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It was isolating at times, and I definitely listened to Grant Lee Buffalo’s “Happiness” on repeat in my driveway one night while crying into a large pizza for one, but when everyone you know lives 3,000 miles away, you can really amp up the dormant part of your hedonistic tendencies.

In the four years I lived in Anchorage, I dated more than I probably will for the rest of my life.

I got asked out a lot — at the grocery store, at the library, hiking the Matanuska Glacier, gliding down the bike trail.

I didn’t date at all in high school; in my revisionist history I’ve decided this was by choice, but the reality was that a six-foot-tall black girl in a predominantly white town who shaves her head, wears a skirt made out of ties, and uses black eyeliner as lipstick isn’t really racking up the offers.

My lack of a high-school love life and the fact that I never saw any hometown dick makes it easy to go back to visit now, but at the time it made me feel ill-prepared for dating in the real world.

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Welcome to “It’s Complicated,” a week of stories on the sometimes frustrating, sometimes confusing, always engrossing subject of modern relationships.And I jumped into that oddball dating scene headfirst.I spent a month or two with Derek (names changed throughout), a legitimate maestro who was mostly a bartender owing to the shortage of symphony orchestras in the state.But somehow, in Alaska, I was like one of those plants that only bloom once a century — it took most of my life up to that point to gain the strength and confidence I needed to really shine.I think I was successful because there was nothing at stake.I had moved to Alaska to try something completely new, and to set my own limits.

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