I am a 30 year old single girl living in the city. And I hate my life. Ok, so I don't hate every aspect of my life. But I do hate the being 30 years old, single, and living in the city part. Maybe I don't even mind the being 30 part. But the other 2 things...I definitely hate those things.
I grew up in a small town in Middle America, where many people got married after High School, or right after college, and at the ripe old age of 23, I became an old maid. I'm the girl that people look at from back home and pity. Little do they know that I look at their life, and pity them. Ok, not their entire life, because there is a part of me that wants a little bit of that small town feel, to settle down. But I got out, I experienced other things, and after all of that, I'm making the choice to go back...eventually. I can't say that their choice is the wrong choice, but I know that where I have ended up has been the right thing for me. What their choice has been was probably the right thing for them.
There are countless stories of bad relationships, and people getting out of those bad relationships, and then finding the perfect person. Or the single girl who keeps waiting for Mr. Right to show up, and then one day, he magically appears. I hate those stories. I hate those stories, because it makes it sound like that happens to everyone, or that's what should happen for everyone. Well...guess what. It doesn't.
When I was 20, I started dating a guy who I thought was it. He was the one for me. He was the first guy that I ever called my boyfriend, and I fell for him so hard. To this point, I had already experienced (and still was experiencing) incredibly low self-esteem, and was so enamored by the fact that someone thought I was worth dating, I didn't stop to see if that person was actually worth dating. Four years later, I finally realized that he wasn't. Ok, so I probably realized that he was a worthless lump of flesh long before that, but I thought I loved him, and I thought I was stuck. But finally one day, I realized that I wasn't actually stuck. I no longer had to endure his rage, where he would randomly throw things at my head, or hurl insults my way.
I found myself to be 24, single, and weighing 285 pounds. But of course, I expected to get out of that relationship, and automatically find Mr. Right, because that's what the stories tell us. What I found instead were a lot of lonely nights, and a long string of guys that still don't measure up.
I keep getting told that Mr. Right is out there, you just have to keep your eyes open, or just be patient. But in any relationship story that you hear, it typically has a happy ending where the girl finally gets the guy, and they live happily ever after. I'm not sure that I believe it. I am hopeful, I am. But there is a small part of me that fears that I'll be the 50 year old single woman living alone because I can't have cats because I'm allergic to them.
I often wonder if it's something that I do, or something that I don't do that makes guys look past me. It's not that I don't know guys that are probably good enough for me. It's that they haven't given me a chance. My mom always told me that I just needed someone to give me a chance to prove myself in a job, to give me that chance to show how good I could be for them. I'm notorious for not interviewing well, and I had found myself in a string of jobs that were below my intellectual level. I'm not saying that I didn't have great learning experiences there, but I often found myself bored because it required no brain power. But I finally did find a place that gave me a chance, and I flourished. I've begun to think that way about relationships too. I've found a long string of guys that were well below what I'm worth, and I've learned a lot from those experiences. But I'm ready for someone worthy to look my way, give me a chance, allow me to flourish.
I'm not gonna lie. I'm a catch. I'm funny, a huge smartass, I'm stubborn, I'm smart and can carry on a good conversation. I am well read, oh yeah, and I'm 22 days away from doing my first Ironman, I've ran 3 marathons, and am a little more type A than I really care to admit. I don't like just laying around on the couch, I feel like I should be doing something. I like good music, and I love to laugh, and dance, and sing...even if I'm horrible at it. The dancing and the signing that is. I have a great laugh.
Ok, so I've said all that, but I also realize that sometimes I'm slow to show some of those things off. And I understand why that is too. I think part of me is scared to show off who I am to everyone. And part of me is incredibly slow to trust people. Maybe I shouldn't be, but past experiences have left a few scars that are hard to break through.
So...what's the purpose here? Just to allow me to vent my frustrations of being the single girl? Maybe a little. But more to share the journey of being 30 and single and living in the city. To share the story of the happy ending not coming right away. If it ever comes at all. I want to be positive, and hopeful, but I also want to be realistic.
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