Single and Ready to Mingle

It's been a while. 15mos to be exact.

Long enough that I almost forgot what it feels like to be held by a man. Not just the warmth of his hands, but that dangerous comfort that convinces a woman to lower her guard and let someone into places she normally protects.

Now don't get me wrong...

The Dominican man I dated?

Lord have mercy.

He knew exactly how to make a woman forget her own name.

Unfortunately, my personal track record hasn't exactly inspired confidence in the monogamy department.

These days, I lovingly refer to it as "community D." It's not bitterness, it's quality control. At some point, you stop confusing chemistry with compatibility.

If I ever fall for another one, my first prayer won't be, "God, let him love me."

It'll be, "Lord, if this man isn't meant for me, remove every ounce of lust from my heart before I mistake desire for destiny."

I've learned that peace is far more attractive than butterflies.

So naturally...

The next chapter of my life began at a tow yard.

Because apparently that's how my life works.

One minute I'm lying in the sun after the gym, convincing myself that today would finally be the day I started another Paulo Coelho book.

The next minute I'm playing chauffeur for a friend whose car had been towed, loaning him money, driving across town, and somehow brainstorming a concierge business called Poly's Bank.

I swear my brain refuses to have just one idea at a time.

Then we pulled around the corner.

And there it was.

An exotic car repair shop.

Two Lamborghinis.

A McLaren.

A few other beauties sitting outside like they were casually waiting to bankrupt someone's wallet.

My attention span immediately abandoned my friend.

"Hold that thought," I said, already halfway out of the car.

I walked in wearing a little black athletic skort and a champagne-colored top that crisscrossed across my back. It was one of those hot summer afternoons where you can't decide if you're headed to the gym, the beach, or a photoshoot.

A man looked up.

"Hi. Can I help you?"

"Would it be okay if I took some pictures with the cars?"

He smiled.

"Of course."

Simple enough.

I snapped my pictures, admired the cars, and before leaving, grabbed one of the shop's business card.

Not because I needed it today.

Because in my head I'd already won the lottery.

Obviously.

Future Me was going to own enough exotic cars that she'd need a trustworthy mechanic.

Manifestation has paperwork too.

As I thanked him, I finally looked at his face for more than half a second.

Cute.

Very cute.

I found him on Instagram later that day and posted a simple thank-you message.

To my surprise, he replied.

He invited me back and offered to show me one of the cars.

A couple of days later, I returned.

He took me for a short drive in his red Porsche.

Somewhere between the sound of the engine and the excitement of finally sitting in one of my dream cars, I let my guard down.

I started telling him about my life.

My goals.

My dreams.

The kind of woman I wanted to become.

I felt seen.

I felt understood.

And then I said something that still makes me laugh.

"I think I fell in love at first drive."

Looking back, it wasn't love.

It was a passenger princess experiencing a full-blown case of limerence.

There's a difference.

I just didn't know it yet.

Weeks passed.

I reached out more than he did.

I told myself he was simply busy.

After all, hadn't he said he was a workaholic?

Sometimes we don't believe lies because they're convincing.

We believe them because they fit the story we desperately want to be true.

Then I learned he was married.

With three beautiful children.

My heart dropped.

Not because I had lost someone.

Because I realized I had fallen in love with an idea.

The man I thought I knew existed almost entirely inside my imagination.

Looking back, I realize how desperate I was for an explanation that made sense.

When someone offered me one, I wanted to believe it.

Maybe it was true.

Maybe it wasn't.

Eventually, I realized it didn't matter.

The real story wasn't about another woman.

It wasn't about his marriage.

It wasn't even about him.

It was about the fact that I had stopped listening to myself.

This story is really about how a smart woman can slowly lose herself in fantasy...

...and then find herself again.

I had spent months chasing answers that were never mine to find.

I replayed conversations.

Analyzed smiles.

Assigned meaning to likes, views, songs, and silence.

I became a detective in a mystery that wasn't mine to solve.

At some point I realized I wasn't searching for the truth anymore.

I was searching for a version of the story that hurt less.

So I stopped.

I blocked him from my phone.

Unfollowed him on social media.

Stopped driving by.

Stopped waiting.

Stopped wondering.

The hardest part wasn't letting go of him.

It was letting go of the woman I became while trying to hold onto someone who was never truly available.

Last night, I watched Spider-Man with a new friend.

He listened.

Really listened.

No judgment.

No rescuing.

No hidden agenda.

When I finished telling him everything, he smiled and said the simplest thing anyone had said to me in months.

"Let it go."

And for the first time...

I actually did.

Not because the feelings disappeared overnight.

Not because every question had been answered.

But because I finally understood that closure isn't something another person gives you.

Sometimes closure is a decision.

As I drove home that night, I thanked God.

Not for bringing him into my life.

For taking him out of it.

I had spent months praying that if this man wasn't meant for me, God would remove the desire from my heart.

He answered.

Not by changing him.

By changing me.

And suddenly, the ending I had been mourning became the beginning I had been praying for.

The next chapter of my life wasn't waiting for a married man to choose me.

It was waiting for me to choose myself.