Written By A Woman — Questinos

Ideas for this post have been floating in my head for who knows how long. A big part of my delay was simply depression, whether related to anything in this post or not. But I was also trying to pinpoint my purpose and focus my lens. I’ve seen others shit on their exes on Facebook and other social media, seemingly in a search for affirmation and an attempt at a public vent. That’s the last thing I wanted to do.

It came to my attention that my brother was going through a mind-occupying breakup at one point, and that’s what finally inspired this post. Breakups are far from easy. The cliché “relationships are hard” has some truth. And for the most part, nobody is exempt from any of this. The following is a bit of an autobiography, as a lot of this site is, but specific to my romantic relationships. My hope is that my reflections and catharses can bring affirmation and consolation to others who have gone through similar situations and provide hope to the discouraged.

*These events are told to the best of my memory/knowledge, with an as-objective/bias-considered-view as possible. Pseudonyms are used to protect privacy.*

My first long-term, serious relationship started at the end of seventh grade. We’ll call her Hailey. Of course this was a long time ago so details have faded from my memory. However, I do remember a good bit. I remember being my mom’s oldest child, dating the youngest of my Hailey’s siblings. I remember feeling naïve and unexperienced as it relates to dating, as may be a common feeling in most contexts for a middle-schooler. I knew her older siblings were more experienced, though, and talked to her about their experiences. This created a pressure in me to experience my first kiss, among other things. One of our most common dates was to go to the movie theatre. I have no idea what we watched, but going there felt like the thing to do. When we weren’t there, we often hung out at her house in the finished attic area.

We dated into eighth grade when my parents decided to move back to Pennsylvania. I remember packing up and having everything ready in the car. My mom gave me the opportunity to say goodbye, and I remember standing on Hailey’s porch for what seemed like both an eternity and an instant. We hugged. We cried. I remember feeling self-conscious and guilty for keeping my mom waiting, but neither of us could bring ourselves to say goodbye for what we thought would be the last time ever.

I enrolled at a school in Pennsylvania and made several friends that I still contact from time to time. Things were hard though, as it relates to romance. Hailey and I continued to text and stay in touch. I remember watching some of her favorite songs on MTV as well as other songs that reminded me of her. For some reason, I remember learning to play some shorter, easier songs on the piano…for her? Because of her? How it relates to her, I don’t remember.

After a month of being sad and cold in Pennsylvania January, we moved back to Georgia. I’m not quite sure what the tipping point was for my mom to make this decision, but I was happy to be reunited with Hailey. Things continued to grow between us until we transitioned into ninth grade, high school. This is another context where my absence of older siblings showed. My only knowledge of what high school was like was whatever Hollywood depicted at the time. Greasers. Spit balls. Anything but learning. But I’ve always felt a pressure to be a leader and set a good example for my younger siblings, so I still strove to be reasonable. Fitting in may have been one of the higher priorities.

I could tell this was one of her priorities too. I imagine this was the case for most of our then peers. One of the last interactions I remember with her while dating was in between classes: we met for a brief hello and goodbye. She was high. I don’t remember what she had used, but it wasn’t something I was interested in. Really any drugs or alcohol at that time was off the table for me. But even at my young age, I remember distinguishing the difference between her normal self and her drug use/the way she was when she was using. She was lethargic and not all there. Conversations with her were different. I only had a short amount of time in between classes to see her and I didn’t feel like it was her that I was seeing. I admit that there was probably some other fear of the unknown as it relates to addiction and other things drug-related.

Ultimately, that’s about as late as I remember. I don’t remember to what extent this was the cause of our separation or to what extent this escalated. I don’t remember who broke up with who. I could tell we transitioned into our own new friend groups and that was about it. I do know, though, that years later, maybe toward the end of my college career or possibly after, she reached back out to me. We never ended up meeting up, but I remember some conversations that involved some reminiscing, regret, and things like that. It was affirming to me to consider this person from so far in my past to pop up again and express interest, regardless of what was to become thereafter. And this wasn’t the last time that happened.

I believe it was closer to the end of ninth grade that I started dating Jess, who was in eleventh grade. Again, I don’t remember exactly how we met or what brought us to start spending more time together, but we were together right up until she graduated high school. I’d frequent the skatepark at that time in my life and so that became one place the two of us would hang out together. We also hung out at her house a good bit, and mine less frequently. One of the main things we did together, though, was Philosophy Club at my high school. I remember she had been interested in it and maybe had been a few times before we started talking. I went with her a few times, mostly just to spend time with her. But then I became interested in the club itself and before long, I had become the first male president of the club since its founding ten years prior. I was at every meeting of course, and often stood outside in the cold talking with the teacher facilitator for another two hours after each meeting. It was a great way for me to stretch my brain, reflect on life or our perception of it, etc.

Jess was pretty artistic. At least in the conventional image, she was probably the most creative girl I’ve dated. This was evident in her interest in the Philosophy Club and all the explorations it offers, as well as the numerous art classes she took in school while we were together. I think, at that age, it’s sorta hard to really know what you’re attracted to or even what activities and mindsets you identify with sometimes. Looking back, though, I think that creativity was probably a big adhesive between the two of us. I’ve never considered myself an artist as it relates to the connotation of drawing and painting, although I do enjoy that. But the skateboarding that I mentioned involves a ton of creativity. To this day, I still enjoy really tinkering of any kind. I like to write, obviously. I like to design clothing and the like. I’ve always really enjoyed coming up with substitutes for tools I didn’t have or improving the performance/aesthetic of cars in non-conventional ways.

In any case, toward the end of my relationship with Jess, she showed me a painting she’d made, sort of a caricature of herself with another guy’s name tattooed on her breast. I’m still not quite sure why she showed that part to me. Did she want me to be impressed and proud of her art…with another guy’s name in it? Was that her way of telling me we were breaking up? I remember confronting her about the tattoo and she told me it was insignificant and that people who tattoo a significant other’s name on themselves never end up together. Sure enough, they started dating. I don’t remember the final reason or conversation between the two of us, but I do remember being pretty hurt for at least a few months.

One thing I can say to that, as I’ve learned more recently, is that sometimes two people simply aren’t a good match but that doesn’t mean they’re not “good” for someone else. I definitely felt inadequate, second place, all the things when I was replaced with this other dude. And the person I’ve become today relative to the person she is today…I’m not sure we’d match at this point in time. A perfectly hand-drawn circle can be beautiful in its own way, but it’s never going to fit in an equally perfect square hole. I think this is especially important to remember anytime someone dumps you, rejects you, or anything similar.

Circling back, Jess did message me on Facebook some years later, just as Hailey did. It didn’t really go anywhere besides some lengthy, deeper conversations, but it was a good feeling to consider yet another person having dumped me and arguably regretting their decision years later.

I dated a few other girls here and there through graduation. One of whom I talked to for about 3 weeks. I don’t remember specifics on this, but I do remember her saying she didn’t like my quirky ways of spelling things phonetically rather than as written in the dictionary. Ironic because if she didn’t major in it, she minored in Spanish Literature. She was big into language; she was just more rigid and type A than I was…at least at that time. But this is another part of my creativity – I like to think outside the box and off the beaten path. I think for the most part, I’m very good at spelling, grammar, etc. I know how to use a semicolon, prepositional phrases, adverbs, and things like that. But emphasis on authoritative liberty. It’s fun to play around and do things a little differently from time to time. I could write (and I hopefully [sic 😜] will at some point) a whole other post on profanity and spelling/grammar and how we follow these unwritten, arbitrary rules simply because we suspect our audience wants us to.

Another girl told me toward her graduation (she was a year older than me, and valedictorian of her class) that she foresaw me living an unconventional life. We never officially dated or anything like that, but definitely spent some time together. And for several reasons, I did and still do respect her opinion. It’s kinda nice to think about that moment sometimes. I wasn’t really sure what she meant at that time nor was I sure on what basis this was formed, but I think there’s some truth in it and I think I like it.

The next girl I seriously dated…whew…accounts for a large chunk of my life. As long as it was, it preceded one of the calmest and most amicable separations of all my relationships. I believe it was the summer after I graduated high school, if not the year after, that we started talking and we dated for about 5 and a half years. Morgan was also about a year older than me. We’d known each other since I was in sixth grade, but we didn’t see each other that often. We went to the same church. (FWIW, I have the most memories of that church, which also made up most of my conscious-adult memories of being in a church. It was a Lutheran church and while I don’t think I was responsible for my family’s choice in denomination, I think it’s interesting that a “free-thinker” like me would spend so much time in this denomination, given the story of Luther’s 95 theses, etc.)

My mom was getting big into the VBS program at that church and ultimately came to become the Head Coordinator of the program. It seemed like she spent all year single-handedly preparing for and coordinating different pieces of this one-week program. She’d collect resources, network and research lesson plans all year long. On the one hand, I think I would’ve liked for her to put some of her efforts toward some other things, but I also really respect and admire the dedication and hard work she put into this.

Morgan and I were two of four camp counselors for my mom’s VBS program year after year. Despite knowing each other for so long but only seeing each other in Sunday School once/week max, we’d reconvene every year and spend just about all day every day together for a week straight during the VBS advent. I’d always found her pretty, but I didn’t particularly lust after her. I remember thinking this in particular, at my naïve age of 19 or so, and thinking that this lack of lust and presence in the church would probably make for a good, quality relationship. I figured I’d be into her for the right reasons and not just because I and every other teenager was just a lil hornball.

However, at the start of that year’s VBS, she was dating someone else. It sounded like they had been together for around a year, but she wasn’t happy with him. She’d vent to me about him and I’d listen. On Wednesday of that year, she told me they’d split up…and by Friday, we’d basically moved in together.

VBS was ending and maybe the thought of not seeing each other much before the next year’s reunion put some pressure on hanging out. I’m not sure. But I remember discussing a Friday night date toward the end of that same work day. I think the plan was to each go to our respective homes, shower, change, whatever, and then meet back at her house for dinner. I remember talking on her balcony for a few hours, well past sundown. When I say “one thing led to another,” I don’t mean we slept together. I mean, I do, but literally. I spent the night at her house but we didn’t have sex. We woke up the next day, a Saturday in the middle of summer, neither of us with much to do, so we just kept hanging out. At one point, I went home for maybe a toothbrush and a change of clothes and circled back. This process repeated, evolved and before I knew it, she and I were applying for our own place, just the two of us, without the roommates she’d previously had.

I’m a first generation college graduate. Another topic I could write a whole post about but for now, the significant part is that at time of high school graduation, I didn’t really know what to expect for college. It was similar to what I said about entering high school with no older siblings to forewarn me. I hate to say this, but my home life was not what I envisioned being conducive to a successful college career. I have 5 younger siblings and at the time, we were living in maybe a 3-bedroom home. All 8 of us. It did have a garage and we partitioned it into two halves to effectively create two more bedrooms, one for myself and one for my oldest brother. My parents shared a room and the youngest four split the other two by pair. It was noisy and chaotic, to say the least. It was messy, cluttered and unhygienic. The biggest thing I remember was the cat bringing in fleas from outside. Even if I found a coffee shop or something to study and do my homework, I definitely wasn’t hosting any parties or bringing any girls home.

So when Morgan and I moved in together, I have to admit I was likely subconsciously evading the alternative as much as, if not more than, making a conscious decision to live with the girl I loved. I do feel some shame and guilt about this, even though it wasn’t a black-and-white situation, but I also acknowledge that that was over a decade ago and so much of living life is learning how to do it better next time. At any age. I try not to live with regrets because I think there’s always something to be learned from even the “worst decisions,” but I like to think I’d play this out very differently if presented with the same cards today.

With such a long relationship and in such close proximity, of course we did things together. Every Saturday, her parents, brother, sister-in-law, nieces and nephews, etc would all get together for dinner and some relaxing time in the quieter backcountry. This was a nice release for me during any triathlon training I was doing at the time – I don’t know how many times I fell asleep on the porch swing out front. I don’t mean this in any negative way when I say she was more of a homebody. When we went out, it was often to thrift stores, farmer’s markets and the like. Her hobbies mostly involved staying inside: crocheting, Netflix, etc. In my early twenties, I wanted to go out and experience the world. Don’t get me wrong – it’s not that I wanted to go out and party all the time. The first-gen-graduate came from that pressure of setting an example for my younger siblings and paving the way to a better future for myself. But I did want to participate when my colleagues invited me over for an engagement party. Or when my boss and coworkers were watching football on a Saturday in Athens. Or, more regularly, I wanted to ride my bike with other cyclists and triathletes.

One thing Morgan and I did together (and I’ve always loved to do) is cook and eat. The first picture of chicken tortilla soup is the only one shown that I made while with her. The second two pix were made by a restaurant and I made the last four.

This wasn’t necessarily a point of contention between the two of us, but I do remember talking about it. Later on in the relationship, I remember her approaching me and talking about the two of us doing things I liked vs doing things she liked. I remember trying to be receptive, but also feeling like the things she liked to do weren’t particularly group activities. And the things I liked to do, while they did lend themselves to newcomers, simply weren’t things she enjoyed. I remember a classmate inviting us to his house one time – the two of us plus the rest of my cohort – to celebrate their engagement or something along those lines. Morgan initially agreed, but ultimately backed out last minute. And I don’t necessarily need to do everything with my significant other. I can understand not feeling up to it, etc. But I felt like this happened often enough and I was just out of excuses to tell my friends why I’d always show up solo. Not only was it especially frustrating to repeatedly, initially agree to go and then cancel last minute, I wanted my partner to be a part of my life and the two of us to do things together.

She had a lot of anxiety. I feel like most of us do, albeit manifested with a range of variety. I think social anxiety may have been a big one for her. Even though I was still young and inexperienced, and my philosophy club brain seemed to hibernate following graduation, I remember still being cognizant of her social anxiety and trying to understand. I did this for the majority of the half-decade relationship, despite attempting to break up with her around the one-year mark.

I remember sitting on this couch with a floral pattern over a black background. Sort of a canvas texture, found at goodwill and brought home with my newly-purchased 4-cylinder, pre-owned Nissan Frontier. I asked her why she loved me. What was it about me that had her so head over heels? She couldn’t really answer. And I know oftentimes the answer to this question can be hard to articulate. There’s a pressure to know and state quickly and exactly what you love about this person, and the deer-in-headlights almost gives the opposite effect. There’s a lot more to it, I know, but overall I think she was more in love with the relationship than with me. Keep in mind we’d basically moved in together 2 days after she broke up with her previous boyfriend. When I first asked this question, I remember her telling me she thought I was going to propose. It was quite the opposite, but I don’t know. There was the thought of not really knowing where to go, what to do if I moved out, but it was also hard for me to see her so hurt. I forget what she said, but she convinced me to stick it out and keep dating her.

I mentioned some feelings of inadequacy and wanting to prove myself earlier in life. A lot of my life has been dictated by wanting to be better than yesterday. Even in the height of any depressive episode I’ve ever had, there’s always been some growth mindset detectable in one way or another. I think Morgan’s aforementioned interest in the relationship over me personally contributed to this. 6 weeks after our breakup, she was dating her now husband. I’m not saying that the breakup wasn’t a long time coming for both of us and I that didn’t entertain other endeavors shortly after, but there were several things about this relationship that told me Morgan valued being in a relationship more than she valued being with me, and I think deep down, it made me question my own self worth.

This cycle repeated itself for another 4 and a half years. I’d bring up our potential incompatibility every few months, maybe once per year, and she’d convince me to keep going. With the stresses of being a full time student and often working 3 or more jobs simultaneously, working my ass off to be debt free as long as possible until I finally gave in and let my credit card balance roll over to the next month, staying the course just seemed like the easiest way. We’d talked about things hopefully getting better after I graduated and the diminished stresses of school alongside the influx of career-type money. Well, graduation came, and nothing really changed. I was driving almost an hour to work, working 9+ hours each day, and then driving an hour back. She was doing almost the same thing but in the opposite direction. I was still very corporate- and achievement-oriented so work was a priority for me. Of course, just as it was for my dad, work was also an escape, a distraction from whatever else life had to offer that was less than comfortable.

Late 2017 into early 2018, I was looking at this cross-country bicycling trip. Its main goal was to raise money and awareness for affordable housing, but I just wanted to bike and travel the country. I think the other two dozen adult children on the trip wanted the latter as well. We talked about how homelessness in the city looks different than homelessness in the country where the nearest library or Wal-Mart is 30 miles away and the whole trip was really eye-opening. Yet another topic I could – and should – write a whole post about. In preparation for this trip, I had to raise some money, ride some training miles, and ultimately quit my job in order to be away from it for 10 weeks over the summer. This trip was arguably a threat to my career, but more likely a threat to my relationship with Morgan. Or at least so she perceived.

Just before the trip started, I remember the two of us waking up together on a Saturday morning. Neither of us were working that day. I don’t remember what prompted it so soon after waking up, but she proposed breaking up. I said okay, and basically went back to sleep. I remember us talking about depression and other contributing factors, but this was essentially what I’d been asking for for the past four and a half years. This time I didn’t have to argue or anything like that. The lifestyle change definitely was difficult, but I knew from the beginning we weren’t destined to marry each other. I had felt trapped in the relationship, comfortable enough to stay but not free by any means to do anything else.

Stanley might no longer be my dog, but he’ll forever be my dawg

We sorted out our belongings and closed the lease on the house we were renting at the time. We had two cats and two dogs. The first dog we got together was arguably my first true love. I trained him on almost all of his tricks, walking habits, etc. We’d eat breakfast together with me dieting and tossing him the reject blueberries from my oatmeal. Morgan knew how much I loved this dog and she agreed to let me see him once I returned from my trip. We texted a little over the course of the trip but when I came back, her offer to let me see him was rescinded. She said that she was too anxious that I’d see him and want to keep him. Initially, she stipulated that we could meet in public before her new boyfriend and all these things, but ultimately I never saw him again. Her claim was that she paid for his adoption fees and all the vet bills so financially, he was her dog. While this had some truth, her parents were ultimately the ones paying for basically both of our existences. This isn’t to say that her parents did or did not deserve custody over this dog. I was largely salty at the time, and maybe for another 2-3 years, that I’d trained him so well and become so close with this dog and for none of that to hold any weight relative to the financial responsibility involved. Truthfully, I think I just missed the dog more than anything else.

This cross-country trip began on the east coast in Virginia. I met up with 23 strangers, most of whom were younger than me. We established group policies and headed out for the west coast where we’d arrive 10 weeks later. One of the other participants, Emma, was one of four “leaders” on this trip. Leaders were people that had exceeded the maximum age to be a regular rider but were still under the maximum age to be a leader. They coordinated with churches, schools, etc from previous years in order to find us places to sleep between rides. They also contacted Habitat for Humanity and similar entities for us to help build homes and work on that aspect. They facilitated group conversations and kept us in line (or tried to) when us hooligans got rowdy.

Without getting into the long-winded nitty gritty of this trip, I can say two close friends resulted. One, who’s real name is Skyler, continues to be one of my closest best friends and lives in Greenville with me. The other was Emma. We got close on the trip. We’d ride together, sleep together, etc. Of course she was a leader so she tried to keep things professional, but that became increasingly difficult the more we got attached. She’d often tell me that she didn’t want to get to get too attached partially for this reason but also because at the end of the trip, we’d each return to our respective states 500 miles away from the other. I agreed. I wasn’t terribly interested in a long distance relationship nor was I ready to move that far away.

At the end of the trip, she and I migrated from Astoria, Oregon to Seattle, Washington where her parents flew in and we all met up with her uncle. This was not the first time meeting her parents, but of course our relationship was much more developed this time around. The first time meeting them was when the group passed a town close to their residence; her two parents, sister, and male best friend all came and I was introduced to them all. Emma and I spent a week in Seattle with her parents, exploring and doing what tourists do. We had a great time. Somewhere in that final week, likely just before our final split, she told me she loved me. I said it back.

About a week before the end of the bike trip, I’d found a Miata on Craigslist for cheaper than what I thought it’d take to ship my bike and belongings back home on top of a plane ticket for myself. When Emma and her parents boarded to fly home, I drove the Miata south along the coast, wind in my hair with redwood forests to my left and open sea to my right. It was beyond surreal. One of my goals for this part of the trip was to visit San Diego and the nearby military base where I’d spent some time as a child. I wasn’t able to go on the base since I was not active in the military nor was my father who previously had been, but it was still a super cool adventure that took me nearly to Mexico before I started heading Northeast through the Grand Canyon and up toward Pennsylvania where I was born. I saw tons of cool sights. Ate tons of great food. And I met some super cool people. Some of whom were attractive women.

The Great Outdoors

To say I hooked up with any of these women I met is not the easiest thing, although I’m not entirely ashamed by it either. Yes, Emma and I had just expressed our love for the other, and we were continuing to text, but it still seemed like we weren’t hopeful to see each other any time soon. These were the feelings we had, but we weren’t adding a label or becoming exclusive or anything like that largely because of the distance. So I enjoyed my trip.

One girl I met, Chelsea, turned into a little more than a hookup. We talked for a bit in the hotel and realized we sorta liked each other. We happened to be more compatible than just two attractive faces. I finished my trip, landing at my grandmother’s house in Jefferson, GA just outside of Athens, and returned to my previous job on the south side of Atlanta.

All the while, I’m texting both girls. I had feelings for both, and both would be long distance if pursued. But Emma had basically already written me off and told me we couldn’t be anything more than a summer fling. So I put some energy into Chelsea.

Chelsea and I texted and did whatever we could to get to know each other for the next few weeks until we decided on a couple’s vacation starting in Atlanta and expanding into my home town of Athens. I wanted to show her my roots and obviously spend some time with her. She flew out and I picked her up from the airport. We spent the evening together before heading back to the AirBnB. At one point, she claimed that the homey-ness of the AirBnB left her feeling like we were moving in together and she just freaked out and pulled back. She took an early flight home the next day. We continued to talk for a little, trying to figure this out and where to go from here. She was living in Utah at the time, and I decided to fly out there and try to have a face-to-face with her. I knew even at that age that sometimes a hug is all it takes. Or something along those lines. I don’t know; I was frustrated with the limitations of text. I bought a rental car and slept in the back seat, despite it being some of the coldest weather I can remember. Never even saw her. And just to be clear, I don’t hold this against her nor do I blame any of that on her. I volunteered to fly out to see her. It’s not like she flaked on me or anything. But…She did ghost me afterwards.

I was blocked on everything for some time. And this is another opportunity I’ll take to shed light on some common concepts. In my opinion, one of the few reasons I’d block someone is if I’d asked them to stop contacting me and they didn’t. If I had clearly communicated what I needed from them and they didn’t respect that, then I would take it into my own hands and have my needs met. This wasn’t the case with Chelsea. I wasn’t blowing up her phone or anything like that. She was just freaked out. This is when I re-entered the “philosophy club brain” and started learning about attachment theory. Six years later, she continues to admit to an avoidant attachment style, which essentially means she runs away from solid, safe relationships because the unfamiliarity of them is scary. Of course there’s more to it than this, but that’s the takeaway here. And one thing I’ve regrettably found to have some truth is: the more perfect I am for someone, the faster they run away. Sounds cocky out of context, but I think this has often been the case for me and my relationships.

At some point, Chelsea reached back out to me. I’m not quite sure what prompted it, but the scare of us being together forever dissipated and she began to feel more comfortable talking to me. Once this happened, though, I was more invested in Emma and could no longer entertain much with Chelsea. Chelsea went on to date other guys, sometimes circling back and texting me late at night, asking if things would be different between the two of us had she not run away that time in Atlanta. Most of the times she’d send a text like this, I’d try to ignore it until the next day lest she was intoxicated. That was often her excuse, but I think the more important part is that she wasn’t getting along with her then current boyfriend. She wanted the affirmation that someone else would love her better and treat her better than she was currently being treated. More recently, she broke up with this dude of 3-4 years, and I went out to see where her head was at.

The trip started in her city but was largely an homage to the part 2 cross-country trip I took in 2018. I wanted to get away from the day to day and just experience some things out of town. The trip was largely for myself but could have started anywhere. My starting point was very intentional: I wanted to see her.

I landed on a Thursday night. I told her at least a month ahead of time, if not two, what my specific dates would be. I told her I’d like to go car shopping while she was at work that Friday, but then I wouldn’t really have any plans the rest of the weekend if she wanted to hang out. I’d plan to stay in the same city for at least that long. I forget what day it was, but when it came down to it, she told me she was no longer available Friday night into Saturday morning as she’d be hanging out with this other guy she was talking to. I was taken off-guard because I’d assumed it was too soon after her recent breakup for her to feel comfortable entertaining anyone else, yet here she was sounding like she was going to spend the night with this guy. She ended up not seeing him that Friday but rather getting coffee with him Saturday morning before seeing me for a few hours. When I walked in to the house she was dog-sitting at, she greeted me with the dog in one hand and a side-hug with her other. It felt very intentional. And it was frustrating. Like I said, I wasn’t there to date her or even necessarily hook up. I was trying to keep my expectations low. But I knew that over the previous six years, we’ve had some deep conversations and she’s reached out to me with what sounded like interest more than once. I just wanted to see if it was an option. She’s still very physically attractive and I think there’s a lot of personality traits that are also attractive, but I’m arguably more against a long-distance relationship now than I was when we first met. And I didn’t think either of us were ready to move to another city, so I sorta expected this to not really go anywhere.

Still, though, the distance wasn’t the reason for our lack of engagement and that’s the frustrating part. We talked about it a little and she continues to feel avoidant, despite me being very laid-back in my approach to her, at least relative to when we actually were considering a relationship, etc. Yet another instance of a perfect circle not matching a perfect square. Maybe even a perfect circle not matching a perfect oval, the latter of which simply not being ready for a perfect circle. It’s a terribly frustrating situation.

Circling back to Emma, she and I dated long distance, off and on, for three years. It was possibly one of the most toxic times of my life. Shortly after our bike trip, she sent me a longer email with a bit of a confession of her love. She acknowledged how she was initially hesitant to indulge because of her position as a leader on the trip. She listed a few attractive characteristics that apparently persuaded her to overlook this, the geographic distance between us, etc.

Unfortunately, this was just after I had sorta agreed to invest in Chelsea more. I tried to be receptive and reciprocal while still being cognizant of our situation. I’ve never been the kind of person to want to cheat on anyone. I’m sure there have been times where lines have gotten blurred, including this one, but by and large I try to keep things as clean as possible.

I told Emma about Chelsea, and she got the impression I was cheating on her. I didn’t want to let Emma become second place or a best replacement after Chelsea ghosted me, but I couldn’t really entertain that while Chelsea and I were talking. I was interested, but Emma had pretty strongly given me the impression over more than one occasion that she couldn’t be available. When Chelsea ghosted me and Emma sent me that email around the same time, the transition to Emma seemed like the thing to do.

Months went by of Emma breaking up with me and us getting back together again, each time her largely referencing me being a cheater and how she just couldn’t get over that. I tried responding in as many ways as I could think of. I tried to explain my perspective and help her understand that the timing was such that I was never “with” either person at the same time. I tried apologizing and just taking blame. I knew that such a situation for her to be in surely isn’t easy and would take time to process, understand, and cope with.

She continued to throw out reasons for our incompatibility, each time with me “disproving” her. What I mean by this is, she’d say we can’t be together because of xyz, but then I’d remind her of a time she said that same xyz is attractive, or something along those lines and at least explain how this was confusing to me. She’d always concede and agree that I was right in saying we should be together.

I drove up up to see her countless times. Every holiday, birthday, and second weekend it seemed. 8-10 hours in the car, a day or two with her, then 8-10 hours back. She visited me once or twice, but often talked about how she had to find an excuse to tell her parents for why she was gone. There was more to it at the time, specifics I don’t currently remember that made this seem plausible.

Finally, a year and a half into the relationship, she told me the real reason she couldn’t commit to me was because of her male best friend, Ryan. Apparently they had dated for six or seven years, something like that, from the time she was 17. He was 30 at that time. She explained how they met and how the age difference was justified, all that. But she didn’t feel that they were right for each other, so they broke up and didn’t speak for a year. After that year, they reconnected and have been best friends ever since. She’d frequent his house, seemingly every day just to watch TV…or so she said. She told me that they hung out often and were close close friends but nothing more. But she couldn’t tell him about me because he wanted more and if she said she was dating someone else, he’d take it personally and be upset.

When she first told me this, I was nothing more than supportive. I was grateful that she’d finally come clean and I was hopeful that this new information could help us get on the same page and work together as a team. I told her that I was willing to help her find a way to tell him about us in a way that was considerate to all, and I was also willing to skew the story in a way that wouldn’t hurt him. I was ready to stop arguing about problems that didn’t exist and finally start attacking the real problem together as a team. In that same conversation, she asked me if we were getting married. I think there was a hint of joke in the question, but I mention it because I don’t feel like she treated me as a casual hookup for 3 years. She told me she loved me and all these serious things, ultimately breaking up with me every 8 weeks and getting back together for two before breaking up with me again.

In 2020, I started getting more serious about running a full Ironman Triathlon. I had tried once before at the end of 2018 with that cross-country trip not being the workout I’d anticipated. This time I was serious. COVID and quarantine were in full effect so I had few to no distractions. I told her she’d fall in that category largely because I couldn’t stand to be broken up with every other month and spend 6 hours on the couch texting her reasons not to break up with me. I had been through that too many times before and I wanted to focus on training. Of course this was hurtful to her, but it didn’t change much. She’d pop up in my life every two months or so. I was using Tinder etc just to have a little fun outside of training, some connection, physical touch, conversation, whatever it amounted to. But I wasn’t looking for anything serious. I knew there was too much going on to consider that.

After the race, I moved to Indiana to try to focus on her/us. It wasn’t but a few weeks after the race that I had all my stuff packed and moved into an AirBnB that I ended up staying in for 3 or so months. Emma and I weren’t exactly talking at that time, so I had to come up with a way to tell her I was in town and ready to focus on us. I had previously wondered what the relationship would look like if we’d lived in the same city rather than 500 miles apart. At that point, I was pretty convinced it wasn’t going to work regardless, but I didn’t want to look back in 10 years and wonder what would’ve been had we been closer together. Within a few months, I had my answer.

Bloomington AirBnB

Somewhere in here, I want to add something I did once that I don’t talk about often, but should because it’s affirming to me that I at least have traits of a good partner. Emma would frequently complain of nightmares, night terrors, and other daytime anxieties. During one of the many times I visited her in her hometown, I got to witness, in person, her experiencing a night terror while I was sleeping next to her. She was still asleep, but clearly distraught and vocal enough to wake me from my sleep. In my half-asleep state, I had to be quick in contemplating how to respond. I didn’t know what she was dreaming about and worried that if I hugged her, she may perceive that in the dream to being grabbed and restrained or something along those lines. The only thing I could think of was just to kiss her, thinking that surely she’d perceive that to be a positive gesture, even if not from me, in her dream. Sure enough, she relaxed. But the next day, she told me she was dreaming about the devil and demons. Never, not once, did she talk about fears related to either of these. That combined with her demeanor suggested it wasn’t the cliché “demons” that she was dreaming about; in retrospect I’ve only suspected it was something related to Ryan and she, yet again, gaslit me into believing something else.

Similarly, she’d always loved cinnamon rolls since I’d first met her. She did have a pretty sensitive stomach and was constantly changing her diet in efforts to mitigate symptoms, but for years she’d always spoken positively about cinnamon rolls. Later on in the relationship, I tried to buy her a protein powder that was flavored like cinnamon rolls. Of course I did my research and tried to find a brand that didn’t include in its ingredients any of the things she was trying to omit from her diet. When I gave it to her, she all-of-a-sudden claimed that she didn’t like cinnamon rolls. And then added this to the bag of examples of me not listening.

As I settled into town, we hung out, trying to transition from what had previously been “baecation mode” to more everyday living. Still, she acted like she was afraid to allow me into her life, afraid to let her community know about my existence. All I wanted to do was be there for her and figure this shit out.

Finally, we had a conversation at my apartment on a Tuesday after she postponed our week-long-planned date on Monday to hang out with Ryan. Honestly, I don’t remember specifics, but I feel like it involved her prioritizing Ryan over me once again and her ultimately saying she didn’t want to be with me. This was the last time we were together as a couple. Within a few days, I had everything that she’d given me – everything that I owned that reminded me of her – put in a box with her name written in big Sharpie. I knew of a time she was visiting Ryan, so I brought the 3x3’ box there and left it by her car for her to find when she left. Apparently, Ryan walked her out and also saw the box. I didn’t intend for him to see it and for him to feel hurt, but I’m not mad that it happened that way. I’d long felt that if she cared so strongly about this person, then she’d be honest with him. And if he cared about her, he’d be happy for her that she’d found someone that made her happy, etc. If nothing else, he deserved to know that she’d been lying behind his back for three years.

I’m not really sure what happened to their relationship after that, but I know that she also moved to Utah. I did not see her or even reach out to her in my most recent trek out that way. We’d talked a time or two following this last schism, but I’ve known for certain since then that we’re not for each other. She put me through what I call the bootcamp of relationships. I was constantly spinning my wheels trying to figure out what was wrong with this dynamic and how we could make things work, only to find out everything she’d ever said was a lie. I researched neurodivergences that may apply to either of us: bipolar disorder, imposter syndrome, anhedonia, anxiety, depression, all sorts of shit. I wanted to be there for her. I wanted to understand how her brain thought and provide whatever the hell it was that she needed. When we first met, she introduced me to the concept of being “good enough,” something I didn’t believe I was. At the time, such a novel concept really hit me, but she ironically pushed me to be “better” than the previous “good enough” as it seemed I never was for her. As hurtful as that tenth of my life was, I now feel confident in my listening skills. My empathy. My understanding. I know I’m not perfect and even in my areas of strength, I still make mistakes from time to time. But for the most part, I take pride in my listening skills. I’m not a mind-reader, but it definitely felt like she expected me to be so I made every effort to be as close to that as I could.

Now that I was certain Emma and I would not end up together, I was free to explore other options. I had a job in Indiana, 500 miles away from really anything else I knew. The job, initially, was not my first choice, but it grew on me. The schedule worked for me. The pay was the highest I’d had only second to working contract. The staff was generally a good fit for me.

But that was about all I had there. I’d joined a gym for a few months and enjoyed parts of it, but the sense of community just wasn’t there. The open gym times for people who wanted to get in a little extra beyond the standardized classes didn’t exist. I cleaned their bathrooms, etc in exchange for a discount on my membership, but it felt like I was neither a valued member nor a staff. My opinion was worthless. Any suggestion I offered was always shot down or ignored, 100% of the time. Even things like buying a $5 bag of salt to minimize the slip risk in the parking lot when the Indiana winters iced it over. I was easily in the top 10% of athletes at that gym in terms of fitness – agility, coordination, balance, all that. And I still had a hard time staying upright in that parking lot. Had someone less able-bodied than me fallen and broken their hip, that $5 bag of salt would be the regret of a lifetime.

Love how my body looked during training.

Some time during my frequent treks to Indiana and back, I stopped in Greenville, SC where Skyler had been living for some time. We got lunch at this taco spot and the girl at the register, Renae, became a topic of conversation between the two of us for the next year. She had this tattoo around her thigh that made her stand out. I think I had been on a run before meeting Skyler, so I didn’t have my ID on me. When I ordered a beer, Renae joked with me about not having my ID. I don’t remember specific semantics but I do know it felt flirty. And she was hot af. Like, top 5 at least. Easily, definitely one of the most attractive women I’ve ever met. Put Instagram models to shame. Skyler loved eating at this place so he’d go in fairly frequently and report back any time he saw “the girl with the tattoo.”

I didn’t think much of her for a long time. She was several hundred miles away. I knew nothing about her besides she was flirty and attractive. But, there was a time Skyler and I wanted to get lunch at the restaurant she worked at on a day their website said they were closed. I messaged their Instagram account to confirm and when I realized they were, in fact, closed, I proceeded to ask about the girl with the thigh tattoo. They forwarded my tactful inquisition to her and she reached out. We talked via DM for some time before facetiming, exchanging numbers and all that.

Abraham Lincorn. I always loved Renae’s sense of humor. She had countless plays-on-words like this. George Squashington. Alluvit.

I wasn’t particularly looking for a long-distance relationship after going through what I’d just gone through, but she was irresistible. My perfect match. The expression “someone who can do both” was an understatement. She was sexy. Classy. Professional. Playful. Flirty. Freakin everything. The way she kept her nails. And makeup. Beautiful without it just the same. Her posture, mannerisms, demeanor. She and I both shared similar views on exercise and physical fitness as well as diet, etc. Seemed like religion and politics matched as well, which seems to seldom do. We talked about having kids, how to raise them, as well as other implications for our future. My therapist even said more than once that we seemed to match one another word for word. She seemed perfect for me, and seemed to think the same was true about me for her.

Toward the beginning of our relationship, we discussed our previous exes and other traumas. I wanted to get an idea of what I was getting into. What were reasons her previous relationships failed and if she was ready to handle the reasons my previous relationships had failed. She told me her immediately previous relationship ended when she literally woke up one morning and realized how much of a curated-for-him version of herself she’d become, and she broke up with him pretty cold turkey. She told me he cried and all the things. This was a big red flag for me. We talked about attachment theory. I told her I was very, very skeptical and hesitant to pursue anything with anyone having an avoidant attachment. She insisted hers was anxious.

Renae’s idea of cute was also my idea of cute. She loved opossums, raccoons, capybaras and all the associated memery. I made her this little honeycomb monster shortly before things ended.

For what it’s worth, anxious attachment isn’t the same as having anxiety, which I later suspected she understood to be my question. Sure, she had anxiety, but not like Morgan or Emma had. Not like other people I’d met. No more than the average human. She seemed to be pretty grounded, well-rounded, and just the epitome of a perfect person. I remember asking her what the catch was. Why was she so perfect? What was I overlooking?

She basically turned the question back on me and asked the same thing. She thought so highly of me. As much as we talked about my exes that’d left me with trauma and anxiety as it relates to any subsequent endeavor, she told me she was glad they broke up with me because it freed me up to be with her. She spoke all the love languages. She’d often send little care packages with fun little nothings and hand-written notes in the mail. Since we couldn’t see each other in person every day, we facetimed every morning and every night. I took her on dates to my favorite restaurants via Skype or whatever app we used. I wasn’t going to let distance come between us.

Of course, we also saw each other in person. I’d drive down to my hometown of Athens to teach lifeguarding classes and she’d meet me there for the weekend. There was a time I had to attend a class in Tennessee to recertify my lifeguarding instructor certification and I invited her to tag along. It was a 5-hour drive for her, reportedly the furthest she’d ever driven. I remember her mentioning that to me and trying to be grateful for her effort, but also feeling like I maybe could have been more clear in my appreciation.

The time in Tennessee was overall a great time, although we weren’t able to have sex because she was on her period that weekend. I know that sentence as a standalone statement is enough to get me canceled by many. I like to consider myself a feminist and as aforementioned, an innovative free-thinker who doesn’t limit myself to the beliefs of yesterday. But I have a thing for blood. As embarrassing as it is to say, I damn-near pass out any time I get a shot at the doctor. I pricked my finger a few months ago to do some home blood tests and had to lay down for a second. I don’t like needles nor blood. I know so much of it is in my head and a lot of it is subconscious, the way my vagus nerve responds to the thought of these things. I talked to her about this in the hotel room. We were both naked in the bathroom, physically exposed. She sat on the toilet and cried while I sat on the edge of the bathtub and held her. I told her that I don’t think she’s gross or anything like that and I would like to view this situation the same way she does. “I am working on it, but I’m not quite there yet.” I assured her it wasn’t personal or anything like that.

Sometime after, we were talking on the phone as we did pretty much daily. She told me something had happened and she discussed it with her best friend, Abby. Following this discussion, they concluded that this thing that had happened was something I should know. She had approached me with an air of guilt as if she had done something wrong and was confessing to something. She told me that when her male roommate moved in, they went out and partied and got hammered. Okay, no big deal. You got wasted. It happens. Glad you had a good time. But then she started to give me details. She got so wasted that she smoked a cigarette and peed in her closest, obviously things she’d never do. Again, I wasn’t too disheveled by this. Yeah, she may have gone overboard but it sounded like she was safe and none of her actions directly impacted me. Sounded like she had a good time. I remember feeling a little nervous about what she was about to say and maybe hoping that each time she said one of these things that that was it. I’d interject and assure her that it was no big deal and she didn’t have to apologize to me or anything like that.

“Baby, I’m still talking.” I instantly felt shame and regret. I was interrupting her. And I’m definitely someone who likes to be heard so being interrupted has always been a pet peeve of mine. I acknowledged her statement, apologized, and tried to remain silent as she got through what was so difficult for her to say. Ultimately, she told me that an old coworker of hers showed up at the bar they were at and she ended up making out with him. She told me that she remembers none of it but that her roommate relayed this information to her the next day.

She also told me that this person spent the night at her house but when she woke up, he was on the couch. She and I discussed whether she thought she slept with him and she was confident that she hadn’t. I told her that simply making out with someone isn’t the end of the world and I don’t need to feel upset about it. If anything, I’m more grateful and subsequently trusting of her that she’d come to me with this information. How difficult it must be to say this to someone you care so much about. It would’ve been a million times easier just to overlook it and let it ride in the past and forget about it. But she valued and respected me and our relationship that much that she wanted to come clean. I was more attracted to her than upset.

We continued to date and just live the “power couple” life. I remember she’d had a bad day and I looked online for over an hour to get her flowers delivered same day. Of course she was impressed with this and thanked me accordingly. Speaking of flowers, I remember a time I was visiting her in Greenville and she showed me one of her favorite restaurants. When we left, we noticed a brick wall covered in vines and flowers out back. She stopped and gave me one, but she didn’t say anything. I think my absence of previous experiences receiving flowers had me so thrown off, I really thought she just wanted me to hold it. I didn’t say “thank you” because I didn’t know it was for me. But looking back, it definitely was and I’ve always regretted not noticing and acknowledging that sooner.

I remember meeting her parents. She told me that it had been a while since she introduced a significant other to her parents. That made me feel special and like I had done something right, something exemplary over her previous exes that let her feel comfortable doing so. I remember hanging out with her in several neighboring cities and doing all sorts of stuff. One of my favorite memories was just north of Greenville. We laid in a small patch of grass and picked four leaf clovers. This was something that she’d done often. Seemed like she’d found at least one every day for over a year. At one point, I applied to be a Guinness Book of World Records Judge to verify her find as the most consecutive days finding a four leaf clover. The time in this patch of grass…we collectively found over 30 four-leafed clovers. Most of them were found by her, but I took credit for a handful of them. I remember posting on my Instagram story that “no one man should have all this luck,” an allusion to Kanye West referencing Malcom X when he said “no one man should have this power,” but also feeling so incredibly lucky to be with this truly amazing person. Every relationship generally starts in honeymoon phase and feels “different.” But this different felt different. It was incredible.

Until it wasn’t. She circled back to her confession from before. We were talking on the phone again but this time, she admitted to sleeping with this guy. She said it less in a tone of confession and guilt-fueled apology and more in the tone of this guy took advantage of her. She told me about the text he sent her that admitted to them hooking up and how disgusted she was with him. I asked her if she thought she was drugged, raped, etc and she said no to all of it. She said she didn’t want to get STI tested or press charges even though she said she felt very uncomfortable with this person. Though I didn’t ask, she didn’t want to show me the texts between this guy and I assumed it was the mature thing to do – this was between us and I didn’t need to know who this guy was. It wasn’t going to happen again and there was no reason for me to know this person. I didn’t need to talk to him or anything like that.

After hearing her say she was crossfaded, I worked in a bar for several other, bigger reasons, but this allowed me a broader view of how people behave when they’re intoxicated. I started drinking a lot more. Started smoking weed for the first time in my life where 2-3 years prior, I was so supplement-averse I didn’t even use caffeine. I know people are different, but I have never, not one single time, been so intoxicated that I would’ve slept with anyone other than my partner, and that question is in my brain every single time I get more than buzzed. My quest for understanding even had me sell drugs for a short time - while I haven’t personally used molly or cocaine, I’ve been plenty exposed to people who have and can attest that these drugs have not shown to be an excuse for cheating on your partner. Between invalidating these substances as an excuse for such, and the effects they have on a person’s body and mind, I’ve been extremely depressed and discouraged ever since.

She said that while she doesn’t think she was drugged, she was cross faded. She was drunk on alcohol and high on weed. There was a lot of uncertainty in my brain. A lot of intrusive thoughts and suspicion. I wanted to trust and believe her, but our relationship was still relatively new, albeit deep and serious. I tried so hard to recognize that if anything, I was a secondary victim where she was the primary. I may have been cheated on, but there was no certainty. I wanted to believe that she was assaulted.

In my anxiety and intrusive thinking, though, I shared with her my then-current viewpoints on weed. I was still relatively new to drinking (really only started drinking when I was 25 on that bike trip, and even then was still minimal) and had even less experience with THC. I wanted to come up with a plan to help keep me, her, and our relationship safe in the future. Sounded like being cross-faded was her reason for this happening, so I proposed decreasing the use of weed.

Of course this sounded like an attack on her decisions. In my retrospective mind, it almost felt as if I was saying, “Oh you were raped in a dark alley? You shouldn’t have been wearing those promiscuous clothes.” I’d like to think in any other circumstance, I’d never have said anything remotely close. But I was scared. I know my emotions can get the best of me when triggered. As emotionally mature as I’d like to consider myself, I also think that’s somewhat human. I didn’t know to what extent I could trust her and I wanted to know that I could. I told this story to anyone and everyone who would listen and several came back saying she cheated on me. I was so quick to shoot them down. I’d get angry at them. She wouldn’t have told me about this if she had cheated on me. She was too good to me to cheat on me. She loved and respected me too much to cheat on me. There was nothing I did to deserve or warrant being cheated on.

We kept dating for some time, maybe a month or so after all this. Toward the end, I could feel her pulling away. I asked her if she wanted to be with me and she said that she did wish I was there with her on her couch. I told her that’s not what I meant. The conversation evolved; I could tell she was evading my real question. She didn’t want to be with me. Over the next week or so, she tried to process and send me some longer emails sort of explaining what was going on in her mind. She reiterated several times that it was nothing I did. She pulled the whole “it’s not you, it’s me” thing. I’ve wondered if there was some shame or fear of disappointment (she did confess was her biggest fear later on) that she was dealing with internally which is especially unfortunate and compounded since I wasn’t terribly upset with her. She said that at the start of our relationship, everything was picture perfect and beyond imaginable…but then she started to notice issues.

She never could really specify what these issues were. Over time, I’ve started to believe the only issue there was was that she cheated on me. It took me a long time…like two years after our breakup…to believe this. And I’m still not even super certain. That’s part of what makes it hard to accept and move on – I don’t know what truth there is for me to accept. I know that I sorta went silent for a few weeks after we broke up until I was able to leave my then-current job and move to Greenville. When I told her I was in town, she initially shot me down. I sent her a long text with an apology for challenging her beliefs and for really everything I could think of.

I wanted it to be my fault. Even though she said it wasn’t, I thought that if it was, I could apologize and take blame, make improvements and change the narrative. I asked her to meet face to face. She’d usually decline, but one day texted me that she’d seen me at Chipotle getting a meal with Skyler. I never saw her, as she did say she didn’t come inside. She also had my location at that time, though, so I’ve always wondered if this was a true chance encounter or if there was some intention behind her whereabouts.

After seeing me there, she said that this left her feeling more ready to see me face to face and have a conversation with me. We did. It was too easy to talk about our lives and just catch up on all the things. Work, her friends, her dog, etc. But eventually she pulled it out of me. We started talking about us and our relationship. She told me that this dude she’d slept with was now in rehab and wasn’t an issue any way you cut it. I reiterated my apologies and she seemed to be receptive. I thought we were on the same page and could maybe reconnect.

Over the next few weeks, we texted day in and day out. When we were together, she used to call me Sunshine. This name was used over text after we broke up. I also remember telling her while we were together that I was a lucky leprechaun to find her and her four-leaf clover affinity. She made a comment in my first few months in Greenville about me being a leprechaun. It felt like she was alluding to some of the ways we’d flirt when we were together. I sent her a picture of a sunset with horses in the foreground and compared the beauty to her, saying a thousand of those sunsets couldn’t compete. She told me I always knew how to make her smile.

Things were starting to feel like we were rebuilding. She was flirting with me. We were talking all the time. I knew we weren’t in a committed relationship so I was cautious not to ask or expect too much of her. She didn’t feel comfortable meeting with me in person until one day she “happened to be” at a coffee shop about a hundred yards from where I was, again with her having my location, and she texted me. We sat outside and really just shot the shit. I ate it up, even if it was short-lived.

Those were the only two times I’ve seen her in person since living in Greenville. There was once I saw her driving but she didn’t see me. The absence of in-person interactions left me feeling like I had a million things to say and talk about with her - someone who’d previously related to and connected with me on such a deep level - but was being forced to limit my communication to text. The messages grew longer. At one point, she sent me a video of her response and talked about how that was easier than sending a long text. To me, it was nice to see her face and hear her voice, and it told me that she was looking for ways to make communicating with me easier. I sent some similar video recordings, and also asked her if she’d prefer not to receive long text messages. Was it the effort involved in typing them or was reading them a challenge as well?

She never answered this question. Things evolved and I remember asking so many questions. You flirt with me; how do you feel when I flirt with you? How does it make you feel when I call you beautiful? Do you want me to text you every day or do you prefer some space? What do you need? What boundaries are you setting for me to happily respect? I was trying to get clear on where we were. I even suggested possible responses that she could more-easily “thumbs-up” or “thumbs-down,” one of which was that she simply didn’t have an answer and didn’t know how to respond. I’d hardly ever get so much as even an acknowledgment, which only further perpetuated the questions in my brain. This limbo bullshit went on for a solid six months and I was growing weary.

At one point, she finally told me that she has a response to a lot of my questions, but I probably won’t like the answer. I remember I was with my therapist when I received this text, and she told me even she felt anxiety about that. What answer could she possibly have? I mean, this was basically a recipe for every unfavorable possibility to enter my mind. This was anything but helpful.

I was worried that she was going to say something Emma would say to me, so my anxious inner child responded in a similar way. I sent her a long text and tried to anticipate every negative she could say, and then negate it. In saying she had an answer for me, her reason for not saying it then was that she was sick and couldn’t focus on it at that time. I knew my response was lengthy so I preceded the whole thing in not only acknowledging her fatigue but also assuring her that she didn’t have to read or respond until she was ready. That’s the whole purpose behind text as a medium.

Of course she texted back the next day and said that this has to stop. She reminded me she was sick and despite saying this, still opened her phone to a long text from me. I felt this attack was unfair of her as I had asked several times what it is that she wanted and I never felt like she would answer the question. I can’t meet your needs or respect your boundaries if you don’t state them. Plus, I wasn’t blowing her phone up or anything; I sent some length but with a stated and overt absence of expectation for response, timeliness, etc. Not to mention the headspace she’d put me in with her warning of something coming that I didn’t want to hear.

After she messaged me that “this,” – whatever that referred to – has to stop, she blocked me. Ran an obstacle course race that following weekend and placed fourth in her age group, if I recall, despite being “sick.” But that’s besides the point. Communication with who was once the “love of my life,” the “luckiest girl alive,” making me the “luckiest guy alive,” all was now gone. Of course I was hurt, but she’d seized control. There was nothing else I could do. I was especially confused because if challenging her toward the end of our relationship was the issue, then I don’t know what happened the six months following because the dynamic was totally different and didn’t lend itself even to that possibility. All I wanted to do was be there for her, including primarily understanding her headspace and how she wanted me to behave. I tried to “just be myself,” but it feels like anything I did was wrong.

When we’d originally broken up, she said she just wasn’t ready. I’m a big believer that nobody decides the timeline (of readiness, processing, recovery, etc.) besides the person feeling the feelings. Especially since I couldn’t do much else, I gave her some space in as many opportunities as I could. Several months after she blocked me, her birthday arrived. I had previously subscribed to a Sephora membership program, listing her birthday as mine so that they’d send me free makeup on her birthday. While I wasn’t able to capitalize on this free gift, I did want to do something for her. I wanted to not only celebrate and acknowledge her special day but also let her know I was still thinking about her. I didn’t ask for anything, trying to understand if she still wasn’t “ready.” But I wanted to let her know that I was if she was.

The restaurant she’d worked at when I first first met her…she was working there part time that year. Very part time, like, not even being scheduled but rather picking up shifts when able. She had her full time job where she partially worked at a desk in a building and partially at home. I wasn’t able to text her happy birthday and I definitely thought she deserved more than a simple text anyway. But I wasn’t about to show up at her house or her full time job. I thought about going to the restaurant that she’d worked at, but didn’t really suspect she’d want to see me in person. It had been some months since we last talked at all, much less about her work schedule, so I didn’t really know when she would be there, if at all.

Still, though, I wanted to play it safe. I had been spending a lot of time with another recent Greenville transplant, Lisa, and she knew my story. She knew how much I cared about this girl and how badly I wanted things to work. I asked her if she’d deliver a birthday present to Renae for me. I had been avoiding – and still do largely avoid any place Renae frequented or introduced me to, including that breakfast spot with the flowers, the clover-picking spot, the mall, her entire side of town. I’m constantly wondering when and where I might run into her and what I’d say/do if I did.

I did, actually, recently see her walking down the sidewalk while I was driving. I slowed down to confirm it was her. I said her name through the window. She looked at me, facially acknowledged my existence and then quickly returned her attention to her phone. She clearly still didn’t want to talk to me. Not that I expected her to. I didn’t really know what to say, but I think if I lived that day again, I might tell her that it doesn’t have to be this way. I’m not necessarily asking for us to get back together or anything like that, but some clearer communication on her part could have prevented a lot of this. I don’t like feeling like a perceived villain.

In any case, while I still haven’t eaten at that restaurant, I did drive Lisa to the parking lot a few days before Renae’s birthday. I tried to tell myself I shouldn’t be uncomfortable to exist at a restaurant, but I definitely was. I’d boxed up a grain free, gluten free, diet-friendly homemade chocolate cake for Renae and included alongside it several other little nothings I thought she’d like. I included a hand-written card for her explaining what was inside as well as wishing her a happy birthday. I wrote her name on the outside of it and while I waited in the car to ensure Renae’s privacy, Lisa walked it inside and reportedly handed it to a manager. I never heard anything after, not even a confirmation that she’d received it.

I know a lot of people ghost and ignore others to convey the message that they’re not interested. I’ve long thought this is extremely immature, lazy, afraid, etc. Another thing Renae assured me of when we first started dating is that she agrees with my sentiment and would never do me like that. That said, I could only assume she hadn’t received my birthday gift. Regardless, I was still sorta hoping her “unreadiness” would eventually change. Not ready today doesn’t mean never ready.

Christmas was coming up and I wanted to wish her a Merry Christmas. I got cold feet and missed the opportunity. I started to but just felt like she didn’t want to hear from me. My birthday was the following month; I didn’t contact her for anything related to that either. I believe it was shortly before Valentine’s Day that I did reach out, albeit unrelated. I sent her an email. I just wanted to let her know that I was still thinking about her. I was still there. Again, I wasn’t necessarily asking for anything but wanted her to know that I still supported and loved her. Even though I was incredibly hurt, I wanted to be there for her.

No response. Of course. Later that summer, maybe 6 months or so, I don’t know, I reached out for the final time. I’ve heard of people using Venmo, CashApp, etc to send a penny or a dime just so they can use the note section to ask if they can talk…but I’d only heard of this after this final attempt. Ironically, the memes I’ve seen that talk about this laugh at the small dollar amount being sent. Like why even send money at all? The main purpose is to ask the question, and any microscopic dollar amount attached to that question almost attaches a similarly low, laughable value on that conversation. You’re gonna send me 10¢ for a conversation? You must be joking.

But again, this was before I’d heard any of that. Still, I knew that a dime would make a statement I wasn’t trying to make and I wanted her to know I was serious. I Venmo’ed her $1,000 and asked if we could talk face to face. She sent it back the next day, saying “no,” and then blocked me on Venmo. Now I could assume she probably did get my birthday gift as well as the email and simply still wasn’t feeling ready to communicate with me. Even for $1,000, this girl couldn’t give me closure. She couldn’t stand to have a conversation with me and help me understand what the fuck was going on in her brain. As much as I had been hurting and as much as I wanted clarity, a band might as well have been a dime in my eyes.

A few days following this, someone messaged me on Instagram. A guy. I assume it was her then-current boyfriend; I don’t really know. He told me that I need to leave her alone and that I was scaring her. Initially, I responded about as maturely as I could think, saying that I didn’t mean to scare anyone and that I had no more plans to reach out, etc. Later on, though, my mind spun about this conversation. Why couldn’t I have a conversation with the dude she slept with but this guy gets to pop up and tell me what I need? $1,000 is your idea of scary?? Yes, it suggests I’m serious, but I don’t see how it suggests I’m harmful. C’mon.

What’s worse, her bestie posted an Instagram story lasting several minutes, putting me on blast, calling me a stalker and all these things. Told all her followers that “I’m dangerous.” Not only that, but she mentioned where (she thought) I worked and where I was living, a house I’d only been in for two months total, maybe one month at that time of this post. How did they even know this?? I hate to attack Renae for having a victim mentality, but this seems consistent with the whole cheating thing. She cheated on me, refused to admit to cheating as well as assault, and then blocked me when I wanted to understand what she needed. When I wanted to forgive (if she even was at fault, which again was not the impression I had at the time), forget and move on and just love her in the present. She initially told me that I’d done nothing wrong, yet continues to treat me like a villain. I intentionally left my location on for her after she’d blocked me so that she could know my whereabouts and avoid me if she so chose. How am I the stalker? Yeah, to say I showed up at her work does sound a little sus, but as the story tells, that’s far from what actually happened.

After Renae, I’ve had very few romantic endeavors. I went almost a year before even hooking up with anyone casually. And even then, I suspect I was largely trying to convince myself I was over her as subsequent endeavors continued to be few and far between. I just couldn’t imagine myself with anyone else. I still think about her any time I see a 3-legged dog, rainbow or 4-leaf clover. Any time I see a red Subaru, the word “sunshine,” or baby breath flowers. Any time I drive down Rutherford, Haywood, or North St. I continue to avoid all her favorite local spots she showed me when I visited lest I run into her. Any time anyone has encouraged me to move on and accept the situation, the challenge is in finding any certainty to accept. I still don’t know what happened, and I especially don’t understand why. How did we go from what we had to what is now? Despite all this, it’s hard for me to call her names or be upset with her. I think there was definitely some immaturity on her end, but it’s not always easy to say that…nor believe she won’t find that maturity later on. I’ve long wondered what I’d say to her if we were ever in close enough proximity to do so. I’m still not sure. But I suspect it might involve telling her it doesn’t have to be this way. She clearly doesn’t want to talk, so any questions I might have are probably moot to even ask. I would want her to know, though, that I can and mostly have forgiven her for cheating on me, if that really was the case. But if it was the case, the uncertainty she’s left in my brain and all the other turmoil she let me experience in the meantime would need to be acknowledged. That shit hurt.

Humans are humans and we make mistakes. A single action, even if long-lived, doesn’t have to define our character as a whole. I’ve owned up to my mistakes and inquired about ones unaccounted for. If renae ever felt the courage to own up to hers, i’d love to forgive her. But considering how unlikely that is at this point, any future partners reading this can rest assured and trust that i don’t expect perfection, only growth, effort, and mature communication.

I posted on my Instagram that I was depressed and a friend from the gym, Sarah, among others, reached out and offered consolation. I suspect that a lot of my depression came from feeling burnt out, possibly purposeless at work, but I think the need for meaningful human connection was likely the bulk of the cause.

We discussed meeting up over DM and decided on either a Saturday or Sunday before I had to be at work. I came in and sat down in her kitchen. She asked what anyone would when opening a conversation: how you doin? That’s all it took and I immediately started crying. I explained the situation to her and we talked about all sorts of stuff. We got emotionally vulnerable and subsequently became close friends pretty quickly.

She lived with her 16 year-old son in a 3-bedroom townhome and rented the third bedroom on AirBnB. When she learned that I was living in my truck (albeit voluntary, a whole story in itself), she offered to let me stay in that room between guests. After a few guests came and went, I asked her how much she’d charge a guest to stay a whole month. She told me the price, and I asked her if I could just be that renter, full time, at that same price. She agreed, feeling like not only was she getting the income of a consistent renter, but the trustworthiness and history of a close friend.

We lived together for about a year, growing ever closer, talking about life’s struggles and all the things. We’d go downtown together, travel out of town together, all the things that a romantic couple would do, except we never slept together or anything like that. This was not the first girl with whom I’ve played a “straight gay best friend” type of role, as she called it. Of course we talked about the possibility of extending our dynamic but always came to the mutual conclusion that we were just friends. Supposedly, neither of us felt any chemistry.

I’ve long thought that at that time of my life, I just didn’t feel chemistry in general. As I mentioned, I went a long time before pursuing any other romantic endeavor following Renae. Sarah might not have felt anything for me regardless, but I halfway suspect that if I had leaned in a little more, maybe she would have.

That’s not to say that I wish I had, however. Maybe I’m still depressed; maybe I’m on emotion-suppressing anti-depressants; maybe it’s a genuine mismatch. I’m not sure what kept us from pursuing a romantic relationship, but I do know that she told me, her son, and herself on more than one occasion that I’m “family.” I helped her with some extensive yardwork/landscaping as well as some indoor remodeling. As I mentioned, I traveled out of town with her on several business-turned-leisure trips. Despite my depression and general apathy for the world paired with feeling burnt out and energy-less outside of work, I enjoyed spending time with her and her son. The conversations were fulfilling and that “meaningful connection” I craved was at least starting to be addressed.

Sarah and I had a miscommunication once. I don’t remember exactly how this started, but she had offered to let me use her car. Maybe mine was in the shop or something along those lines. It happened more than once, maybe 2 or 3 times before she ultimately just said “this is where I keep my keys; use the car any time you need.” So I did.

I feel Sarah was generally someone who preferred to keep the peace than to make her needs known. Knowing this, I tried especially hard to respect living in her home and I tried to anticipate her wants and needs as much as possible. I tried to take the trash out and do everything I could to pull my weight and contribute to the family dynamic more than take away.

I borrowed her car, but not every day. Far from it. There was one night I borrowed it to go out with a few friends. Her son had just used the car earlier that day and there was not much gas in the car when I got it. I knew this had been a point of contention between her and her son so I had intended to fill it all the way up before returning it, even if I’d only driven a few miles.

I stayed out with my friends past bar-close and continued into an after-party. It was the most low-key you can get; we just watched TV at this girl’s apartment. I don’t remember if I’d intended on returning the car before the end of the night or early the next morning, but I ended up falling asleep and waking up to Sarah’s text.

She was pissed. Understandably so. As hungover and tired and all the things that I was, I knew I had to return the car ASAP. I saw the gas tank was approaching empty so I texted to ask her if she wanted me to stop and put gas in it before coming home as I’d originally planned. She said no. So I came straight home and returned her car…with an empty gas tank which only infuriated her further. Apparently she wanted to use the car to drive to the gym that morning.

Later on, we talked about the situation and realized that it was a misunderstanding and a lack of communication. Poor communication. I had my understanding of her boundaries and her words, and that may have not matched her understanding. I also could have been better at communicating my situation to her at that time. She tried to “evict” me, but ultimately retracted this following our conversation and realizing the misunderstanding.

A month or two later, she proposed going on a river float with the two of us along with her son. I had never been to this particular spot and she’d made the reservation for us to go…I want to say at 2:00. For some reason, I thought 2:00 meant we’d all three meet up and ride over together. I know this doesn’t make sense and I don’t know why I thought that. But I did. Shortly after 2, she texted me and asked where I was. I told her I had my shorts and towel ready but was maybe 20 minutes away from the drop in.

In this case, I feel she was very clear in her communication and for whatever reason, things just didn’t register the way I would’ve liked in my head. Regardless of my intended time, things happened that pushed me back behind even where I wanted to be timewise. I explained this to her and apologized. I was running late, but I’d be there. However, I told her that if the hostile attitude I was receiving over text was going to continue into the float, then I didn’t want to be there and subject myself to that.

She told me not to come. I was en route, but ultimately peeled off early as directed. Things just continued to escalate before she “evicted” me a second time. This time, I wasn’t waiting for a conversation to resolve the issue. If my sense of home-security was this fragile, I didn’t want it. I rented a U-Haul and moved out overnight.

Another friend who’s a girl but not a girlfriend, Katie, heard my story and invited me into her home. She was coincidentally traveling out of town so I was essentially house sitting for her. It was perfect timing, and I felt connected and like my networking had paid off such that I had a place to sleep on such short notice. Of course I still had my setup in my truck as well as funds for a hotel or a number of other options, but this option was a perfect blend of comfort and minimal/absent cost.

I stayed in Katie’s house for approximately two months. It was the summer time and the warm weather paired with longer days in the sun definitely helped my mood. Still, I felt transient. I was instructed to make myself at home and I did as much as I could, but I also knew this wasn’t my permanent home so I hesitated to truly unpack and exist limitlessly. Katie and I texted every day, but I was starting to develop a connection with Ali. I don’t remember what specific words or conversations were exchanged, but I got the impression that neither Katie nor I were interested in any serious romantic relationship. However, I was living in this girl’s house while she was Amazon-shipping me little gifts frequently, including underwear.

I certainly appreciated Katie’s generosity and hospitality. The frequency and depth of conversations paired with the gift-giving gave me the impression she felt for me as more than a friend. Well, affirmed that she did. We’d already had this conversation, more than once. Despite any feelings that may or may not have been there on one or both sides, we made clear and agreed that neither of us wanted a relationship with the other. We agreed on being friends, not exclusive or anything like that. Even saying that makes it sound more than it was. While she was out of town, of course we weren’t doing anything physical, and even when she was in town, we’d never slept together.

So as my connection with Ali developed, I wasn’t really sure how to tell Katie. Again, it was evident she had feelings for me but we’d also agreed to keep things as friends. It felt like if I pursued someone else while living in her house, it’d give the impression I was using her or something along those lines. But I also didn’t feel like our relationship was one where I needed to tell her, keep it from her, etc. It was sorta just irrelevant.

As Katie’s return approached, I did end up telling her that Ali and I were getting serious. It was a slow process with Ali before we labeled the relationship, but we were hanging out and doing things more along the lines of how I envisioned myself in a relationship. Katie seemed indifferent when I told her, consistent with what we’d previously discussed.

my dusty slay impression at a dusty slay show. ironic to be staged with so much alcohol considering he’s sober…

One way I did mess up, though, is when I moved out of Katie’s house. She told me she’d be coming back in a few weeks but didn’t know the exact date. Weeks passed, she had a date and gave me a few days’ notice. She assured me that I didn’t have to be out by the time she got back, but I didn’t think it’d be considerate to any party for me to be dating one girl and sleeping in the same house as a girl who was sending me underwear in the mail, regardless of what we’d agreed on.

Ali and I had plans to meet up with a few other friends the night Katie was returning. I did my best to clean everything as thoroughly and quickly as possible. Again, I was certainly grateful for her hospitality and I wanted her to know that. I wanted to leave her house with as little evidence of my residence as possible. I swept and used her hand vacuum until the battery died. I cleared all my food from her fridge and even tried to leave her some diet-conscious drinks as a partial “thank-you.” Ali even came over and helped ensure all the dishes were clean, etc.

When I finally locked the door behind me, I texted Katie everything I’d done to clean up and gave her a full report on the status of her home. I told her that I was rushing a little so if there was anything I missed or overlooked, that I’d be happy to come back in a day or two to finish tying up loose ends. She assured me that everything was fine. However, there was a point not too long after that she texted me her house was left a big mess and I responded by saying I couldn’t tell if that was sarcasm or not. From what I could tell, her house was not a “big mess.” Nor was the situation such that if it was a mess, it had to stay that way without me making attempts to rectify. She didn’t answer that question.

We talked here and there over the next period of time. I still appreciated her and didn’t want to leave her feeling any kinda way, but I wanted to be respectful of my growing relationship with Ali, who reportedly was not super close friends with Katie.

Months later, Katie and I ran into each other at an event and the truth came out. She didn’t mention much about my relationship with Ali nor my abrupt exodus from her home. But she did fill me in on what she considered “a big mess.” The main things she mentioned include some faux fur left behind on her carpet, a small nugget of weed also on the floor, and “white powder” all over her bathroom. The faux fur was from a blanket I’d purchased while living there and the “break-in” period of the blanket let little pieces shed from it. I knew Katie didn’t want fur in her home, whether it was from a real animal or not. Neither did I, really. I tried to hand pick this up as I noticed it while living there, and then did another final scan when I moved out. I felt I had gotten most - if not all - of it, but it’s very possible I missed a bit.

The weed nugget was brought to my attention via text shortly after she came home, but she wasn’t calling me out on leaving a mess. She approached me asking whether I needed it or if it was any significance. I told her it was too small of an amount for me to worry about it and to just throw it away. To be clear, while I did possess weed in her home and was transparent about this, I was not using it in her home. There were no smoke smells or stains and she had told me as long as this was the case, she didn’t have any issue with me possessing it in her house.

Finally, the white powder in her bathroom. I don’t know if she was worried that it might be related to another drug in her home, but I assured her it was nothing more than Gold Bond that I used following my daily showers. I also assured her that I had wiped the counters off in the bathroom as well as swept the floor in that order. It sounds like the Gold Bond was possibly swept into the air and fell back down onto the floor again, but it wasn’t overtly apparent when I left her house.

The solution to all of this would have been a vacuum, in my opinion. Had I used a full-sized standard vacuum instead of the handheld version (whose charger I looked for, couldn’t find, and asked about, btw) I think any remnants of faux fur would’ve been sucked up. The nugget, albeit small, was still possibly too large to be sucked up by a vacuum, but maybe vacuuming would’ve given me another chance to see the nugget on the ground. Additionally, any dust in the bathroom would not have been blown into the air only to fall again but rather would’ve been sucked up and put away in the vacuum.

She didn’t own a full-sized vacuum. And especially with her hospitality in mind, I would’ve been happy to buy her one. Without going into detail here lest any of our mutual friends read this, I can say that she’d experienced a trauma involving vacuums and was intentional about her lack of possession.

So what else could I have done? Be more thorough in my cleaning? I told her I was willing to come back and continue cleaning; she denied its necessity. I asked about the handheld vacuum’s charger. I made efforts to clean as well as to apologize for whatever perception of a mess she felt I left. We currently don’t talk and I assume she continues to believe I took for granted her hospitality and was inconsiderate and disrespectful in returning her home to her. I’m not terribly upset at this distance because I feel discredited. I’m not saying I left her house immaculate, but I did make efforts and it feels like the minute shortcomings are vastly outweighing those efforts. That’s sort of a theme for this whole post, really: I can’t promise perfection, but I can promise effort. I do my best to be receptive to feedback and then to adjust accordingly in as many contexts as I can.

The title of this post, though, was ultimately born through my relationship with Ali. She and I initially met when I was still working out at my old CrossFit Gym. I’d often see her after class as I cleaned the CrossFit side and she’d do the same to the adjacent Yoga side. When we first crossed paths, she was in a relationship and I wasn’t really in the right headspace for much either. But we both found each other attractive.

I was tagged in a reel my gym posted and Ali saw it before following me on Instagram. We talked a bit on there for some time. She even came to my house one night and I cooked her an omelet with vegan cheese, something that seemed to impress her and stick in her memory.

I’m not sure to what extent I was aware of her relationship status at the time we were talking more. It had been several months after initially meeting each other in person, and her Instagram looked like she’d recently deleted posts involving her boyfriend/ex so I got the impression she was trying to put that chapter behind her. We had some deep, emotionally-intimate and vulnerable conversations before she finally admitted to being more hungry for affirmation than ready for a relationship. I assured her I understood and the space she requested was respected as well as amicable. Still, though, she blocked me.

Some time later, she unblocked me. I asked her what happened and she told me things weren’t fully clean cut with her ex and she blocked me in an attempt to resist any possibility of disrespecting her renewed relationship with her ex. But when she unblocked me, it was looking like things were more officially over.

We started talking, but she was hesitant to put a label on our relationship. I had what I needed, though, so I didn’t push the label. The deep conversations continued. She was showing up physically and emotionally for me, spending quality time and offering words of affirmation and all the things. Any time I did something for her, she was super appreciative and it made me feel valued. It made me want to continue being there for her.

She was a good bit younger than me, so when she told me she was a virgin, I believed her. There were countless nights toward the beginning of our relationship we’d come home from a night downtown to her apartment and sleep in the same bed but not have sex. I told her that I wanted her consent during a time she was 100% sober and preferably not even turned on and influenced by that desire. After the first time, I’d be more comfortable with less-than-sober experiences but I wasn’t sure how much weight she was putting on the word, “virgin” and I didn’t want to be the one to rush her out of that label.

However, toward the end of our relationship, her roommate, Cynthia, told me that Ali had hooked up with her ex, Wilson, a handful of times. I asked Ali about this and she told me she’d lied to Cynthia because she had been with him for so long and felt embarrassed that they weren’t more active. She insisted that she was honest with me and for what it’s worth, I never really had a problem trusting her.

Ali and I did all sorts of shit together. Her favorite movie was, “Surf’s Up” and after showing me the movie, she told me she sorta looked up to me in a similar way Cody looked up to Big Z. When I was in high school, I used to skateboard. I loved it. I don’t consider myself a skater these days, but I think about it often. It’s the perfect blend of creativity, freedom, etc. Somewhere along the lines, I gave up skating after being convinced it was childish and dead-end relative to some other career choices I pursued instead.

But Ali pushed me to get back on the board. Not only did I love skating, but I was really appreciative that she could see its value and be so supportive of me. I also remember telling her at one point that I’m sort of a hodgepodge of typical stereotypes. I’m not 100% what you’d think of when most people think of a skater, but I do relate. Same with an athlete. A student. Several words could fill in the blank here. I tried to make clear who I was to her and she continued to love me for who I was.

The summer she and I started dating was also the summer I started coordinating big groups to go river floating like Sarah and I had planned. Ali and her roommates made up a big portion of the initial groups and it was nice to feel shown up for in this way. However, toward the end of our relationship, she was coming to fewer and fewer floats, oftentimes agreeing to go until the morning of when she’d back out last minute for various reasons.

This frustrated me as it left me feeling underprioritized and less shown-up for, but I’ll circle back to that later. Not being able to attend once or twice wasn’t the issue; it was the increasing frequency of flaking and showing up for me (in more ways than just this) less and less. I don’t want to keep score, but I do want to highlight some of the ways I was there for her.

I feel like a big love language I used with her was gift giving, although really all of them were present. We spent a lot of time together, lots of physical touch, words of affirmation, acts of service. Not long before we started talking this second time, she’d adopted a dog. Objectively one of the cutest dogs I’ve seen. I asked her if she’d pick me up from the mechanic one day and I gave her a miniature version of her dog that I had crocheted. Not that I’m an expert crochet-er or even claim to crochet often, but I mentioned being creative, intuitive and innovative. I played around with two different colors of yarn (the colors matching her dog), looked at pictures of him to get it as accurate as possible, and made a little model of him.

She was speechless. Her jaw dropped and she was just so impressed. It wasn’t any huge sacrifice on my end to crochet this thing. I obviously wanted to do something fun and artsy. But it was a really good feeling to see her so blown away by something like this.

Funny enough, she used to joke about her dog being too cute to not throw him into a woodchipper. Obviously she’d never do that and the absurdity was the base of the joke. But I played into it. I found a little diecast woodchipper online and gave it to her to set next to her crochet replica of her dog. Another successful gesture.

Ali was big on making her bed every morning. This isn’t really something I’ve ever been super concerned with, but I knew it was important to her. So every night I spent at her house, I’d make an effort to make her bed the next morning. Her bed was pushed up against the wall on one side and I slept on the outside toward the beginning of the relationship. It was my understanding that she wanted to be on the inside. Just like other girls in my past, she told me she felt safer when I slept with her…until later on in the relationship when all of this flipped. She told me she preferred to be on the outside and didn’t like when I slept in her bed for several reasons, one being that I mess up the blankets more when I toss and turn in my sleep.

I didn’t really argue with her. One thing in particular that I tried to exercise during this relationship was picking my battles. Of course there were several times she did or said something that rubbed me the wrong way, but I always tried to take a step back and consider the frequency of the issue. Was there an underlying issue consistent with another situation that wore the same face? Or was this a one-off thing that isn’t worth the argument? Not to say I was conflict avoidant; I’m just saying I was wary of what was to be accomplished by bringing up every little thing.

So I slept on the inside of her bed. Or at my house. Whatever she wanted. What side of the bed I slept on didn’t matter to me as long as we were both happy.

I mentioned her support of me skating and her attendance on the river, both of which seemed to dissipate toward the close of our relationship. What skateboarding was to me, ice skating was for her. This was something she loved to do when she was little and for whatever reason, felt like getting back into it when she and I were together.

There was once I coordinated a trip to my hometown with her and a few other friends. She was eager to come along and had a great time there, seemingly obsessed with the local coffee shop upon return home. But as it came closer to departure from Greenville, she tried to back out. She said she wanted to break up with me and the reason was because of my occupation. More specifically, she thought I was going to break up with her when she told me she was less than thrilled about my occupation. I’ll circle back to this as well, but I assured her that my occupation was not something I was planning to do forever and was taking daily action to step into another field whether she could see that or not. And I wasn’t going to break up with her.

Somewhat late to hit the road, we wrapped that conversation up and visited my home town. Again, we had a great time, except for the end of one night where another of my friends was trashed and upset with her boyfriend and was hanging on my shoulders in the Uber. I knew my other friend was not genuinely into me but rather was responding to her frustration with her significant other in a less-than-healthy, intoxicated way. I obviously didn’t engage or reciprocate. And her boyfriend who was sitting on the other side of her also knew what the situation was. He wasn’t terribly concerned either.

This situation caused some tension between us with her claim being that I wasn’t active enough in redirecting my friend. In the moment, I tried to validate her and listen and all the things, but in retrospect, this just seemed like yet another empty attempt to justify breaking up. I didn’t pull her arm off of me while we were all sitting in the same 3-foot radius. Okay. But she didn’t say anything either. I was trying to keep the situation as de-escalated as possible. If I was trying to cheat or be disrespectful to her (which I wouldn’t anyway cuz I’m not a child 🙄), that’s not the way I would do it.

On a similar note, there was a time the two of us were walking downtown, just the two of us, side by side. We passed this drunk dude sitting at a table as he hit on her, very disrespectfully. I don’t remember his exact words but it had me heated for quite some time after. Even if this girl did appreciate his gesture, her dude is standing right next to her. What was he thinking? I immediately interjected and told him very assertively not to ever talk to a woman like that again. Ali was impressed, grateful, all the things.

But in another situation, also downtown but on another day, we were inside a bar and an older man was giving us unsolicited advice on playing pool. We were no experts by any means, but we were out playing often and getting better every day. We knew who our mentors were and where to get reliable information. After this guy gave us (honestly wrong) information, he asked her where her boyfriend was, as if he was upset with him for not showing her these things. I was standing right next to her. But it was loud in the bar and I didn’t quite gather his entire sentence in the moment. I didn’t want to step in and start anything without knowing all the information first. And as mentioned in the previous paragraph, I obviously wasn’t afraid to.

This became yet another point of contention. Now I was the villain for not standing up for her. And even after I explained my rationale, it didn’t feel like it was good enough. I’m not saying I wouldn’t stand up for her, but I also don’t understand why she expected me to do so before she even did. Just like she could’ve said something to my friend who was hugging on me when we were all in the Uber that day. I also understand different people have different strengths and weaknesses but this wasn’t something she struggled with often.

Anyway, let me circle back to our trip out of town. I believe what was originally scheduled for 3 days ended up being 1, as we also left Athens early to stop in at a big ice-skating facility in Atlanta. I did love watching her skate, and I loved supporting her ambitions and affinities. But I wouldn’t really have a reason to go there if not for her. Despite that, I befriended the salesman who fit her for her new skates and I learned a lot about the process and the sport in general.

I went ice skating with Ali a solid handful of times. I bought my own skates, complete with skate covers, a bag to put them in, and a few matching shirts. I bought the two of us season passes for the facility. I downloaded video games and watched videos to help me learn the sport and got excited when either of us learned new tricks and maneuvers on the ice. I even got invested in learning some of Taylor Swift’s history and songs so we could jam out in the car on the way to the skating rink.

I took care of her car, adding a phone holder and replacing her air filters and windshield wipers (reportedly for the first time since she first got the car). I introduced her to Rain-X and all sorts of other stuff. I’d frequently bring her home “drinkipoos” and other little nothings from the store. I learned her roommates’ favorite champagne and desserts and even shopped for them sometimes. I bought Ali a battery-powered, mobile heating pad to wear when her period cramps were bothering her. I even kept a box of her preferred brand, size, style of pads in my truck for any time she, her roommates, or anyone else needed one. This is where “written by a woman” came to be. Cynthia, as much as she and I had differing views on things, seemed to envy and appreciate some of the gestures I did for Ali and she pinned me with this phrase.

There was a time Ali was driving on the highway and tried to take off her sweater. It got stuck on her head and she panicked. I helped keep the steering wheel straight, as I feel any wary passenger would do, and then asked if she wanted to pull off at a rest stop for a breather. I feel I was frequently soothing her anxieties in similar ways.

Until one day, we were leaving a bar and she realized she’d lost her keys. We obviously looked for them, but couldn’t find them. She called and called each of her roommates until one of them woke up, got out of bed and put eyes on her spare key at home in her closet. I asked her if there was anything else on her key ring that she needed besides her car key and she said no. So I told her we could borrow my friend’s car who lived across the street, go get her other key and come back for her car. Everything would work out perfectly.

I’ve always experienced a bit of misophonia when it comes to chewing noises. Even closed-mouth chewing can sometimes be triggering and I hate that I’m able to say that. related Conversations with renae concluded with her saying that “chewing with her mouth closed won’t make her an objectively, all-around better person.” Some reflection (that more recent google-searches don’t support) on my end let me agree. However, the question of whether to fart in your partner’s presence is a popular and valid one. why is an offensive smell any more understandable than an offensive sound? or better yet, what if you asked your partner not to poke you and their response was that refraining wouldn’t improve their character? how is tactile input more understandable? my therapist and i are still exploring this…

We walked outside the bar. I should also mention that this was a Tuesday – so not a ton of people – and a bar we frequented and therefore knew many of the staff and other regulars. As I walked further from the bar, she seemed to hesitate, still super anxious and biting her nails. I could say that this bothered me because I was also paying for her nails each time she went, but that wasn’t the reason. The clicking on the nails and her responses to anxiety were causing me anxiety.

I know. That sounds sorta dumb. I remember asking Renae a time or two to chew her food with her mouth closed before she ultimately told me that doing so would not make her a better person. My therapist seemed to agree with me that it was a valid request, but a quick google search and a few minutes of reflection suggest that Renae was right. It’s a small thing that bugs me and she’s likely not the only person to do that..which means it’s more up to me to find a way to cope. I try to remember this any time small, similar things like audible nail-biting happens.

I stopped to ascertain what Ali was doing and it looked like she was going to stay behind with friends and keep looking for her keys. We had communicated about going to get my friend’s car but we hadn’t communicated splitting up. I will admit that this is something I wish I’d cleared up between us before I walked away, but I figured she knew the plan and I was only walking across the street, so if she wanted to stay behind for a few minutes then that was fine with me.

I got my friend’s newer M-Performance BMW and came back for Ali. As soon as she got in the car, she was attacking me for leaving her behind. This was surprising to me because I felt like I was helping; I “left” to get help. I thought we were on the same page.

I turned the corner and put some pressure on the throttle. We were still on the edge of downtown, so I was more after the thrill of acceleration rather than speed. The sound of the exhaust and the sensitivity of this newer, luxury-sport vehicle. Ali screamed.

Between the buzz of drinking (not drunk, but undoubtedly with lowered inhibitions and impaired judgment), the anxiety of losing her keys and consoling her anxiety, being attacked upon reunion, and then more, louder attacks when I accelerated that first time, I just got more and more anxious.

To be clear, this is not the first time she had been in that car with me behind the wheel. The car is fun to drive and I wanted to enjoy it. I admit that I was not thinking super clearly and I can’t expect her to do any different, given the circumstances.

All I can suspect is that this combination of events put me in fight or flight mode and I chose “flight.” We came around all the turns that took us out of downtown, and then it was a straight shot to her house. 2 lanes on our side, 2 lanes on the opposing, and intermittent turning lane in the middle. The speed limit was lower in this area, likely due to all the auto-repair shops, etc that line this section of road. But at 2:30am on a Tuesday night, there was no traffic, no pedestrians, no open businesses. Nothing.

I knew I was safe. I can talk all day about my above-average driving ability, and I can justify the circumstances, but ultimately I didn’t leave much room for the people around me to feel safe with my actions. I sped basically as fast as I could down that straight-away, Ali screaming in the passenger seat the whole time. She threatened to break up with me and my response was that I then no longer had anything to lose. We got to her house where she ran out of the car and had her ex-boyfriend drive her back to recover her car. I dropped my friend’s car back home and Uber’ed home.

I was definitely wrong and I do regret my actions. My rationale is only something I can speculate. I’m not really sure what was going through my head and I like to think it was a one-time thing. I’ve seldom done even anything close to that in the past, and I hope with age and maturity, my future mistakes will decrease in frequency and/or severity.

Ali took a few days to process after this. I mostly understood her need for time and space, but eventually things seemed to just be in limbo. She was still communicating with me as if she loved me, wanted to be with me, etc. We hung out a few times over the next two weeks or so before my group of friends met up with her group of friends on a Friday night.

I don’t remember exactly, but it sounded like several of her friends had parents in town for one reason or another. The girls were showing them around and wanted to visit another, nicer bar we frequented. Ali texted me and we coordinated meeting up. She and her group got there before us but she told the manager/bouncer (who’s one of my best friends) that she was with me and he let them in.

My group was soon to follow and I sorta peeled off from them, sitting at an adjacent table with Ali and her group. I nerded out with one of her friend’s dad, talking about my website, high-profile athletic training facilities and his role in the engineering behind them. Every time I looked at Ali, the look in her eyes was yet again one of impression, enamory, admiration.

For some reason, Ali had mentioned a time or two her hesitation and nervousness to tell her parents about me, my occupation, etc. But watching me interact with this other parent seemed to reveal my more polished side. I do have an extensive history in customer service and I’m not a total degenerate.

After we left this bar, we walked down a block or two to visit yet another bar where I had friends on staff. The parents left so it was just Ali and her roommates alongside myself and a few of my friends. More or less the usual group. We went into the bar; I bought drinks for her, her roommate, and myself. I sat next to her but wasn’t really getting a ton of attention or acknowledgment. It was like we were a couple, but not really.

When we left, we said goodbye and she walked away. I called her out, “no kiss?” She turned around, kissed her hand, and blew it toward me. Something she’d never done.

The next day, we were texting and she apologized for her attitude the night before. She admitted that I didn’t deserve that and even said she can be hard to deal with sometimes. I assured her I just wanted to be there for her and support her. Since this was a Saturday and she was available to go downtown again that night, she said she’d like to meet up downtown again and try to redo what had happened the night before.

I appreciated this, of course. But when it came down to it, it was just words. Same thing as when she’d agree to come river floating and then back out the morning of. So many other examples. I had something to do back home about 2 hours away and told her I’d meet up with her once I got back in town. As time got closer, I remember texting her I’d be back between 11 and 11:30.

Time came and I was in town. She was responding to my texts very slowly, so I met up with a few of my other guy friends at a frequented bar and we played pool. Ali said she was just down the street with a few of her friends. I asked her whether I should come to her and she told me she was about to head my way.

Some two hours later, around 1:30, she finally showed up. She was texting me, but then called me all of a sudden. It sounded like there was another creepy/drunk dude at the college bar she was at who was trying to hit on her/get her to do drugs, etc. She called me to use her phone as an excuse to not talk to this guy, but then hung up on me. I didn’t know if she wanted me to come help or if she was coming to me at this point. I didn’t know if she was walking by herself or what. As I mentioned earlier, I don’t mind standing up for someone, protecting them, whatever, but in this case, it sounded like she had other friends around and might as well have just put her phone to her ear. She wasn’t really having a conversation with me.

She showed up around last call. We hung out and continued to play pool for a bit. There was another spot open that I knew was likely to let us stay there another hour or so, so I asked her if she wanted to go there. We did. While we were there, she started to say something about her chaotic behavior and I just chose to not make a big deal out of it. I was definitely feeling hurt and all the things, but I knew that was not the time to talk about it.

That last spot closed and we went home. After we had sex, she said that was the best sex she’d ever had. Semantics, I know, but at this point I just wasn’t feeling confident with where we were at. If I was the only person she’d ever had sex with, why didn’t she just say the best sex *we’d* ever had? Still, though, I didn’t say anything about it.

She sat up and leaned against the wall my bed was pushed up against. I laid in her lap and we watched a little TV. I was fingering her until I felt something inside of her with my finger. I mentioned that I felt something but I didn’t want to say what I thought it was until I was more certain because I knew how anxious it would make her. I feel a little naïve in saying this, but she had just recently had an IUD put in within the previous few months and I thought it might have fallen out. I honestly didn’t know exactly what it looked like. I think it was also a different type/material than IUD’s my previous partners had used so I was really unsure about its size and shape.

Needless to say, she was a little anxious, but seemed to encourage me to continue what I was doing and create some certainty in the situation. She seemed to feel attacked that I thought it was a baby by someone else, even though I don’t remember saying or doing anything that even remotely suggested that’s what I was thinking. Again, just added to the suspicion of whether I was her “only partner ever.”

It couldn’t have been a full 10 seconds that I continued my “search.” Afterwards, she told me she didn’t like what I was doing to “her body,” as if I was doing something without consent or something. I will admit that a lot of my sense of being attacked came from her tone and inflections rather than an overt statement. But things escalated. I remembered how often I tried to bring things to her attention only when they were recurring things that needed addressing. What was she trying to accomplish here?

I also was being super mindful of some conversations with my therapist. It seemed like the communication between me and Ali was eroding, so my therapist suggested asking more frequently: what did you mean when you said ____? I tried so hard to stick to this. I could have misinterpreted her tone and inflections; I wanted to be sure I understood before I got upset or anything else.

It is an oversimplification. But not always a bad way to sum up what’s happening. some of us - myself included - don’t always have the best communication skills and as this post suggests, that can often come as a result of simply being triggered and not knowing any better way to communicate than what we originally learned as “survival behaviors.” whether in regards to this or a broader scope, i’ll reiterate that I think it’s okay to make mistakes and i think a real relationship - romantic or otherwise - finds a lot of its beauty in that growth process. in other words, i think compatibility has less to do with where people are at and more to do with how willing and able two or more people are to travel the same road in the same direction at a similar speed, etc.

Every time I asked that question or any other, she just looked at me like I had three heads. I went downstairs from the third floor to the first and punched the equivalent of a punching bag. No damaged walls, nothing like that. I was very upset, but I’m not typically a violent person and also didn’t want to give her the impression I was unsafe, reckless, anything like that, especially just two weeks after speeding off with her in the passenger seat.

On top of all this, my roommate was asleep in the other room. So even if I wanted to raise my voice, etc, I wanted to be considerate of him. I don’t remember “fighting” like this with Renae, not one time. I don’t think Hailey and I did, nor Jess. My relationship with Morgan was pretty quiet in general so despite spending over 5 years in the same house, I don’t remember fighting with her that often either, especially like this. That just isn’t my style.

Ali came downstairs, notably slower than her normal walking speed. I brought her outside and closed the door. At this point, I felt like I could be a little louder as waking my roomie was less of a concern, but I also wasn’t about to shout at the top of my lungs. Not only do I think that’s a less-than-healthy way to express deep concerns, but I didn’t want to wake the whole neighborhood up either.

Nonetheless, my voice was assertive and firm. I sat down on the ground in an attempt to decrease any perception of a threat to her, etc. and continued asking “what did you mean by ___” and similar questions. She continued to look at me as if she couldn’t believe I’d ask such a question. To me, at least in retrospect, it seemed like she didn’t have an answer. She didn’t even know.

Anyway, I told her to leave and not to text me the next day. She had already let me know she could be picked up or go to her friend’s house around the corner, and she already had her phone to her face. I closed the door and tried to collect myself for a second. Even though I live in a pretty safe neighborhood, I still felt bad for leaving her outside at night by herself. She had her location on so I followed it to her friend’s house around the corner. Felt a little weird of course, but as angry as I was, I still cared enough about her to want her to be safe. Once this was confirmed, I went back inside and just tried to process. Several hours later, I fell asleep.

Within a day or two, I wrote her a long email that sort of laid everything out from my perspective. I felt like she was generally someone who could have mature conversations and understood that relationships can require some effort and growing pains/learning opportunities, but for some reason, it still felt like we were drifting apart toward the end. I asked her yet again what her perspective was, what was different in her mind, what was responsible for us drifting apart. She may disagree, I don’t know, but I feel like I try to be as open and receptive to constructive criticism as much as possible…so if it was something I was doing or not doing, in most cases it wouldn’t take more than simply asking.

Alas, she didn’t give me an answer. We talked a few times over text following our breakup, but nothing super productive or conclusive. I’m not saying it was quite “easy” to move on from this relationship, but I think there was always sort of a sense of her being halfway out the door anyway. From the beginning, it was a slow transition for her to fully commit and really invest in the relationship. And once that happened, it felt like it was a fairly quick bow out. It was yet another situation where mistakes were made on both sides, but nothing I felt like was beyond being human or anything a conversation couldn’t manage. Still, though, she wasn’t interested in having this/these conversations after I kicked her out that night and all I can really credit for it escalating to that point is avoidant attachment and/or lack of experience/immaturity. I’ve asked my therapist as well as other close friends I trust to speak freely to what extent this is true and to what extent I’m being immature and deflecting responsibility. At 31 and still single, I’d love to know if there’s something I’m doing wrong and can improve.

I’ve had a handful of shorter, more casual endeavors since Ali, but nothing really official. One girl ghosted me after I bought her a $300 Roomba for Christmas. (She was constantly talking about being too busy to clean and take care of other maintenance tasks.) Especially considering conversations we’d had prior about her attachment style, previous exes, etc., I don’t think the Christmas gift had anything to do with our distance besides a possible fear of commitment on her end.

There were two other girls I’d hooked up with a few times around the same time as each other. I feel that all 3 of us agreed to keep things casual as we weren’t really looking for much of a relationship. When one girl got more attached, I think the other girl perceived some jealousy and backed out. And of course I had to pump the brakes on the first girl’s feelings because I wasn’t ready to date her and I didn’t want anyone’s feelings getting hurt.

Vibin hard and appreciating part of a Christmas gift while I make some final edits on the page. I promise I don’t drink as often as these pictures suggest.

Besides that, there’s really only one other girl I’ve really put any interest or effort into. I had a friend in town that used to work at a bar and restaurant, so she and I visited that bar in a bigger group of friends. My friend confirmed what I’d suspected since stumbling into the same bar on my own a week or two prior: Bridget was newly single.

I’d originally met Bridget at that same bar almost a year prior at one of my friends’ birthday party. I gathered at that time that she was taken so I didn’t say much, but it’s hard to forget a face that pretty. I visited the bar a time or two over the next year, not necessarily to see her or anyone in particular, but just because it’s a genuinely good bar and restaurant. That time before my friend was in town, she was my server and I read between the lines in some of the things she’d say about her personal life.

Of course I wasn’t about to pressure her into another relationship so soon after something that was clearly still weighing on her. However, I was looking for a spot to work on my laptop (somewhere out of the house that’d encourage me to focus) and I figured the vibes at this downstairs bar were working for me.

I’m sure the fact that she was there influenced my choice to work there, but that wasn’t the sole reason to go there by any means. I’d go about once/week and try to crank out as much work on my laptop as possible, all while getting to know Bridget little by little and finding her more and more attractive as I did. Until one day, I heard a rumor that I was stalking her. I don’t know who this originally came from, if it was some other jealous or childish person, or if Bridget genuinely did feel uncomfortable. She certainly didn’t act uncomfortable or give me any indication that I should stop visiting. She was clear in saying she wasn’t ready for a relationship, and I was okay with that, but she’d still volunteer information about her personal life and build on previous conversations we’d had week after week. She’d tell me her work schedule and all sorts of stuff. I felt like if she was uncomfortable with me being there, she might not outright say it, but I also don’t think she’d tell me when she’d be at work and enable me to visit her like I was.

To whatever extent the rumor stemmed from genuine concern, I didn’t even want to chance making anyone feel that way. I wanted to come in once more and hear directly from the source what she was thinking, but when I went in to do so, there was a private event happening where I normally sat so having that conversation with her that day was not going to happen. I wrote down my perception of the situation on some paper from my notebook and planned to bring it in to her another day. I went on about my night and when I was walking back to my car at the end of it all, I noticed she was still at work and the event was over, so I walked in and handed her my note. I told her that I’d heard a rumor about me and in the interest of not causing her discomfort, I wouldn’t be coming in in the near future unless I heard otherwise from her. I left my number for her to text, expecting not to hear from her if she was genuinely uncomfortable. But since then, I’ve thought of several other reasons she might still not text me, so the fact that I haven’t heard from her is still sorta inconclusive. Regardless, I don’t want to take any chances. If and when she was interested in talking to me in that way, she has the means to do so.

___

It’s affirming in a lot of ways to be someone’s “straight gay best friend.” And when my other coupled friends come to me with relationship questions, or single friends come to me with other vents and things weighing on them, it’s also affirming to know I can listen to them and be there for them in the way they want/need. But it’s nice to have this reciprocated sometimes. Even in a non-romantic sense, I think as humans, we honestly do require meaningful connections. And I’m not saying I don’t have this at all; I definitely have my tight circle of closer friends that I can call on when needed, in addition to my therapist, but cuddles every now and then probably wouldn’t hurt.

I’ve made some pretty significant achievements in my life, so even in lulls or chapters that don’t give that same shine, I know that I’m accomplished and deserve to be happy. As far as relationships go, I’ve moved across the country for a girl several times. My entire Instagram feed is relationship advice. I’m constantly thinking and studying how to be successful in a relationship. I make mistakes, but I try to own up, apologize, and grow where applicable. As much as it can feel discouraging to consider my situation and see so few possible cheeses to my macaroni, Ali gave me hope.

She and I were more or less in the middle of our relationship when my youngest brother broke up with his high school sweetheart of 3 years. He told me more recently that he had proposed to her and she said yes. They talked about the future and all the things, only for her to pull the rug out from under him in the end.

He admitted to a few shortcomings he’d demonstrated but ultimately seems willing to listen and grow, which in my opinion if it wasn’t clear already, is more valuable than a human who doesn’t make mistakes in the first place. He approached me closer to when they first broke up, seeking at least some sort of consolation if not advice. This combination of his timing and my relationship with Ali inspired a lot of this post. Ten years ago, when I was his age, I’m not sure I’d have the quality character traits necessary for a happy relationship to endure even into this chapter of my life. But now, I sometimes feel like “all the good ones are taken.” Then I think about Ali. At the end of the day, no, it still didn’t work out. But the fact that it might have – the fact that I even saw potential in the moment – makes me want to believe that my person is out there and so too is my brother’s. I don’t know when, where, or how we’ll meet our person, but I like to believe that there’s a person for anyone who’s open to having one and that person will show up when the time is right.