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A little while later, my friend tells us all to stop getting excited: She doesn’t think she’ll see him again because he hasn’t replied to her yet this morning. Even though the night before he said on a date that he had a great time and asked if they could do something together soon. Even though he messaged her when he got home asking if she made it back safe, sending her a photo of the cheese on toast he was having in bed. I’m frustrated by her worrying, because by that logic I should call it off with the guy who hasn’t responded to me in three days. I’m reassuring her, but really I want to bring the conversation around to me, to what I’m going through. I’ve been single for nearly five years now, and the moment I get close with someone, I run away, or they do, and then I’m alone again. I want all the girls to be cooing over me, reassuring me that it’s nothing to do with me—but I don’t, because I know that’s annoying. I show every side of myself to my friends except that side, because it’s too ugly even for them.
I know why it happens. To survive being single, you need allies. Every time I’m having a panic about it, I remind myself of all the women I know who are also single, and it makes me feel better because they’re the most beautiful, funny, interesting people I’ve ever met. I’m scared of what will happen when they get into relationships; I don’t want to be left behind. We say to each other, “Don’t you dare get a boyfriend!” It’s a joke, but we also kind of mean it. There’s other stuff, too. Women are taught to compete with each other, told that there aren’t enough options around. And there actually aren’t. At every party, there’s one decent guy there, and he’s probably not over his ex.
It’s never good to compare yourself to the people around you—we’re all on our own paths. There’s this yoga teacher whose classes I go to who always gets angry when people glance around at each other during a session. He says that he always sees people doing the right thing, but then they notice the person next to them doing something different and lose their balance while trying to copy them. You can apply the same logic to romance. In worrying about what other people are doing, you become insecure, and go out because there might be hot people there rather than because you actually want to, and then you give off this weird stressful energy and go home disappointed when you don’t talk to anyone. People are always saying that really annoying phrase about meeting someone “when you least expect it.” Well, this is a version of expecting it.
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