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Walking down Third Street in Los Angeles, listening to a “happy vibes” playlist generated by Spotify, I was on my way back from picking up a pepperoni Tombstone pizza for my treat day.
My mind was peacefully gliding from one thought to the next. I passed a sign: “Love Psychic: Clearing and Energy Tuning.” I quietly cackled and sternly said to myself, “Don’t do it, Morgan. It’s not real. It’s a test. Say no to drugs.” My drug, anyway. I have always needed and wanted to know the answer to everything, really. This time, I already knew.
As I crossed La Cienega, I felt empowered that I was able to walk past and scoff at a comfortable, self-soothing addiction I have when moving through a love lost. Even a relationship with an expiry date of 40 days can take me over a year to sage away the ghost of my lover haunting my mind.
A Santa Monica High soccer shirt, a pineapple emoji, Alfred’s coffee shop, a half-moon necklace, watermelon LaCroix, the color pink, a shampoo cap—the smallest thing can set me off into daydreaming about “what if,” “if only,” “maybe someday,” or “in the next lifetime.”
I thought back to past relationships that exploded for a multitude of reasons and the amount of time it honestly took me to confidently say, “Wow, what was I thinking?” Or “I send them energetic love, but they certainly were not intended to be a long-term life partner.” I then attempted to do calculations of how many hours, days, years I have spent ruminating on love. Then I remembered, I am terrible at math!
All the equations in the world cannot prove to me that looking for a mate is worth it. I decided it is time to stop dating. I have exhausted all my options and no longer want to add to the count. Anyone less than extraordinary is not worth the investment of my time. Time is the most valuable commodity, so they say, and I have concluded that I can no longer afford the luxury of the time it takes to recover from heartache.
This has taken too much real estate in my mind, and I have seen no return on my investment. My love bank is in serious debt, and I have to sell all my assets and pivot. While I would normally never say “no” to romantic love, saying “no” actually feels healthy. I question if I have become jaded, pessimistic, or had so many disappointments that my fortress has now acquired a new tower, with a spiral staircase and a moat. Perhaps. But I refuse to settle; I refuse to let the status quo consume me any longer, and I refuse to want “it” more than anything in the world. “Desperate” is a dirty word, and I will opt out of that energetic vibration.
I’m tired, tapped out. The only love I am open to is the chocolate coconut protein balls in my freezer (possibly, eventually, love that stays). Although, with nothing lasting forever, what does that even look like? Is it love that is respected, valued, balanced, not depending on each other for fulfillment, and happiness? Accepting the light and the dark. Loving the dark just as much as the light.
I’ve had that. I’ve met a soul mate; he moved to Singapore and that chapter has closed. So, can I check the itemized box of “finding a soul mate” from my life list and move on to the next item? I am taking a pencil and crossing off the “husband” and “kids” lines. I am making them erasable and not using a sharpie, but for now, they’re off…indefinitely. So, why do I keep looking? And what am I even looking for at this point?
All these questions led me to think of all the methods I have tried using to find this ethereal one. Dating apps, matchmakers, setups, speed dating, classes for enjoyment and the “maybe he will be here,” mixers, dinners, Facebook and Instagram connections, bars, taking reckless risks at jobs that did not lean in my favor, traveling and living abroad to discover men from all over the world, and more.
I have dated different backgrounds, cultures, religions, races, and ages. I have opened myself up to things where I would normally say, “No chance,” to, “Well, let me try it.” I have heeded the advice of books, gurus, following rules, to not following rules. I have even contemplated switching teams and being open to women. I deleted all judgments and preconceived ideas and allowed myself to be completely open. Then I had an epiphany:
I have never tried harder at anything in my entire life.
That makes me chuckle and feel, well, sad. If I put half this energy elsewhere, I probably would be extraordinarily wealthy and famous. I have put in my 10,000 hours plus, so, technically, I should be an expert by now. People should be paying me to learn and grow from all the experiences I have been through. However, I have come out empty-handed, placed all the bets, and lost every hand.
I am done looking, searching, even wanting romantic love outside of myself. I do not need it, and I want to not want it anymore. See ya later, my person; we will meet in another lifetime, or you might be married or already dead. Who even knows? Either way, I take my order back from God, the universe, and proclaim, “You can cancel the burger, fries, and the one.”
I am going to exit this societal restaurant chain, find my own hole in the wall, get on a plane…in another direction. I was never one to follow the traditional route, anyway. My parents always joke, “Morgan has to do it her own way; she doesn’t like following anyone else’s.” I am creating a new path, finding a new river, uncharted waters. There are no more questions of, “Are you my person?” because I am my own person.
What does that mean? I’ve wasted too much energy on working out to look good when I meet him, earning an income that is suitable to contribute to a household for when I meet him, and saving activities and places to travel to because I will go when I meet him. I can no longer listen to the advice that I need to be everything I am looking for in a partner so that I meet the highest spiritual suitor or whatever.
All the ways I have worked on myself to love and value Morgan, with the secret intention of being ready when he shows up. While my work was not in vain, it is no longer for another person. It is for me—because I am my person. I will work out because it’s beneficial for my mental health; I’ll earn any amount of income I need to feed my travels; I will take myself to Turkey and Greece, go on a hot-air-balloon ride because I want to share those moments with the person I love more than anyone or anything in the world: me.
Does this mean I will be closed off to a romantic life partner, aka a husband, until death do me part? Maybe? Most likely not. To say I won’t be open to connection and delicious budding relationships would be a lie, as meeting new souls and following my curiosity is in my nature. I enjoy understanding what set of circumstances made you, well…you.
While it may appear that I am talking out of two sides of my mouth, it is only because I will not stop believing in love between myself and another—I just now have an aversion to trying or even craving it. This is also not a false cover for the belief, “When you no longer want it, it comes.” I am not shouting into the abyss, “I’m over it (wink, wink)” in attempts to pretend I don’t want it, while secretly praying, “Please show up, please show up, please show up.”
I’ve simply developed an allergy to anything that requires an ounce of effort.
I refuse to download an app, be blindly set up, and sit across the table from a person to determine if we are a match. I don’t believe in matches anymore—only the literal version where it creates fire to which I can burn this old constitute of the alleged primitive need to mate. We’re overpopulated anyway.
For the time being, I have quit dating. Dropped it like a bad habit. Instead, I’m sitting on the sidelines at the moment, eating orange slices and drinking Capri Suns. I am watching the game and developing a new strategy of how to enter, or do I turn around and find a new field?
Finding this dream we created called, “the one,” potentially, is off the list for me. Now, I am going to explore all the other “to-dos” in this life and let the “husband and wife” human-created concept move down the priority list. Perhaps it’s time to wave my white flag and declare that I choose to embark on an unknown path—yet to be discovered.