Cabs, Commitment and the City

Americans have a profound ability to broadcast their lives to even the most unconsenting of listeners. Recently, I was walking to my best friend’s place in Williamsburg when a trio near me began a conversation so loudly I couldn’t help but think they were hoping for an audience.

Surprise—ask, and ye shall receive.

Uncharacteristically, I found their conversation somewhat interesting. The lone male in the group was mansplaining the “Taxi Cab Theory,” much like I’m about to do now.

The Taxi Cab Theory is the idea that men don’t marry when they meet “the one,” but rather when they feel ready—when their metaphorical light is on. It’s not a new or novel idea, but maybe it’s the steady approach of middle age, ticking ever closer in much the same way a taxi meter ticks up while we hold our breath, praying it will stop—or at least slow down—until we reach our stop, that has caused me to revisit this idea with fresh eyes and a renewed sense of urgency.

Dating in the city has been, in short—not good. I was lucky enough to form a beautiful relationship for most of my time here. But he was headed uptown and I, downtown. We parted ways in the kind of clean, gentle ending only the lucky get to have: as genuine friends.

But I couldn’t help remembering what I told myself when I realized I had gone as far as this shared ride would take me:

“The next serious relationship I get into, I’m going to marry them.”

This was part frustration, part fatigue, part resignation. But with some distance, I think I had stepped firmly onto one side of the Taxi Cab Theory.

Before, I thought it was just a convenient metaphor. Now, I think it’s a cynical truth.

If dating is work, and love is labor, then it’s no wonder we’re exhausted. By the time we get to a certain place in life, we’ve discerned what matters and what’s just noise. Your light goes on—not necessarily because you’ve found “the one,” but because it’s late, and all you want is to go home.

As I write this, I’m viscerally aware of how sad a turn things have taken. I always thought of myself as a romantic—that there was one person out there for you, and that fate and fortune would bring you together, however briefly.

But New York has a way of shining a harsh light on our beliefs until they’re rendered in the dull shade of reality.

Still, I like to believe I’m a romantic at heart—just one who understands that people are practical, too. So it’s okay to follow the lights wherever they lead you.

Just make sure they’re green.