Forever Alone | Chapter 1: Lonely & Longing (Part 1)
In which much is introduced, including why I think my singledom is my fault, all the couples I’ve shipped, my great-grandma’s take on erotic novels, and the age-old question: Are my hopes too high?
I published Forever Alone: One Introverted Millennial’s Half-Agonizing, Half-Hopeful Journey Through Singledom in 2021 as a 7-part podcast miniseries. I’m re-publishing it here on Substack for the first time in written form!
If it’s a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife, then it’s also a universal truth that a single woman in the same damn position can’t find a husband to save her life.
I hate to start out with a complaint, but there you have it. I’ve been single—well and truly, somewhat egregiously—for over 8 years. And while I’m not in possession of a fortune akin to Jane Austen’s Mr. Darcy, to quote an artist for our times, “If I were a man, I’d be the man.” That’s Taylor Swift.
Humor me for a minute. I contend that any 33-year-old single man who’d been successfully running his own business for over 7 years, who spent his time doing work that sincerely helped people, who was decently attractive by normal standards, who owned his own home and had a very cute dog, who had spent years doing inner work on himself, and who was smart, sharp and funny—could literally meet a woman tomorrow and be engaged within two weeks, if he wanted to.
I am that man. Except I’m a woman. So, I’m still single.
Don’t get it twisted, though. I’m not bitter about it. Snarky, for sure. But not bitter. More so, bemused. Like, damn, what exactly is up with a world where so many smart, beautiful, fascinating, caring women (I’m thinking of some good friends right now, though I’ll lump myself in with them) are sitting around, wondering why the hell they’re still alone? If this were a different podcast, I’d go off on a long diatribe about patriarchal bullshit and unfair double standards—but that’s not what this podcast is about.
Because, actually: I think my singledom is my fault. OK, “fault” might be the wrong word. That implies I did something wrong, or that I’m being punished. Which, to be fair, is something I’ve believed from time to time. But it’s more accurate to say, my singledom is my responsibility.
There’s a scene in the Wonder Woman sequel—Wonder Woman 1984—where Diana sobs to her boyfriend, Steve, who’s temporarily back from the dead, that she shouldn’t have to give him up again, because she gives and gives to others and all she wants is this one thing. After I saw it I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Because girl, same. I have worked hard! I’ve climbed proverbial mountains in the dead of winter, with 70 pounds strapped to my back, in the middle of the goddamned night. The least that could happen, when I finally summit that peak, is for there to be a hot man waiting at the top.
But it’s dicey. Because that sounds somewhat … entitled. Like I’m demanding this for that: “I do these things. You give me hot man. K?” Am I really entitled to a relationship? Just because I’ve worked hard and been a decent human being? Is love a matter of checking enough of the right boxes, such that you receive a reward? No, I don’t think that’s it.
I think I deserve a relationship, though. I think we all do, if that’s what we want. Humans deserve love and connection and family and partnership—it’s our natural state. You don’t have to do anything to be worthy of that. You’re worthy and deserving just because you are.
But “worthy” doesn’t always mean “ready.” And though I don’t believe you have to earn love, there’s undoubtedly work involved in allowing yourself to receive it in its healthiest form. That’s where the responsibility piece comes in.
So, that’s what Forever Alone is about. My half-agonizing, half-hopeful journey (and yes, you bet your ass that’s a reference to Persuasion—I’m not playin’ ‘bout my love for Jane Austen) through all the crap I’ve done to get out of my own way and give myself the best possible chance of finding real, long haul, committed love.
It’s about how I had to humble the shit out of myself, and stop acting entitled to something that would swoop in and solve all of my problems. It’s also, paradoxically, about how I had to start thinking more highly of myself. Can you be entitled and insecure? Or am I just special like that?
There’s something about writing this as a single person that I like—I’m not some “happily ever after” bitch here to patronize you. I could still very well end up forever alone. So, maybe more than anything, this podcast is an act of faith. That if you really, sincerely do the work that matters—if you’re brave and vulnerable and incredibly honest with yourself; committed to your own healing and to loving the ugly parts of yourself—the natural conclusion is getting what you want. Not because you finally earned some reward, but because you became a match for the thing you longed for. And then it showed up, at the right time.
I hope I get to listen back to this one day, knowing how the story unfolds long after this, and be excited for the me who’s writing now.
So, who is the me that’s writing now? Besides a 33-year-old dog mom and business owner who also has a mortgage. Well, the business is Clarity on Fire, which I run with my best friend of 14 years, Kristen. We’re certified life and career coaches. When people hear that they think that means I help people edit their resumes and look for jobs all day, but I assure you, that’s not what I do.
I help people remove the layers of gunk they’ve built up around themselves—fear, limiting beliefs, old programming, family patterns—that obscure their ability to see who they really are and what they want. I’m less interested in helping people get the thing they want—a job or partner, usually—and more about helping them become the kind of person they want to be. And then, as a result of being that person, they end up getting what they want.
Getting a new job isn’t going to fix your deep insecurities or make you fulfilled if you’re not capable of feeling fulfilled, in the first place. It’s only when you heal those deeper issues that you become qualified, emotionally speaking, for what you really want. And if there’s any theme I’ve learned, that I’ve had to apply to myself with ruthless honesty, it’s this:
You always get what you’re a match to. If you want something better, you’re going to have to examine what’s blocking you from being a match to it.
It’s not surprising that I became a coach. When you boil it down to its essence, coaching is about speaking the truth. It’s not about building someone up and persuading them to believe new, shiny things about themselves. It’s about helping them realize that most of how they see themselves and the world was never true, to begin with.
I’ve been calling shit out from before I even had memories. I was a Hermione Granger-type know-it-all from the beginning. As a toddler perched in my high chair, I’d often start sentences with, “As you know, Mommy…” and follow it up with something inane like, “Corn is yellow.” Leave it to me to state something obvious just for the pleasure of hearing myself be correct.
I’ve always had excellent discernment. My B.S. detector is incredibly sensitive and accurate, and I have X-Ray vision when it comes to people and their character and intentions. People can’t get away with crap around me, because I’ll both see it and call it out. This is both a very valuable quality and one that makes it hard to get along with people, because a LOT of them are committed to not knowing, you know? You’ve got to have a high tolerance for the truth to withstand my particular forcefield.
By the way, truth-telling is not the same as being mean or judgmental. There are straight-up mean people out there who say something completely unnecessary or cruel, and then turn it around on you when you call it out: “Hey, I’m just being honest!”
There’s a difference between that and tough love, and I try hard to specialize in the latter. Tough love sees things through the lens of, “I see who you are, at your core, and what you desire, and I see how what you’re doing doesn’t align with what you want, and I’m going to hold up a mirror and ask you to face that uncomfortable fact head on.”
And if you’re into personality tests, I’m an INFJ on the MBTI and a Type 4 on the Enneagram. Which means I am an incredibly deep feeler; a highly sensitive person who’s easily moved by art, music, and theater. I’m also subject to a large range of emotions. The highs are more vibrant, the lows can be devastating. Anxiety and depression have been on-again, off-again companions for most of my life. I also love a little bit of drama; if it’s not epic and sweeping, it registers as dull, most likely. I’m intense—someone who often gets called “A LOT.” And there’s no truer statement to describe me than this—My life is a story, and I am the protagonist.
This was Chapter 1: Part 1 of Forever Alone. Read on for Part 2!