I’ve been single for about a year now.
Just before that, I was seeing someone for about six months in a whirlwind fling that seemed just so full of passion and lovely feelings. My heart cracked when we broke up—it’s never nice looking ahead to what feels like a whole lotta loneliness. I realized at the time that for all my “Independent Woman” ranting, I actually really liked being in a relationship, I liked being loved and surrounded by those warm, fuzzy, coddled feelings—who doesn’t?
So there I was, 32 years old and single again. Possibly, one of the only single people left in my huge family of cousins; and one of the only single girls left in my large gaggle of friends.
I set out, for the rest of the year with my heart wide open, if a little desperate, looking for love and romance again.
And you know what? I found it.