During the summer break, at one of those routine family gatherings with all of your parent’s friends and not nearly enough alcohol, a woman said to me, in a relatively low-key manner, “You might not find another boyfriend until you’re fifty-five. And that’s okay!”

Verbatim, that is what she said.

I had just taken a sip from my glass of champagne and could physically feel the bubbles fall flat in my mouth.

She wasn’t being sarcastic. I know sarcasm. This was different, this was “I’ve lived a lot longer than you have and I could teach you a thing or two about love.”


Merry Christmas To Me!

Happy Forever-Alone Holidays!

I didn’t know what confused me more. The fact that because I was single at the moment, at 23 years old, that apparently I would have a relationship-less existence for the next THIRTY F*CKING YEARS.

Or because this woman had pin-pointed the very specific age of fifty-five as the year in which my next lover would rear his head.

What the hell happens at fifty-five?

Why has no one told me about fifty-five?! I mean, if anything I thought it would be fabulous forty that we would all take out a new lease on life, both romantically and otherwise.

But then I considered this; what if we were all told the magic age at which we would meet The One.

Capital T. Capital O.

Would you take yourself out of the dating game for your remaining years? Knowing with certainty that anybody you met – or even fell in love with – before that age, would ultimately be irrelevant? You could quite easily stay at home on the weekends, save money on lingerie, maybe learn to paint or even leave the country because Jack from Accounts clearly isn’t as perfect for you as you thought he was.

Or, would you carry on living your life in the same way you always have; meeting guys, falling in love, and then falling out of it?

Getting hurt.  Being the one doing the hurting.

Going on dates. Swiping right. Making the first move.

Getting your heart broken and then breaking a few of your own out of spite.

Because despite already knowing the outcome, you know that it will be all the failed relationships, the rejection and the disappointment that will ultimately shape the person you are when you finally meet The One. And those aforementioned mistakes will teach you what battles are worth fighting, what you value in a relationship, what you need to feel loved and cherished, and what your deal-breakers are.

I like to think I would be the latter.

I’ve always believed that you can have more than one great love in your life anyway. And I also believe that what we get in life is the direct result of what we put out into the universe, and if we put it out there with enough purpose and savoir-faire then we might just have the power to change our fate.

But also because who really wants to watch MasterChef alone?

Header image via Tumblr