If I bother trying online dating again in the future, this is the perfect profile description:

Congratulations, you’ve stumbled upon my profile! Which means you have excellent taste and you’re going to meet your future wife. BUT IT WON’T BE ME. Why? Because I am the one before the one. We’ll exchange some texts and go on a few great dates, and then BAM you’ll meet your future Mrs. I don’t know how or why, however I’ve been bestowed this gift of being an involuntary matchmaker, without ever meeting the other person that I set you up with. Cheers!

And my tagline will be:

Your future girlfriend should thank me.

 

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I’ve always had this underlying, mostly dormant but very present, knowledge/acceptance that marriage and kids are not in my future. Like I feel like I just know, but I can’t explain it. It’s a little less consistent with at least having a good long-term relationship/companionship but it’s still there. And it’s just always there as a presence, regardless of when my self-esteem and self-worth have been really low or really high or just in between. It feels like more of an acceptance of reality, not a feeling of being defeated by love. I just feel like I’m always going to be that girl who will be alone for the majority of her life (which is not the same as being lonely). And I don’t think about this to pity myself, or to sell myself short (look, I know I’m an awesome person, but the kind of awesome that makes people want to not give too much thought to), or have others pity me, or be dramatic about never finding someone to fit that role, but I just feel, from within my gut and soul, like I’m never going to be that girl who has a long committed loving relationship, and I’ve never felt the urge to marry or procreate, so where else does that leave me?

I think it would take a very very special guy to exist and make me feel secure and confident of our relationship, where I wouldn’t have to guess that he loves me, all of me. I’m a realistic idealist? I don’t know what I am. Well, one thing I do know is that as much of a hard exterior I put on, sometimes I feel like a house made of toothpicks, ready to fall down in big chunks rather than uniformly and equally in a gradual manner. The churning lava inside a dormant volcano on the verge of exploding from trying to a balance between feeling too much and bottling too many feelings up in order to function normally.

We settle for less than we deserve. We convince ourselves we made it, that we passed a societal expectation. But why do we have to? Why do we still have this expectation that it’s abnormal to be okay with just being alone indefinitely?

I feel like when I do very rarely in the past few years go on a date, it just feels masochistic. It’s like trying to pass over the same electric fence regardless of how many times you’ve been zapped.  It makes me feel not worth it or appreciated enough, even though while alone, I like myself very much. But if you continue to give dating a chance and it’s one disappointment after another, you’re still supposed to feel undefeated about love because people will think you failed at life if you can’t get even attract one man to stick around long enough to even consider marriage (which you don’t even feel like you need in the first place).

The worst part of being single is not the actual being single part, it’s the part where your friends become engrossed with their relationships and your friendship takes a back seat and (surprise!) you become quite aware that you are not on anyone’s mind. Hey! Remember me! Remember how we used to have so much fun together? Let’s keep doing that. And as much as I may adore your significant other, I don’t always want to be a third wheel. Let’s talk about the things we used to talk about, the other facets of your multi-dimensional life. Sometimes, I just want to hang out with you, as your own person. Don’t lose yourself.

There is something demoralizing about watching two people get more and more crazy about each other, especially when you are the only extra person in the room. 

It’s like watching Paris from an express caboose heading in the opposite direction–every second the city gets smaller and smaller, only you feel it’s really you getting smaller and smaller and lonelier and lonelier, rushing away from all those lights and excitement at about a million miles an hour.” -Sylvia Plath

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