Being single can be tough, I’m not going to lie. It is a lot of lonely nights, a lot of making too much dinner (and having leftover chili for three days) and a lot of talking to yourself.
But in the last five or so years of my solitude, I’ve learned more about myself than in the 30ish years prior combined.
I learned I am capable of changing a tire in the middle of a rainstorm on a scary dark highway, with an iPhone clamped between my teeth for the flashlight.
I learned I am not scared of the dark, that was just a ploy I used to get the boy I liked in high school to walk me to my car at night.
I learned I am a pretty badass cook, though watching Chopped or Cutthroat Kitchen stresses me out.
I learned I really like kicking my way through big piles of leaves. A LOT.
I learned I can stand on my own two feet pretty well, but occasionally I fall down and need to ask for help. I also learned that both of those situations are perfectly OK, and I am OK.
I spent the last 5 years tearing my life down to the studs and rebuilding it carefully. My friends have held my hands while I cried so hard that I could not breathe, and left me soup on my porch when I have been sick. They have stood by me in some of the most terrible storms in my life, sometimes propping me up entirely when I could not stand on my own two feet. They have cleaned my house. They have invited me out places, knowing I need to leave my house, and on one notable occasion, forced me to shower and get dressed so they could “kidnap me” and take me out.
I am a whole human all by myself. I do not need someone to “Jerry Maguire me”, because I am already complete.
I do miss certain things about being in a relationship. Holding hands. Inside jokes. Reading bits of a book out loud together. Breakfast for two at the kitchen table. Candlelight dinners and romantic walks through wherever. Someone else to sweep the floor and taste the cookies.
But I’m not willing to sacrifice myself for “love” anymore. In all of the relationships I have been in before, I gave pieces of myself away to make room for someone else. I compromised my Self until I didn’t even know who I was anymore.
I’m not willing to do that again.
I enjoy my solitude. I like not having to share the covers, and I enjoy the reign I have over my own space. I’ve taken control of my life for the first time in a long time….honestly, probably the first time ever in my existence.
In order to be in a romantic relationship with me, whatever man out there who is special enough to come into my life has to make me happier than being alone does.
He would have to make partnering with him better than sitting on the couch in my leopard footie pajamas, eating ice cream for lunch on a Tuesday. He would have to show me that being his girlfriend is better than riding my bike to the local brewery to knit or read a book by myself.
He would have to outshine running alone in the rain, singing Disney songs at the top of my lungs all day, dance parties in the kitchen to get rid of my bad attitude, lying on the floor to work because I am mad at my desk, and leaving Halloween decorations up until Thanksgiving. (Or he would at least have to enjoy a few of those things.)
He’s got to have something pretty rad in his bag of tricks.
Until then, I’ll be over here, doing my own thing. (Like sitting on the couch in my shark pajamas, eating fish sticks. Because that’s how I roll.)
This post was written as a part of the NaBloPoMo, a daily blogging journey I am committing to in November 2017.