In A Relationship

Thoughts from someone who didn't change her status until she turned 38. *Chapter 88*

This morning, from bed, still half under the covers, I asked Alan if he’d bring me my computer. He was already up and getting ready to leave for the gym so I didn’t feel too guilty about my Sunday morning laziness.

“What are you writing about?” he asked.

“Being single,” I replied. In response, he performed an Oscar worthy rendition of, “EXCUSE ME WHAT?!” Clutching his chest, nearly falling to his knees. It was very impressive. I laughed. A lot. I laugh a lot everyday with him. It’s freaking awesome.

Having a boyfriend who is also your best friend is a really obnoxious and completely gag-worthy thing to type. But oh well, it’s true. I was The Single Friend for most of my adult life and so feel very much entitled to enjoy this companionship. I longed for it for a very long time and then found it as soon as I decided, without a doubt in my mind, that I would.

Ew. Not a post of patronizing and infuriating clichés from a woman in a happy relationship. Not me waving from the deck of my honeymoon balcony, “au revoir, single life.” As Carrie Fisher says in When Harry Met Sally,

I get it. Trust me. I get it. When you’re single and wanting a relationship, advice or even thoughts from someone who is in one can feel infuriating. It begs a stomped foot, a slammed door and an, “easy for you to say,” sneer.

I really, truly understand. And yet, this has been on my mind for weeks. I started writing this 9 days ago, put it away in drafts, had a glass of rosé tonight and here we are again on a new Sunday morning.

I’d like to present to you my one singular account of finding true lasting love. I believe, like life, that it’s different for everyone. And I will also advise that judging yourself for choosing the hot fire flames of lust and turmoil over a cozy, trust-filled every-night sleepover with your best friend is a waste of time. Live your freaking life. Fill it with the stories you’re excited to recount from your deathbed. Even if that means ignoring your easy, challenge-free, ‘ages like fine wine’ version of love.

Always, by Bonnie Lynn Felton, lynnfelton.com

I spent most of my 20s and 30s fostering years-long crushes that set my yearning soul on fire everyday. Like a freaking Victorian poet sitting on a riverbank, scribbling lines of longing about the handsome Mr. _____, I’d fantasize about the moment one of the humans I was lusting over would FINALLY realize they loved me too. It was all very, Can’t Hardly Wait, very Clueless, very Mansfield Park. It was dreamy and miserable.

I’d drive around listening to songs I was sure we’d have our first kiss to. Cast myself in movies we could star in together. Have mortifying mouth agape stares lingering looks across the room with these people. I went on 8 online dates and felt nothing but disappointment. My expectations were so high and my standards so strict, all I really wanted was to make my crushes jealous.

During my 33rd year, I involved myself in a year-long tumultuous shit-show of a situation-ship with a textbook narcissist and afterwards started therapy. I began my oft-mentioned self-development journey, learned to meditate and to think nicer thoughts about myself.

I still desperately wanted to fall in love.

“You’ll find love when you stop looking for it.”

Has ever there been a more obnoxious phrase coined? Why (and how) the HELL would anyone stop looking for something they desire deeply and think about constantly?

After three more years, 3 more online dates and endless longterm crushes, I decided to move my whole entire body out of California and start fresh. I felt hopeful and excited for a clean slate and a break from the life I’d been living since I moved away from Georgia at 22. During my cross-country drive home to Atlanta, I spent countless hours wondering about the man I’d find there.

Cue global pandemic.

I hung out with an exclusive club of five humans, two of them my parents, one whose age we still counted in months and his parents (two of my best friends). I hung out with MYSELF a lot. I meditated a LOT. Went for walks a lot. Started sewing and baking and gardening and doing online workouts. At some point, my life started to feel really whole even though I was technically missing so much. We all were.

Eventually, because I was so involved with figuring out all the things I love to do and about myself, it occurred to me, I will have a relationship. Not when or how or who, just that I would. It became very clear that I wanted to be with someone who would compliment this rich life I’d begun to cultivate. I started to dream differently. Instead of longing, I was certain. When I’d think of a relationship, I was already in one. I’d listen to songs and instead of picturing the moment I’d have my first passionate kiss with someone new, I’d deeply envision what I would feeeeeeel like when it happened.

The world reopened.

I started working at a restaurant which, by the way, I did NOT want to do but I’m so glad I did.

And then Alan came to dinner.

He sat at Table 34, I waited on him and, as he recalls, put my hand on his shoulder after I dropped off his drink. It would be months until he slid into my DM's and another month before we’d go on our first date. But something had shifted in me, my forever crushes had been boxed up and moved out. My expectations had shifted from how he should look into how I should feel. I had space. And I had practiced the feelings I was seeking in my mind.

My version of “you’ll find someone when you stop looking” is “you’ll find someone when you decide without a doubt that you want them” and then give up on the when, how and who. Have standards, make a list, ready yourself to recognize the right person but leave room for surprise.

Most curiously, going from ‘single’ to ‘in a relationship’ was nearly imperceptible. Where I’d expected the world to split open and sprout rainbows there was instead just plain obviousness. A person who is kind, open, funny and willing to grow. He has no jealousy or questions about my past. No judgements about who I am. It’s as easy as all the relationships I’ve ever admired say it is. Laughably simple.

I’ve found that choosing to be with a person who also chooses to be with me, who I don’t have to fight for or convince to love me. That I don’t have to worry about or long for or question, has made for a relationship that continues to get better. It didn’t start with a honeymoon, it started with grounded realness. ‘I like you, you like me.’ The seed is planted, let’s let it grow roots and stems and branches and leaves.

There’s never been a love bomb explosion to clean up. Instead, it’s a constant blossoming into something that always feels new. An unfolding honeymoon. For me, being with someone on his own self-development journey has been key. It’s like getting a new boyfriend every 6 months and also allows for me to constantly be expanding without fear of losing my relationship. We grow separately and therefore together.

These days, I have to remind myself that for most of my life I was The Single One. Being with Alan feels so easy and natural, it’s not shifted my life radically enough for a before and after reflection that isn’t forced. I do believe that that one infuriating factor of timing will always play a part in bringing you together with the right person. In my experience, Alan and I had both been on separate journeys of betterment and came together as versions of ourselves we were both proud of and protective over. Both ready for compromise that honored the fact that we’d discovered first that we liked ourselves. It’s made for mutual respect, healthy boundaries and a ton of communication. I want him to be happy and his best and he wants the same for me.

I got to a point as a single person where my routines and taking care of myself were paramount. Now I love taking care of Alan too but there are times I’d love to sleep in one of those overnight masks and film myself doing a horrifying morning shed.

from Vogue, photo by Irving Penn

Obviously I still could, I just love Alan enough not to subject him to the horror. I’ll leave you with one more obnoxious cliché. In the words of Carrie Bradshaw,

even though she arguably chooses the narcissist over the nice guy in the end…just…do as she says not as she does.

Did I think I would be nearly 40 by the time I finally met someone? Of course not. Do I think it’s made for a pretty perfect love? Absolutely. It gave me the time I needed to realize what I’m worth and deserve. Healthy, easy, empowering partnership that allows me to keep becoming the me I love most.

I love you. Someone else loves you. Now, go love yourself.

READING

The Alchemist. Every few years, this little book calls out to me and everyone who has ever read it or needs to. Three different people mentioned or quoted it in the span of a week and I knew it was time for a re-read. It’s different and new every time. I love it.

DOING

Silent meditations. I usually use guided or ambient sound and this week I just needed some quiet. It’s been amazing, highly recommend.

MAKING

I stocked up on farmers market strawberries and plan to attempt my second annual batch of sourdough strawberry bagels and strawberry cream cheese. Haven’t pulled out my starter in ages and I am SO ready to get back to bread making.

Happy day after Easter weekend! We have a jam packed day with family which is cute and fun and makes me feel so grateful to live so close to everyone.

The weather has been stunning in Georgia but by the end of everyday I can barely see out of my pollen coated contacts. Yuck. Anyway, soon enough I will be in a constant state of sweat so I’m really leaning into these mildly warm days.

I’m sending you my love and gratitude and hope you have a lovely week. Talk to you again soon!