot of a b-grade rom-com, I don't know what the fuck to do.

I seriously spent a week just increasing my workout regimen and trying to consume more vitamins. Last week the plan was threefold: Volunteer with trouble teens (Inspiring!), engage in mentally challenging reading and games (Intellectual!) and work with my French conversation partner (Ooh la la!). Sure, in a montage set to 'The Entertainer' that's all well and good, but in reality it still felt like 'Datebot desperately needs fuel for his space passion cells'. It did nothing and I still closed out the week deflated in front of a TV playing Hello Mary Lou: Prom Night 2.

I suppose it's one step forward, two steps back, and a few steps sideways up a ladder. At the very least, I've found a goal to hit before I wade back into the hell of aimless dating. If I'm someone who can't get across passion to people he's truly devoted to, I shouldn't be throwing my hat in rings when I can't muster anything more interesting than a complaint. I need to spit at and polish myself until that unstoppable attitude within me can attract someone I might be willing to make a fool of myself for.

But, short of Whoopie Goldberg taking me to Jamaica, how do I get that groove back?

Next Time: I'll either have taken up salsa lessons or committed various acts of arson. That seems like the path I'm on.

Editor's Note: If anyone has any suggestions on how Cameron can get his groove back, feel free to leave them in the comments below.