I used to be a serial monogamist. I was in three relationships from the time I was 14 until the time I was 24. For ten solid years, I dated three men. I was comfortably happy with the knowledge that no matter what I was working towards in my life, there was always someone back at home, waiting on me to watch our favorite show, or go out and eat our favorite food.
Around the age of 24, I spread my wings and was exhilarated with the new found freedom I had. I joined match.com, I went on double-dates, blind-dates, and flirted with anyone who had a Y chromosome. I think I even looked twice at the guy who checked our energy meter.
This lasted for about a year, and then I was ready to go back inside the cave. Again, I wanted the comfort that a relationship provided. I began to grow frustrated with my attempts to find love again, and as the age of 27 approached, I grew scared that might never happen.
Recently, I found what I thought was “the one.” We had a whirlwind European romance and I traveled the world with my new found companion. It was romantic and lovely, new and exciting, and I hoped it would never end. Eventually, I realized my little tinkerpoo didn’t have any money, a job, or even a car, and came to the sad reality that maybe it wasn’t me he was lusting after at all, but my bank account that had captured his heart. To make a long story short, tinkerpoo was carrying out a double life in England with an ex-girlfriend, which I discovered before almost signing a two year contract to buy my little unemployed lothario an iPhone.
In the depths of my devastation, a close friend said “You have to learn to be alone. You have to give yourself some time to just be ok with you.” I looked at her as if she just told me that she started eating dog food and offered me to try some. I thought this to be a preposterous idea. How many people have justified wasting their lives away with that line?
Yet, through no choice of my own- I did this. Now believe me, I fought with every inch of my might. I sent thinly veiled texts to guys who are only cute after a few ketel and gingers, when the hour glass on my Saturday started to waste away. I accepted dates from guys who I knew were not the ones but “maybe they had cute friends?” I thought. However, there were still those nights that I sat alone, reading my US weekly and contemplating what kind of cats I would get and what breeds would look best, juxtaposed against my plastic-protected floral sofa.
Suddenly, those nights at home didn’t seem so threatening. When I was on a bad date, I didn’t try to extend it just because I didn’t want to go home. When I was on a good date, I didn’t panic every time he looked at his watch. My demeanor changed. Instead of projecting an aura of desperation and hunger, I felt a sense of calm. Knowing, that regardless of whether this person decided to stay or go, I would be just fine either way.
author of “Happiness in B.A.L.A.N.C.E,” and practices in the Los Angeles area under the supervision of Dr. Richard Oelberger (PSY22186) . Dr. Long works mainly from a positive psychology framework as it applies to addiction, depression, relationships, body image and weight loss.
