My worst fear is not being alone for the rest of my life. It is being with the wrong person for the rest of my life. In mid-November 2024, I decided to spend nine months—a gestation period—without dating or entertaining anyone romantically. I wanted to test the water of having myself to myself for the rest of my life. I wanted to strip the fear from the thought of being unpartnered for the rest of my life.
What prompted the experience was an encounter with, on paper, an ideal man. Tall, dark, handsome, good job, nice car and no kids. I think I was a version of the same for him: attractive, could cook, decorate, kind, intelligent, healthy and some other things that are none of your damn business. Earlier on he would ask, “How are you single?” I thought the same. How are these two people—who by societal standards are so desirable—not in relationships. I think what it came down to was that we were two people content with our own company and life routines. I think we were desirable to each other in theory, but completely incompatible.
He was a TV, gym and golf guy who refused to dance. I am a social dancing, outdoorsy girl who loves to read and write. We had almost nothing in common: dissimilar food taste, entertainment taste and activity taste. It’s like every date was a compromise on one part or the other.
His stability was attractive to me, not just financially but emotionally. He was steady and always even-tempered, even in disagreements. If he had a stance informed by his experience, he wouldn’t waiver. I was healthy in every way I could be healthy and I think that was attractive and of value to him.
We were both honest, processed well together and were practiced at setting boundaries—almost to a fault. But over time, I started to notice myself compromising more and more. Stiffened by fear—“What if this was the last good man I would ever have access to? What if this is as good as it gets? Maybe I’m just being too picky.” All those thoughts held me hostage. I slowly started spending more and more of my time outside of my joy just to be near him. My free time slowly morphed from time in nature, writing, and reading to watching Star Trek or some other uninteresting show and lazing around the house. My last standing activity was dancing and he began to complain and make jealous remarks about it. My writing output went down significantly while we were together. Life experiences are my muse and I don’t get much inspiration from staring at the screen.
Many of my self-care practices became endangered. I started to fade in the attempt to grasp this thing that the world told me I should desire, but left me hollow. I started to think about what would be the long-term consequence of this misaligned relationship. What would the relationship take from my soul and steal from my life’s mission? I thought I’d better not find out. So this prompted my nine months of romantic solitude. I would redirect my energy from romantic relationships into friendships, family and my soul’s work. I would feel into how I could create a fulfilling and joy filled life if I never got married again.
It wasn’t a hard transition because dating has always required time and energy that felt like a stretch. So dropping it immediately made my life feel more spacious and free. My phone was dry, but my spirit was saturated. I went back to my baths, biking and hiking. My pen got busy again with poetry, reflections and essays. My friendships got deeper and richer. I had space for random conversations at parks and grocery stores. My kids went back to having my undivided attention when they were with me. Everything settled into a peaceful and predictable rhythm with space for occasional newness and adventure.
The nine months ended near my birthday and I had mixed feelings about it. I had cultivated a predictable little piece of heaven for myself. I wasn’t sure I was ready to re-enter the tumultuous waters of dating again. I tiptoed back into the pool, but I noticed how sober I was. I wasn’t drunk with the fear of being alone because I had tasted it and actually enjoyed it. It was amazing how quickly my discernment could spot misalignment in lifestyle, personal views, and interest. Even if I didn’t act on the knowledge immediately, I could tell by the first or second conversation whether we were a fit.
Another thing I noticed was a shift in my lens. I would often enter a dating experience and analyze how I was a good fit for this person: what I could help them with, how I could support their dreams and interests and what knowledge I had that I could share with them. I think the time out of the dating pool has given me greater clarity on why I shouldn’t ground my dating choices in this lens. These people are not my projects. They are not for fixing. They are humans for being and if I can’t love them just the way they are I should make room for someone who can.
One of my favorite encounters once told me that a prophetess told him, “When you meet her, she’ll be walking in the same direction. You won’t have to pull her along.” Hearing that statement was life-changing and heavily influenced my new approach to dating. Are we walking in the same direction? Will this person create detours and side quests that delay or attempt to inhibit my arrival? Can I love this person exactly the way that they are right now or am I dreaming of their potential? If they stay exactly the way that they are right now, could I be happy inside of a relationship or would resentment build from them not becoming a person they never agreed to become?
I think it’s wise to stay single until you find that partnership that feels like you’re walking each other home. That person who feels like passing time with a great conversation, adventure, learning, and love on a long road trip to your final destination. Where you take turns driving, share snacks and get to know each other deeper with each passing mile. We can’t ride together if I am headed to California and you are headed to New York. Someone will not make it to their destination.
I don’t believe that we have to be the same person and have all the same interests, but the ways in which we are different must benefit each other or at least be neutral. The ways we are different should expand each other, not shrink each other. And when I find that person—and only when I find that person—will I be willing to be tethered while flying in the same direction.
This MFP Voices opinion essay reflects the personal opinion of its author(s). The column does not necessarily represent the views of the Mississippi Free Press, its staff or board members. To submit an opinion for the MFP Voices section, send up to 1,200 words and sources fact-checking the included information to voices@mississippifreepress.org. We welcome a wide variety of viewpoints.