Musings on What's Love Got to Do With It?
It’s a few days until Valentine’s Day, and despite a global pandemic, people are in the mood for love. That’s a good thing, a real thing, s necessary thing. Yet for the forever single folks out there, it’s potentially a triggering time of the year that began during the never-ending coupledom that is the November to January holiday season. Between Diwali, Hanukah, Kwanzaa, Christmas, Solstice, Lunar New Year, and countless other holidays, there are more than enough opportunities for nosey relatives to ask where your date is and why you’re still single. The critiques are accompanied by forced migration to the kiddy table with your adult beverage to punish you for your solo lifestyle. But before I fall into that rabbit hole (Lunar New Year pun - I was born in the year of the fire rabbit!), let’s get to the nitty-gritty of the narratives around love we never hear.
I’m going to start with myself. If you’re new to this party, I’m Grace, but those who roll like family call me (Ewura) Esi. I’ll be 34 in five whole juicy weeks, and I have never had a boyfriend, went on my first official date at 25, and have probably been on less than a dozen (romantic) dates in my entire life. Whew. Y’all, that feels pathetic just typing that. Yikes. Let’s move on because, quite frankly, that paltry romantic record is no indication of my lovability, my worth, or my potential for partnership. Although, most days, it really feels like it does.
Now that we know where we are let’s talk about how we got here. For anyone who knows me, you know I come from a strict West African family. My parents didn’t come to play games with anybody, not you and certainly not me. They ran a tight parenting play at all times, and that included dating. The family mandate (which was gendered) was that I couldn’t date until I was 20/21, nor could I attend school dances. I negotiated the former to 19 and joined the student council so I could bypass the latter altogether. Despite these restrictions on youthful shenanigans, my parents, especially my mother, never restricted my friendships with the male sex. I had tons of guy friends who I was permitted to hang out with regularly and with little supervision. As stern as my parents were, they were big on trust, especially Ma.
Plus, I was super focused as a teenage human. I noticed boys, but I was a monogamous crusher. I had to know someone well in advance before I could even look at them sideways. And by this point, I was so deep in the friend zone that I had to bite my tongue and just remain the reliable female friend. Everybody got one of these in their circle.
You know that friend. The one who has been single since before the dawn of time; has supported you in all of your relationship drama; threatens every romantic partner who didn’t do right by you; is always down to drink wine and dance dizzily with you through any heartache? Yeah, that friend. Well, that was me.
I won’t recount the stories of supposedly close friends snatching up beloved crushes or the countless times I revealed my feelings to someone for them to feign complete ignorance and occasionally annoyance (despite even their closest friends hinting at mutual feelings). I also won’t dwell too much on the number of times I became the involuntary wing-woman to someone’s pursuit. Which still happens. It’s tiring and quite frankly no longer worth my mental energy, but what I will talk about is what it feels to be years away from half your life and realize that you’ve never been in reciprocal love. I have to use that word “reciprocal” because it’s imperative to acknowledge my secretly held crush of roughly seven years. Yes, y’all read that so right, 7 whole human years. And during that time, I ebbed and flowed in the web of a person who was never going to compromise or sacrifice for me but who refused to let me go entirely. Eventually, we talked about our feelings, our past, and our potential future, but it only led to more confusion and heartache.
Eventually, he did the thing that happens to me more often than I care to admit, he simply disappeared, and I did the thing I always do-- I let him walk away.
And afterward, I felt like I did the very first time we had a significant rift in our friendship (a low key, down low close friendship that was completely unhealthy and bordered manipulative). I fell into the chasm that continued to loom between us. And from there, I began to introspect the why and what of my love life. I was 27, and by that point, I’d been teetering and tottering on the ledge of romantic hopelessness for well into a decade.
“To love someone who does not love you is like shaking a tree to make the dew drops fall.”
This was when I started to believe there was something really, really wrong with me. Every guy I liked was happy to be my best friend (in secret, mind you), but never more. I was the girl you’d watch a movie with at home but never make a move on, or meet for long walks in the park, but never get too close too—the one for sharing your darkest secrets with but never your heart.
I just couldn’t understand why these dudes couldn’t ask me out on a proper date, forget about even committing to anything. At first, people would say things about how “mature girls” such as myself struggled with teenage and early 20s dating because we are serious, stoic, and direct. Then as I slid into my mid-twenties, it became that “young career women” such as myself were just so busy that potential partners weren’t sure how they could fit into their lives. **insert eye rolls here** Then, by my late 20s, it became a critique of my “impossibly high standards” then in the early 30s, a “these men don’t know what a catch you are.”
Here in my mid-30s, I care not what air quoted reason we’re going with cause all of it is quite tired at this point. The part that is the most painful is the sympathy and concern that lead to unbalanced yet well-meaning comparisons. The friends that tell you to count your blessings because at least you avoided the mismatched and negligent partners that they had or the ones who commiserate with you because their last great relationship ended at 23. Let’s not forget the ones who are so gleefully single that they subtly shade you for wanting companionship.
Now mind you, these people are caring and kind and have been in love or are romantically loved (even when it has been insufficient). They have had the opportunity to stretch their inner workings and make room for another. They’ve also been able to play and test and push their boundaries as they learned who they were and who they wanted to be within the confines of a romantic union. Now imagine never having that emotional dexterity available to you, having no space inside of yourself to even dream about being desirable or lovable, attractive or even worthy. Now live in that space while almost everyone around you finds it, achieves it, loses it, and regains it. As people find fulfilling love and partnerships, explore their depth with another, build families, business and dreams as a unit, all while you just fall further behind.
Sometimes being almost 34 years old with no real prospects or even past prospects is daunting. It feels like standing at the mouth of an enormous cave, waiting for a flashlight so you can go in and explore. You know it’s dark in there, that it’s new terrain, but the possibilities are endless, and the way your heart beats in your chest makes you feel so excitrified (excited + terrified) that you know what awaits you will be worth it. Now imagine standing at that entrance for 18 years, just waiting for someone to call you forward so that you can finally play. Yet, never hearing your name. It’s a long and lonely time, especially when you have tried to move forward, hopefully, lovingly and willingly.
I do want to say that despite my chronically single status, there have been entanglements. Ones that at times showed great promise and yet never seemed to shift gears. There have been a few almosts that I unwittingly sabotaged because I couldn’t let my walls down, I couldn’t believe that they could genuinely be interested, and by the time I came around, they had lost interest or moved on.
That’s the thing about this “lonely single” person narrative. If you tell yourself that story, it becomes the only character you can be. And to be honest, I’d stood at the mouth of that cave for so long; I turned to stone.
But then, I hit 32, and I lost my favorite valentine, Athena. I adopted her on February 20th/21st, 2010, and I celebrated our doggieversary/adoptaversary on Valentine’s Day weekend. We always did something epic during that time. Day-long hikes, with food-filled nights. Movie marathons on the couch and breakfast for dinner. When we could, we spent the holiday on the beach, chasing birds and sunlight, laughing into the ether. I’ve never had a human valentine (outside of the obligatory ones you have in grade school). I was always the girl delivering cards and flowers to someone on behalf of someone else.
Standing on the outside looking into something that just felt so incredibly out of reach. (Disclaimer: these days, my friends do occasionally send me gifts and flowers-- cause they’re awesome.) However, with Athena, that didn’t matter. I honestly believe that she knew when it was our special weekend. She’d get all kinds of homemade and store-bought (organic and expensive) treats—every word of affirmation I could muster and sneaky hugs and sly kisses. There were never any walls with Athena— never any feelings of lost potential, only potent and uplifting togetherness. Some folks are reading this and thinking, “Sheesh, is this lady still talking about her dog?” The answer is yes, but I’ll get to my point.
With Athena around, none of these almost-boyfriend/partners fazed me after 27. I simply went inside of my heart and turned off the part of it that desired companionship so much that it felt like I would die of ache. Instead, I activated the part of me that relished routines, solitude, and independence. I fed that part of myself until I was beyond full, and when Athena died, it felt like that wholeness did too. And all that was left behind was an emaciated and broken heart that a supposedly overflowing soul had overshadowed.
But without a vessel to pour love into, I soon realized that I needed to pour into myself. I had transferred all of that want into being the best friend possible, the best doggie mom ever, the most reliable coworker, sister, daughter. I channeled and channeled and shapeshifted to fit into any space that would possibly make room for me. But I didn’t take up space. I didn’t dare make any demands. I didn’t set any boundaries. I didn’t love myself enough to step into the cave, turn on my light and search for myself.
I was so sure that I could only receive familial and platonic love that I neglected to prepare my spirit for more. I pined for more, wished for more, tried for more, yet I did not ask for more.
With no Athena, I had no choice but to take the lessons she taught me about fidelity, joy, limits, and patience and turn inward.
These days I don’t dwell too much on my dating history unless it comes up in conversation, which it inevitably does. It’s usually followed by raised eyebrows and guffaws on how it’s not possible that “someone like me” has never had a romantic partner. Then it moves into the “Well, you wanted to be single.” or “You’re probably so busy, right?” I used to entertain these interrogations with veiled answers that hid the decades of hurt. But not anymore. I try to lead with vulnerability and honesty, to share the hopes I had (and still have) for my life and the unflinching truth that it just has not happened.
I don’t make excuses, but I don’t beg for understanding either. I simply stand in my truth. No matter how sad or pathetic it may seem, it’s mine, and I am determined to be grateful for the lessons and humble about the process.
I have realized that 34 (almost) years spent alone have afforded me the rare gift of truly and fully knowing myself. I have lived an entire lifetime pursuing my dreams, chasing my passions, and exploring the layers that exist between myself and the unseen. My adventures have been whimsical, fantastical, pure, and dynamic magic wrapped up in pieces of sorrow and doubt. I have not had to compromise my exploration for anyone. This truth has been an anchor keeping me steady, even in the shakiest of times. I have been allowed to grow into a full and complex person.
I’ve still got so much reprogramming to do. I’m always so unsure about love and worthiness. So small inside of my world and so scared to let all of those walls fall. But I can’t hold on to nothing, so I must seek something. So I am on a quest for truth and awareness. And That is a journey filled with many kinds of love. I don’t want anyone reading this to offer me pity or to lament with me. I live every day hoping that I will have a great love in this mortal lifetime, but I neither hold my breath in anticipation nor count the day until it arrives. I am optimistic yet also aware that there is a version of events where it may never come.
Nonetheless, I know that I will remain whole. My existence does not hinge on romantic love, but it does require self-love. And that is what I am determined to find in this life, to make space for and achieve. I know that if I walk entirely into the cave and hold on to that absolute truth, I will manifest precisely what my soul requires.
“Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.”