The Tides of March
When I was growing up, on the morning of the fifteenth day of every March, my dad would proclaim, “Beware the Ides of March!” in his booming theater voice, and I’d roll my eyes and never asked what that meant — because, you know, dads are annoying. Now I know he was reciting Shakespeare’s line about Julius Caesar’s assassination, and that colloquially, it refers to impending doom.
But March is also the start of spring, with the equinox just five days later. The birds start singing again and daylight lasts all day, though here in Maine, there’s still potential for one last blizzard and everyone’s cars are so covered in salt and slush that they’re practically indistinguishable. Coastal areas often experience a phenomenon called “king tides” due to the alignment of the sun and moon, which makes high tides higher and low tides lower.
So, March is a month of intensity, but also of relief. As another old saying goes, it “comes in like a lion and out like a lamb.” We’re all a little spent in March; the winter’s knocked us around and the clean slate of the new year is starting to look a little dirty, just like our cars. Still, the promise of spring and new beginnings encourages us to keep pushing through.
Last March, I was spent indeed. I was fresh off a breakup that also ended friendships, I’d lost one part-time job and was struggling in my other one. The loss of income forced me to break the lease of an apartment I loved and to move back in with my parents. I’d experienced some low tides in my life, but this was by far the lowest.
Yet that’s the thing about the tide: it always comes back in. And king tides rise even higher.
Back in my childhood bedroom last spring with my tail tucked between my legs and my ego stashed in the drawer where I keep my passport and Social Security card so I’d never have to see it again, I once again downloaded Hinge. For those of you lucky enough never to have to use a dating app, Hinge is the best of the worst. It’s marketed as the dating app for people who want relationships rather than just hookups. You can see the people who liked your profile without having to like them back, unlike apps that require both people to swipe right on each other before any communication can begin. Also, Hinge only gives you a small number of swipes per week, so you can’t swipe left on every eligible single in your area in one day and go to bed matchless, convinced you really will die alone.
That said, if you’re using a dating app soon after a breakup, like I was, you’re doing it for attention. You’re not going into it feeling like the best version of yourself, ready to meet the love of your life. I told myself I just wanted to feel seen and desired again, but in fact, it was the opposite. What I really wanted was proof that I was unlovable. I wanted to keep swiping until there was no one left. Then I could finally be left alone to my doom, my hopeless pining the only proof I was still alive.
In my experience, most single women have a group chat with their best friends in which they exchange pictures of their dating-app matches and tell each other where they’re going on a date and when, so someone can attest to their movements if they get murdered. Last March 15th — yes, on the Ides of March — I sent screenshots of a match to my group. This March, we’ll have been dating for one year.
I’m not calling my boyfriend my king tide or likening myself to a damsel in distress saved by a passing sailor. I’m simply pointing out an obvious truth about love. This time last year, I was shipwrecked, run aground. Then the sun and moon aligned and an unusually high tide picked me up and spared me from doom. I found a new relationship and a new job, both of which helped me push my head above water again. I’m not naive enough to think it’ll all be smooth sailing from here, but when the tides change again, I’ll be ready.
Emma Chance also writes The Overshare at emmachance.substack.com.
