A Dating Departure
by Esther D. Kustanowitz

A few months ago, I went on a cruise to the Eastern Caribbean. JSinglesCruise, a division of the family-owned and glatt kosher Kosherica Cruises, took us to exotic ports of call aboard Celebrity’s Infinity, a luxury liner so vast it seemed impossible that such a thing would move, let alone transport 2,000 passengers and crew through tropical waters. But move it did — at first, haltingly, conveying the unshakable feeling that your balance had been disrupted.

In such an environment, 99 other single Jews gathered, some with anti-seasickness patches behind their ears, to commence their search for love, a great vacation or (God willing) both. But with multiple viewings of “Jaws” and “Titanic” assailing my memory, plus the regular bout of singles event anxiety (yet to become an actual DSM diagnosis, unfortunately), the lurch was both emotional and physical for me.

It had begun the night before departure, like the night before my first day of camp or college. Part of it was the packing process. The more I put into my suitcase, the more it seemed to take out of me. I wondered if clothes would hinder me socially or matter at all. Still, beyond the grip of my own anxiety, I understood that future always lies just beyond the vanishing point of your own vision. On the horizon, there was something — of an unknown quality and duration, but still, something — to be found.

But that’s headier stuff, easily forgotten during round robin seating over five-course kosher dinners. The food was good. The company was good, even if platonic, which, for most of us — with a few suspected exceptions — it was. Women expressed vacation frustration, the seafaring cousin of their civilian experiences “in the city.” Some suggested that maybe the men just needed a push (and most of them didn’t even mean “overboard”); official and self-appointed matchmakers cruised the decks, trying to provide that push, encouraging us through activities and manipulated interactions.

Sometimes a little manipulation can work, but we were all adults, and most of us wanted to proceed with the “hunt” according to our own methods. Each person winnowed the crowd; one person’s chaff was another’s wheat. And some, on diets forbidding consumption of both wheat and chaff, were waiting for pre-winnowed, ready-to-bake bread, not turning on the oven until they find it — it would be a waste of energy to deal with carbs that are somewhat more complex.

One morning, I sat in the Martini Lounge — closed until sunset grants the license to pour — for some free writing. I’d sat there with my roommate every day for recaps of our respective daily excursions. A room can be so altered by darkness and mood lighting, and observed through a tipsy haze, that it’s unrecognizable in the light of day. The neon sign reads “I HEART Real Life” — odd for a bar, where people are going to seek out a deeper measure of oblivion within a cruise experience that, itself, is designed to help them escape. For some, being at sea means a vacation from community-imposed strictures. What happens on the Infinity, stays on the Infinity. Or so they hope.

Occasionally, I found myself wishing I were someone else. Or that I could be a different kind of person. I’d be “Vacation Esther”— more reactive instead of analytical, more experiential instead of observational — less writing, more doing. But even with the laptop out of sight, my identity, profession and essential nature were inescapable, no matter how many nautical miles lay between me and the Upper West Side. There was always a notebook in my bag.

The lessons at sea are similar to those learned against more (theoretically) stable city landscapes. Some people will like you — others won’t. With good food and good company, life is easier to handle. Things look different in the light of day. And if you like someone, even with all the green lights in the world, some of them just won’t go.

A friend who’d been on a cruise before relayed some sound advice. The romances that form aboard cruises are often situational, she said. This is why she didn’t intend to date during her cruise. The cruise was a place to meet people. If there was a spark, it would be explored on land.

Afloat, at sea, things are shakier. With equilibrium disrupted, the truth can get confusing. If the relationship has more than just sea legs, you date afterwards, with a surer footing, on more solid ground.

Esther D. Kustanowitz was seasick once during the cruise, but managed to sleep it off. You can reach her at jdatersanonymous@gmail.com.