Some weeks ago, a friend indulged me in gossip involving people I have not yet met, and wouldn’t be interested in after hearing what had transpired. It’s not like it mattered who they were. I just did not really care for visuals here, as I was more invested in and amused by my friend’s rendition of the painfully cliché denouement that most heterosexual relationships are plagued with: couple had been together for years, guy put a ring on her finger, engagement went past twelve months, and then he cheated. There was nothing extraordinary about the betrayal, nothing remarkable about how the couple might have come out of it stronger, better, or wiser, whether as a unit or two individuals finally admitting that they have long outgrown each other. It was the web of connections that my friend found himself entangled in that made the narrative a lot more entertaining than it was supposed to be. There was, he argued, more depth to what he knew about the couple’s demise, as he was friends with friends of both parties.
“So, what do you think?” my friend asked, expecting me to fill in the very tiny gap in his story.
“Well… it’s tacky when the engagement lasts more than a year.”
It’s an honest sentiment that I share with some of my girl friends, I went on to explain. If you’ve been together for more than three years and marriage is on the horizon, the engagement should have no business dragging on for a year or two. If you haven’t established your finances yet—which seems to be most people’s reasoning for long engagements—then put off the idea of proposing until you are ready and sure of it. I feel like I’m stating the obvious here, but money does change people, and you would want to be sure that your partner is working on their financial stability with your future together in mind. There are people who tend to forget that no matter how much time has passed while being in a relationship.
“Do you have plans of getting married?”
To my surprise, I was slightly taken aback by the question, realizing that nobody has ever really asked me that in recent memory. Why would they? I have not been in a relationship in years, I have sworn off the online dating scene, and I have been celibate enough to qualify for the nunnery. I feel like a rabid dog on the rare days I sniff out anyone’s interest in me, even the slightest bit of it, unable to tame my curiosity into something less desperate. I end up hiding behind my self-righteous anger that is often enough to drive the scent away.
As I think about it, I don’t think I’ve ever been asked that, and I wonder if it’s because I carry myself with enough certainty in my solitude that everyone knows I would not be bound by a lifelong partnership, that marriage would definitely be out of the question. I do seem to act like it. Unlike my peers who have had Pinterest boards for their dream weddings since they created an account in their teens, I only bothered to make one in the last year, right around the time my feed began to flood with news of engagements, weddings, and pregnancies among the people I’ve known since high school and college. And it wasn’t even a fun exercise in entertaining possibilities and visualizing a potential future, as I had already lost the innocence I was supposed to have for conjuring a grandiose image of what I would be like as a wife, what kind of spouse I would end up with, what kids I might end up raising.
But to answer the question, I’m not so sure. If anyone comes and proves all my worries wrong about love, then why not? Other than my sister and close friends, I do want a partnership that witnesses all versions of me and loves me all the same. I’m not yet sure how different a romantic partner would be from these people in my life that I trust completely, but it is something that I am willing to take a chance on if it ever arrives.
“If I find anyone worthy, sure—”
“Is it even possible to find the kind of guy you want?”
I stared at him blankly, unable to read the tone of his question. Before I could even respond, he described in detail my usual type in men, at least in the physical sense. I shrugged, not finding the sassiness to end the conversation. While physicality isn’t everything, I do consider it a prerequisite. I don’t think I would ever risk getting hurt by a man who does not match my flair. I think that’s what narrows down my search by a ton, and I convince myself that this is why my friend feels like I am asking for too much.
But is it really too much? More importantly, what is it that I am asking for in a romance? Do I truly want it?
I have long abstained from the humiliating ritual of chasing the high that comes with being somebody’s type no matter how much I am drawn to them, no longer infatuated with the idea of escaping from who I am as I mold myself into the kind of person that could make them stay. These last few years I have spent getting to know myself in unusual but exciting ways, becoming myself enough to attract and cultivate the kinds of friendships that inspire me to be the best version that I can be. I hear my own voice and see my own reflection more clearly, falling a bit more in love with who I am becoming. There is a growing confidence in just how much I have changed, so many of these changes being for the better that entering my 30s is starting to look like a reward. I’ve stopped listening to what my algorithm tries to feed me about getting fat and maintaining my youth at 21. I am more responsible now, more discerning in which choices have consequences that I can live with, and there is a more stable energy to keep going.
Like most passively suicidal teens of 2010 Tumblr, I never really thought I would make it this far. But I have, and it’s only the beginning. I have powered through the slow and excruciating process of learning to enjoy my own company, this long-term effort enough proof that, while it takes work, what I ask for is nothing impossible. With how smoothly I have sailed these last couple of years, I cringe at one of the unsent love letters hidden in the basement of my Notes app: you will always have a piece of my heart and I will spend the rest of my life filling that void. And it’s not that there is no void, that there never was. I vividly remember its hollowness from years ago—there was a heaviness to it that ironically reminded me of what was not and what was never there. It turns out that I was wrong about it the whole time: it was not an insatiable desire that I would resent for the rest of my life. Instead, the void is capable of satisfaction, so long as you know what that means.
So, what does it mean this time? What is the void trying to say? It terrifies me a bit knowing that I have done enough work to keep me out of therapy in the next few years, because even I know that I have reached the limit of what inner work can be done alone. This time, I know and I am trying to accept just how much I need others. Friendships, sure, I am opening myself up in ways I haven’t in years. But a relationship? What do I want out of it that my existing relationships cannot fulfill?
I have ruminated on my friend’s remarks more than I would like to admit, but I cannot feel too embarrassed by the introspection it has invited. If anything, I am grateful that it has had me thinking about what I want. Is this something that I want? And it turns out that the answer is yes, I do want to try and put myself out there again in the hope of finding someone who is fascinated by the enormity of my own desire. Minnie said it best: I want a body pressed up next to me just to know that I’m really here. I want to experience the kind of excitement that comes with having a crush that ends up being your best friend. I think I want it a bit too badly, wanting to understand where all my coupled-up friends are coming from, but not so much that I am willing to sacrifice all that I have worked on just to get it. I know it’s nothing more special than the people in my life right now, but I do want to have a good experience at trying to make it happen.
It would be nice to play house with someone that I would consider my life partner, someone that I wish I met earlier and would have been friends with when we were kids. The funny thing about this is the same can be said about the most treasured friendships in my life right now, so I don’t fully understand yet just what it is that I am missing out on. It is strange to reach a point of knowing what I want, but trusting that I can live without it even if it never comes. I was once told that hope is the enemy, its uncertainty wicked. You can yearn all you want and spend all your time waiting, but your devotion may not always bear fruit. But it seems to me that hope only drives you to madness when you don’t give it the chance to surprise you.
You write so beautifully!!