It’s a Friday night and I’m sitting home and I’m restless.
I’m scrolling my phone, pacing the house and rifling through the cupboards for something to eat. I’m not even hungry.
I’m wishing I bought a bottle of wine, but the thought of putting something presentable on to leave the house just for a bottle of wine seems like way too much effort.
So I make some herbal tea.
I pick up a book. I read a few pages. I put it down again. I go back on my phone.
This is me being single. Not dating and failing miserably at it.
I know if I wanted to, I could drum up a distraction pretty easily. I could go on Tinder, or fire up another account on Match, but I know that a date is the last thing I need.
What I need is to be alone. I need to learn how to not have the attention of some other person for five fucking minutes and be happy about it.
For the longest time I think I seriously feared that I’d be single the rest of my life. That I’d never find someone to share the next half of my life with. I’m 44 and time is ticking, right?
But when I look at all the time and energy I’ve spent trying to care for other people and cultivate relationships that were not worthy of the time I gave them, I am finally acknowledging that being my own person, by myself, can actually be a beautiful thing.
But like any old habit that’s hard to break, I am struggling to calm the fuck down, and let myself just be.
It’s partly why I’m writing this now. Getting these thoughts out, sharing them, even if it’s just with my keyboard, releases that tension valve just a little bit, and I can breathe.
I have spent a couple weeks asking myself, “what is wrong with me”? What is wrong with me that I cannot cultivate one successful relationship?
You know, for a little while, I actually let myself sink into this self wallowing, poor me funk.
But then I had a thought.
With every person I’ve dated at length or had a relationship with, I committed. I cared for that person fully. I was as honest as I could be about anything and everything.
Every time I’ve jumped, I’ve set aside my potentially jaded ego, and unabatedly threw myself in with the willingness to give this thing, this person, us, a try.
When things have failed, or just not worked out for whatever reason or another I’ve allowed myself to feel the hurt, but then I’ve also looked back on each individual with compassion and gratitude. With every relationship there were moments of joy, caring, fun, laughter, and of course, the lessons.
Never have I carried hate or disdain in my heart. Only acceptance that it wasn’t to be.
Even now, I know that there is always a chance that I am going to someday meet someone who is my partner in crime, my best friend, my soul mirror, my pain in the ass, and perfect cuddler.
So you know what? If I can have so many failed experiences and still feel positive and still carry hope, you know what that makes me?
A fucking love warrior.
I’m not terrible at love. I’m great at it!
That’s right. My heart is full, open, and I am accepting the wait.
And you should too.
There is nothing wrong with you. There is nothing wrong with me.
We are love warriors.
Enjoy your Friday evening,