At the end of our date in AugustJustin escorted me to my car, and he nervously kissed me. I walked from the curb to my car, and when I turned around, he was watching me, beaming. Justin had even chosen the restaurant for our third date, which was supposed to happen six weeks later once his travel schedule cleared.
I just had to wait until October. Justin seemed worth the wait considering that, after my divorce and 30, love had been impossible to find. Once his jealous streak turned frightening after only a year together, I had no choice but to leave no matter the stresses of single life that once again awaited me.
The melancholy that emerged after too many lonely Saturday nights had morphed into something dire: an agonizing recognition that nobody had my back, that nobody was there to ease those terrifying thoughts that often wake us in the middle of the night.
Men who wooed me zealously would ultimately cool when we got within throwing distance of commitment. Of course, many single women experience lousy behavior. But after nearly two decades of such treatment, it became hard not to feel uniquely cursed.
Knowing this, my musician friend Anna suggested I meet Justin, a music writer interviewing her for a book. The two fraternized casually, though Anna knew him well enough to know he was unmarried and in his early 50s. Still, Anna knew Justin to be an amiable, even tenderhearted, man and so when he invited me to dinner three weeks before my 47th birthday, I accepted.
Rarely had I been treated to such elegant places, so I imagined this to be a good sign. At the end and the evening, despite my insistence on going Dutch, he paid for dinner and my valet. As we served each other slices of roasted branzino, our knees touching beneath the table, we shared some of the same fears about loneliness and artistic failure and then exchanged some of the most intimate love of our biographies: for Justin, the early death of his parents, and for me, the absence of my biological father.
I felt I could be myself with Justin because he seemed genuinely curious about me and cut click the following article the same cloth. He asked to meet the next weekend and promised to call to make plans. The week passed without a call. Then the weekend. When he re-emerged days later, he apologized profusely and blamed an unexpected trip out of town.
I have family in town for a few weeks for my birthday. If you still want to meet afterward, reach out. Happy Birthday. Promising, I thought. Our second date at the end of August was even better than the first. Again, we connected in vital ways. Again, we closed down the restaurant. The implication was that if I hung in there, we could get things going in October. Weeks went by without a word from him. The lack of chemistry I felt with them only illuminated what I thought worked with Justin. If it will, I hope we can get together soon.
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Immediately, Justin responded with another apology, this time saying he had had the flu. But he said he wanted to see me and would call after the weekend. Maybe Justin had someone else in his life. Maybe he was content being a bachelor. But the disappearing act threw me into a funk. Seventeen years without a partner seemed proof of a permanent state. Nearly two decades of dating showing me, and sometimes outright telling me, how unlovable I was had taken a toll.
It seemed time to throw in the towel. Yet, here I was. Giving up. No more online dates. No more asking friends to make introductions. No more keeping my eye on the men in sites local sex dating room instead of focusing on the person I was speaking to.
No more wanting. As I began to imagine the rest of my days alone, I remembered Joan and realized that, although there was sorrow in given announcement, there was also optimism and relief. I remembered Evelyn, unmarried and childless, whose career as a poet only flourished with age. And there was Katrina, who earned a graduate degree from MIT at And Wendy, who joined the Peace Corps in best hookup apps uk 50s.
These women exuded grace, likely because solitude offered them freedom and possibility. Before Justin, I dating years trying to understand what was wrong with me. I saw therapists and life coaches, read self-help books and tarot cards. At times I drank too much. Ate poorly. Cried frequently. When I imagined not doing these things anymore, decades of stress lifted. I suddenly realized how much space there was in my life when fretting over my romantic status was no longer part of it.
I learned how joyful life could be if I filled each moment with activities I wanted to do for my own pleasure or prosperity, and not because I might find the love of my life. How liberating to not only put myself first but also prioritize myself exclusively. How much healthier I could be. How much happier. Now, a year after my last date with Justin, my world probably looks the same from the outside: same job, same apartment, same friends.
Sometimes the best part of my day is returning to my one-bedroom apartment, where I can sing off-key, yell at the television, dance, zone out, wear mismatched clothes or let the dishes pile up without worrying what anyone else wants or thinks. Instead, we talk about my teaching and writing, things I have control over and which stand as evidence that my life is moving forward rather than remaining stuck in the same narrative about heartbreak.
Given weighed on me was the horror of given myself alone forever. But really, this lonely life I envisioned far off in love future was already happening. This year, I finally executed the elusive standing crow pose for the first time. Men who flirt add an extra perk to my day but never absorb all of my emotional energy or determine my mood.
Our conversations are simply conversations and not instruments with which to detect signs of romantic compatibility. Of course, not every moment is rosy. Life without a partner can be agonizingly lonely and plain boring. There are times when I desperately wish I had a partner, like if a nightmare wakes me in the middle of the night or a professional crisis hits and I need someone to talk to.
When I face the trials and terrors that everyone suffers, Love have to get myself through. But the same was true of marriage and the time I spent trying to find a new partner. I was already living the worst-case scenario, and I was surviving it. Once I accepted my circumstances, I started to thrive. Do I still hope to meet a great guy? Being single is not necessarily better than being partnered, at least not for me. Not yet. But there is still life. Lots of it. And whether or not someone comes, I want to live it.
Laura Warrell is a writer living in Los Angeles. Follow her on Facebook by heading dating. Main Menu U. News U. Politics Joe Biden Congress Extremism. HuffPost Personal. NEW: Games. International U. Follow Us. Terms Privacy Policy. Part of HuffPost Personal.
I Gave Up On Love, And It Was One Of The Best Decisions I Ever Made
All rights reserved. What's Hot. Courtesy of Laura Warrell. Laura Warrell, second from left, with friends she has gotten closer to and who've supported her in the aftermath of her decision.
I also remembered Yvette, who, after being left by her husband of 30 years, traveled the world.