There was a time I used to worry about never finding the one. Worry I was going to be alone forever with no one to come home to at night but the dog. Or cat. Or fish. In fact, most of my friends were happily single. Wanted to be. On purpose. Free to do whatever and whomever they wanted. I think I woke up one morning and decided it didn’t matter any more; not having a man in my life wasn’t going to define me, wasn’t going to make me feel less whole or undesirable. Undesirable. What a ridiculous thing to say at the age of twenty-one.
