I came across this meme yesterday and died laughing. Then I promptly forwarded it over to three friends, declaring it to be me. All three agreed, with one even going as far to say that’s why she never pays me any attention when I lament my single status. In her words, “Whenever you mention it I just laugh. Like, okay girl. Let me know when you for real.” For a half a second my lil feelings were hurt, until I realized she was one hundred percent right.
I only desire to be coupled when life is unbearable. Last week I had to deal with some pretty heavy health related shit in regards to my mother. I was completely exhausted—physically and mentally between going back and forth to the hospital and being knotted with worry and anxiety. I moved through life as a shell of myself, wearily running errands and tending to her needs. I sent a text to a friend at the height of my frustration lamenting not having someone to help me carry the load. I wanted nothing more than to have a man swoop in like a fucking superhero and relieve me from some of this shit. And as quickly as the desire settled in, it cha cha slid right on out of my mind.
I like the idea of being half of a forever more than I actually truly want to be one. The above meme is spot on—consistent zick and someone to tell me I’m pretty every once in a while is legit nirvana to me. My life is so self-contained that I rarely am lonely. I’m fulfilled by the love in my life from family and friends. Material things that I desire, I obtain with ease (for the most part). I live by my own terms and rules, rarely deviating from my path.
And…it’s only more recently becoming a bit unsettling to me. Mainly because growing up I was always the girl who wanted the handsome husband, two point five children and white picket fence lifestyle. I desired motherhood to an almost obsessive degree; going as far as routinely maintaining list of potential child names to discuss with my eventual beloved. The vision of my future always seemed resolute and inevitable.
But then a funny thing happened. I grew up. I loved. I lost. I got hurt…badly. I got over him…and under someone else. And then I stepped out of the dating game. I sought inner solace, with dalliances with the occasional buddy now and then to sate physical needs. But even after a while I began to abstain from that…not because desire had waned, but it just seemed…hollow and extraneous.
So now…as I approach thirty-five, I’m perplexed. I’m not completely adverse to love and finding The One™, but it’s just not paramount for me. I’m in love with my life the way it is right now…for the most part. There is always room for improvement. But I’m not pressed to date. Maybe the guy who’ll shake me to my core has just yet to cross my path…but am I limiting the chances of the universe sending him my way if I’m just not even putting in the effort?
Dating is hard, man. I don’t even know where people meet dudes anymore. And I’m busy as fuck. Why can’t The One™ just fall into my pu…lap already?!