For the past two years, I’ve been 85% single.

I only threw that percentage in because of the couple of weeks I awkwardly dated someone, which of course, did not work out.

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single AF in france

I feel like I haven’t dated anyone seriously for a few reasons, all of which are pretty typical for a woman my age. Firstly, I haven’t always been in a great position to do so. I’ve been working and moving around, a lot, so I haven’t made a lot of time for it. Secondly, I’ve fixated on only one or two men who weren’t end game for me. Even if I knew that at the time, it was easier to stick in those non-relationships rather than play the field. There was history there, and I’ve always shipped history.

Lastly, I hate small talk. I also find face to face interactions with complete strangers who are still deciding whether or not they want to get in your pants really intimidating. So I just haven’t really dated. I don’t enjoy it. It makes me feel awkward, and although I’ve gone out on a ton of first dates, I didn’t want a boyfriend badly enough to stick it out.

But let’s backtrack, just a little bit. Since I was fourteen, I’ve had six boyfriends, and out of those, two of them were serious. In order, Sean, Dave, Zach, Jon, Dave again, Mike, and new Mike, making previous Mike, old Mike. That’s six, right? Did I forget someone?

Anyway, none of those guys were my lifelong partner, and that’s fine. I had really good memories with a lot of them, including, but not limited to Christmas Tree shopping, hanging out at an Incubus concert before we knew was pot was, and didn’t realize we were surrounded by clouds of it, my first one year anniversary with someone, where we dressed up in fancy clothes and went out for dinner, my first love letter, my first piece of jewelry given to me by the opposite sex. Sneaking out of the house to go drive around at 2 AM (sorry Mom and Dad), going to college parties and drinking terrible beer, dancing and singing karaoke on a cruise ship, eloping to Vegas, (yup, I was married once), booking a one way ticket to Iceland and backpacking through Europe, sneaking onto private property and drinking a bottle of cheap, $6 red wine under the stars, bouncing a giant bouncy ball around Harris Teeter whilst looking for midnight snacks – you get the idea.

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single AF in the car

But there weren’t such good memories as well, which I won’t name for the sake of the people they involve, but I’ll say this: I have become the kind of woman, thanks to these men (and I mean this in a good way), that doesn’t need a boyfriend and honestly, could probably go her entire life without one. I’ve known what it feels like to be safe, to be happy, to be loved, to be cherished and to be respected, but I’ve also learned that life doesn’t revolve around marriage, or dating. You can fall in love with other things – travel, adventure, writing, painting, Bloody Marys, Calvin and Hobbes – and I have. I think I’ve done pretty well for myself alone.

But just because I don’t need someone, doesn’t mean I don’t want someone. My friend Annabel, (who is my very intelligent, very charming and full of questions for guys I may potentially date best friend) read a book recently about the science of relationships. (I mean, we’re girls. We talk about shit like this). Anyway, the author said you only really get three non-negotiable things in a relationship and after some consideration, I think I have mine.

  • One: You must have an all consuming, always present need to travel. Even if it’s to the next town.
  • Two: You must create – write, take pictures, draw, make music. You must have an all consuming, always present need to create.
  • Three: And finally, you must laugh and make light. A sense of humor will get you everywhere with me.

Aside from that, you just kind of have to be okay with the fact that I’m a little salty and sarcastic. I take my art too seriously sometimes. I’m a little closeminded towards things I think are generic or quote, “basic” and I really hate cupcakes.

I fucking hate everything about them.

So how am I possibly single, right?

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single AF in raleigh

Aside from all the things I’ve mentioned, I’ve just felt a deep rooted longing for a particular kind of person. Someone artsy, someone romantic. Someone who doesn’t spend every weekend watching sports (sorry, just not my thing ), someone who loves photography and foreign languages, even if they don’t speak one. Someone who would write me a love letter, someone who would sneak onto private property to look at the stars, someone who wouldn’t mind drinking shitty beer and wouldn’t too shy or too reserved to sing terrible karaoke.

Another thing I’ve learned? I’ve dated some good men, and they all have attributes that I hope other partners will have.

But that brings me into the bad stuff. Not theirs, but mine.

I asked my friends (via text and Facebook), how they would describe me to a guy they thought I’d be a good match for. They said wonderful things.

Claire, my old-coworker and fellow Wilmingtonian said: “Really pretty. Petite. Super smart, independent, funny (in a slightly weird way), and a traveler in both reality and spirit. A guy may be intimidated at first but if he can get over himself he’d see an awesome woman any guy can have.”

Awe.

Outfit #1.
being single AF sitting on annabel’s car

The previously mentioned Annabel said: “Spirited, introspective writer with a case of wanderlust, but her favorite people are her anchors. She’ll be there for you when you need her and will intuit what you need. She’s beautiful, big blue eyes and and short blonde hair.”

Damn, Daniel.

How the fuck is this amazing version of me single?

Then my Dad chimed in with, “Must be a good listener. No homebodies. Financially secure,” before I reminded him I wanted to know qualities about myself, not the fantasy millionaire lumberjack/adventure writer he secretly ships for me. So he said, “ Chatty, cute, incredible eyes, adventurous, not a homebody, funny.”

Chatty. Hm.

We’ll come back to that.

My friend Amanda, or Mandy, who actually recently married my long time family friend Anthony said, “Creative, spontaneous, loyal, beautiful, spunky, guarded, her own worst critic.”

You see where this is going, right?

I’m not perfect, even though a lot of the comments my friends had may paint me that way. I know I’m not. Despite my positive traits, I am my worst critic. I’ll be there first to tell you what I could have done better, where I could have spent more time or energy. I always notice first when I need a haircut or when my clothes don’t fit the way I want them to. The hardest I’m on myself however, is when I’m thinking about travel and adventure, when I’m reminding myself of how much more I want to accomplish. The places I want to go. I’m pretty insatiable, and that’s one of my biggest flaws, and somehow, still one of my favorite things about myself.

So the other part – the guarded part. I had a guy tell me once that he felt like he didn’t know how I felt about him, and that he almost gave up on me because of it. I don’t blame him. I’m a bit closed-off. I don’t send emojis with little hearts and diamonds. I’ve never titled an Instagram pic “my love” unless it was about a hamburger. At times, I’m too cool for love or romance, not because I don’t want it, but because I can struggle being vulnerable, and it’s easier to pretend I don’t care. But sometimes… I don’t. The idea of getting married is far less appealing than I don’t know, getting my masters in some kind of Icelandic literature program or living in Taiwan for a year. I’m built to explore, and that can be a very difficult quality to bring into a relationship.

Lastly, chatty. I am very chatty. I take a long time to get to the point. I love telling stories, even if they’re stories my significant others won’t give a shit about. I’ll walk in and be like OMGYOUWON’TBELIEVEWHATHAPPENEDATWORKTODAY… so and so did this then that then we laughed then they barfed then they laughed then we got drinks then he got fries and we all ate them. Then I’ll take a breath and ask if we should go out and get overpriced Thai food for dinner.

I struggle with listening, and I struggle with understanding the advantages of milestones and traditions such as annual family camping trips or eating the same thing for Thanksgiving every year. I don’t like it. I want variety. I want exploration. I fear the sepia tone filter that eventually seeps over mundane routines.

So yeah, dating is hard.

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being single AF in barcelona

But I still believe that there’s someone out there that can handle my shit, and loves the idea of dating a salty, adventurous, insatiable Peter Pan looklike with a Justin Bieberish wardrobe, fluffy Ewok-like dog, and inclination to thrust herself into the unknown just to feel challenged and out of her element. I believe there’s someone out there that doesn’t just want a girlfriend or a partner, but wants someone they can fucking depend on, someone they can collaborate with. I have a photography series in my head called Vacation Sex (sorry Mom) where I take slightly risqué but still tasteful and sexy photos while traveling in another country with a significant other. I want a collaborator for Driftyland. I want someone I can create with, not just a relationship, but create art and a home, and a life that’s not always perfect and not cookie cutter. Someone entrepreneurial and edgy, but kind.

Like a non-famous, not too cool for me Evan Peters.

Someone who, upon learning I want to go to Portugal, is immediately going to get on board and will help figure out a way to do it. Not just because I want it, but because they have the same hunger and zest for life and adventure as I do.

A version of this post was recorded on my podcast, via Soundcloud.