I’ve morphed my philosophy more times than I imagined I would
I used to truly believe that there was someone out there for everyone. That was when I was young and full of hope. Last year.
At this point in my life, I have no idea what I believe anymore.
It’s been exactly two years since I split from my second husband. The main reason for a split was that he simply just wasn’t my person and I knew it. We tried. It was a good few years but I knew those years were drawing to a close. Living the rest of my life as his wife was never going to lead me to a life of contentment. Round peg. Square hole.
Once we got divorced, I finally felt free of the idea that my existence in the world needed to do involve being married to another human being. It’s not that I’ve sworn off marriage. It’s something that I could take or leave. It’s no longer a goal or requirement for me. No longer is it any demonstration that a relationship is more or less significant than another.
Sadly, marriage to me signifies nothing more than a legally binding agreement recognized by a governmental entity that allows for each partner to be taken care of in the event of the untimely demise of the other. Doesn’t that sound romantic?
After dissolving my belief system about marriage, I was still left with the idea that there is a lid for every single pot. I clung to that. I want it to be real and attainable.
I see it with my friends and some random couples. Sometimes, it blows my mind that two people manage to find that exact fit where you couldn’t imagine either of them with somebody else. It’s just right. I love this idea. I just don’t know that it applies to me.
To be honest, I thought it would be exceptionally easier to find a mate than it has been. I’ve spent two years without a boyfriend. It is the longest period of time I have ever spent alone in my entire life.
I recognize that this is like doing time for petty larceny when I know that there are massive amounts of people on the dating version of death row. They have a life sentence. Two years is laughable to them. It’s exhausting to me.
As I started to meet new people, I started to lose hope that everything that I was looking for in one person just didn’t exist. I had a friend who made me make a list of everything I wanted my person to be. I’ve thrown that list away.
I started embracing the idea that perhaps we don’t have one soulmate.
Perhaps our souls are comprised of dozens of experiences and many people and when you put them together at the end of our lives we can look back and realize that our souls were whole.
It’s like that puzzle piece that has several edges and connections instead of just one other piece it fits into. In order to make all of the connections you have to find all of the pieces.
What I’m struggling with right now is not being able to find a single piece. After each of my divorces, I got a puzzle. Literally. An intricate one with a lot of pieces and I told myself that I was not going to date until the puzzle was done.
There was a certain amount of healing that occurred in spending my nights fretting over finding that damn missing piece of the Death Star rather than swiping left or right on images of eligible bachelors in my area.
After 31 first dates, I’m beginning to wonder if I shouldn’t adjust my attitude to accept the fact that my reality just may be a solo one for many years to come. What would my life look like if I embraced it instead of wallowing in it a little bit? Would I be happier? Would it mean giving up hope? Would I become that bitter, jaded person I don’t want to be?
I keep dating simply out of tenacity. Mama didn’t raise no quitter. I have a whopping 90% failure rate for dates. I understand I’m not the failure. They are not the failure. The date's just a failure. 10% were fantastic for a short time until they weren’t.
I’ve always had this glimmer of hope but I’m beginning to feel like that little glimmer of hope is what’s causing me pain. There’s a Buddhist construct that attachment is what causes suffering. Perhaps the attachment issue that I’m having right now is not related to a person but to an idea that I should let go of.
There’s a considerable amount emotional reconciliation that needs to happen here. I need to examine my end game. I need to define and then redefine contentment. Either way, I do know that there is something I’m clinging to like a skin I need to shed. It probably won’t be the last skin shed, either. There will be more. I’m interested in what each new one will look like.
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