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Confessions of a Single Girl (oh shoot, that’s me.)

The best thing about traveling is that you get to experience the best of all worlds. I love making new friends, trying local food, picking up languages, seeing beautiful scenery..and then coming home and falling into my soft, ever-welcoming bed, enjoying craft beers, and having good times with my beloved, established friends. In fact, traveling makes me love my home even more…if I don’t make that obvious enough.

But the holidays have got me feelin’ funky. I know you wanna hear it, so I’ll confess-lately I’ve been kinda wanting to fall in love. Like, the type where I end up going steady, in a committed relationship, with a boyfriend, whatever you want to call it. I have no idea how I could ever find one or what to feed it. Wanting to be in a relationship seems to be irrationally unpopular these days, for my age and in my city. I think I may have just committed social suicide, but I don’t really care. Flirtations are easy to find (Tinder, duh!), but where do you find the boyfriends? At home, having a beer and watching Netflix? Well how the hell will I ever meet them then if they’re all in their own homes?! Everyone seems to have someone that they belong with, and no matter how hard I try to focus on other insatiable hobbies, wanting companionship nags at me with the same force as wanting to travel. Traveling is much easier to gratify though, you just buy a plane ticket and go.

The problem is, my standards for an actual match won’t stop rising and it’s getting out of control. I think one of the most heart-wrenching moments during my trip in South America was when I was out kayaking with a French dude I met on the bus. We’re just friends, and he stops padding to ask me in a heavy accent, “I don’t understand. You are so pretty and fun. I just don’t understand how you do not have a boyfriend.” I just laughed and told him that every time I like someone (and I rarely ever do) he’s not right for me. It was the simplest way I could explain it, and it’s pretty accurate. I had proved it true just the week before, when I fell for a frustratingly charming man in La Paz. He was traveling through the country as well, and he just had this confident, playful grin and genuine energy to match. But we had to kiss goodbye, cause our buses were leaving in opposite directions and I’m not naive enough hope for anything more. See, never right for me.

How in the world, filled with billions of people, do two people meet and actually like each other? And what are the chances that even if they like each other’s personalities, looks, have similar interests, goals, values, live in the same country, are ready to date, and have chemistry…who knows if they will want to commit to each other? And not fuck it up a week later? I guess that’s why they say love is magic. 

I am very happy with my life, and I love the time I’m getting to spend with myself. I need the space and freedom to breathe, grow, create and be lazy if I want. I’m not mad about being single, and the bachelorette life has treated me well. I’m pretty awesome and I don’t need this validated by a guy. But if I’m to be honest with myself, I’m still feelin’ funky.

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