Something Good #48

6 years of being single

It’s been 6 years since I’ve woken up in my bed next to someone I love, and who loves me.

For the first few years, I didn’t think about it much. Or when I did, it was with glee. I had spent almost 9 straight years in different relationships, and being alone was a new experience for me.

I was 27 and free.

I could do what I wanted, go where I wanted, spend my money however I wanted.

For a few years, it was a LOT of fun. I would consciously notice and take pleasure in my singleness. I’d see people holding hands on the bus and be happy that wasn’t me. Or meet couples at parties and be grateful I was there alone.

Dating had been so easy in my 20s - I’d turn around and fall in love with someone and they would fall in love right back. I knew when I was ready, it would happen again just like that.

But then over and over, it didn’t.

And at first that was fine. It didn’t work out because we lived in different cities. Because the timing sucked. Because he was emotionally unavailable. Because I came on too strong. Because by the time he was ready, I’d moved on.

And somewhere along the way, the disappointments and heartbreaks started to add up. And the years kept passing. And I started to get scared. I wanted a family and a partner to share my life with, but nothing worked the way I remembered.

How do you fall in love again?

Two specific memories from my last relationship kept playing over and over again.

The first -

Me sitting on the couch playing a video game. My boyfriend coming up behind me to put a hand on my shoulder and ask if I wanted tea (and if so, what kind), because he was going to make some.

The second -

A hot summer day. Us sitting in a cafe in Montreal much later than planned, having missed the first train because we’d decided to have sex instead. We were holding hands over the table, talking about where we wanted to buy houses once we struck it rich. New York? LA? Barcelona? Where to first?

-

They spun in my head on repeat, a little microcosm of a world I remembered and missed. The comfort, the familiarity, the love and attention. The future that had once been so obviously and inevitably before us, a road we walked on without having to check that it was still there.

I wanted it so badly, and it felt like it was entirely out of my control.

*

A few years ago, I went to a fertility specialist to do a check-up.

I remember sitting alone in the waiting room and looking at the two other couples there, the women in robes identical to mine. I was proud of myself for doing this alone, a well-paid female executive at a NYC ad agency, getting informed and taking control of her reproductive health so she could plan for her future! Look at how I’m doing this for myself and no one else!

It felt like a scene from a movie.

I remember another passing thought, one that didn’t make me feel any particular way:

I had imagined doing this with a partner, both of us excited and nervous about whatever we would find out - together.

My name was called, the tests were done, and life moved on.

*

Over the last year, that desperate wanting for a partner and for a family of my own has become less sharp. I’ve started to consider the possibility that maybe… this just isn’t the life that I find that in.

I think about my mom, who never wanted to have kids or get married, and who ended up with both.

What happens when life turns out differently than what you wanted?

I look at my worries like wrinkles in a shirt left in the dryer for too long. I run my hands over them again and again, trying to smooth them out.

*

A few weeks ago, I planted tomato seeds from the dollar store. I was skeptical that any of them would grow, but I kept to the twice daily watering schedule recommended on the box. A mix of faith and then, after 2 weeks, when the faith had gone - blind adherence to instructions.

Then one morning I looked at the soil and lo and behold they’d sprouted. The perfect metaphor.

You look and you look and you wait and you wait, and nothing happens.

Then one day you wake up, and there it is. Perfectly formed.

How do you fall in love again? Sometimes little by little, and sometimes all at once.

I hope this newsletter finds you well, and that we’ll talk again soon.

✨

Warmly yours, 

Nina

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