There’s something about magazines like Real Simple and TV shows like House Hunters that depresses me. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but every time I attempt a sit on the couch post-work I am irritated by things like Everybody Loves Raymond. There’s a part of me that is suspicious that these forms of entertainment have been created to make us believe that not only are you content with your life, but you are enthusiastic about it, a subtle (or not-so-subtle, in my opinion) brainwashing of home-improving, toddler-yogaing, exasperated-but-happy-at-the-end-of-the-day, we’re-the-same-kind-of-unique status quo. Welcome to the new yuppiedom.

Maybe I’m just feeling particularly fed up with the new American dream this evening, as I sit in my underwear, toenails unpainted and unmanicured, eating Oreos with orange juice, wondering why I’m throwing 5 months of perfectly good conditioning down the drain. Maybe it’s that I’ve recently fallen in love and have caught myself twice already daydreaming into that magical land I call Not A Chance in Hell.

That place involves a relationship that can survive my apparent two-year statute of limitations with a guy who looks like a J. Crew model, a baby as cute and happy as the one that couple at the café has that will magically disappear when it needs to be fed/changed/burped or cries inexplicably, a house that requires little-to-no maintenance which of course we obtained at a steal, a thriving business that I built and doesn’t require me to be around all the time, and a Holly who does not feel overwhelming pinned-down and caged by it all.

Puh-shaw.

That’s when I turn off the TV. And call Real Simple to remind them, once again, that I unsubscribed two months ago. I fight off the sneaking suspicion that somehow, somewhere my father has bribed a Starbucks barista to spike my lattes with hormones. I have been told repeatedly that one day I will want all of these things. When I get a case of the I-just-want-to-be-upper-middle-class blues, I daydream another life.

In this life I usually am married, or in a long-term committed relationship. Yes, I am happy and content being single, but like many, I would like to have a companion through life. I think a character in Shall We Dance? sums it up best when she says people get married so that in a world of billions, one person says they will be the witness to your life. I agree with this. 

At any rate, 90 percent of me says no to kids. This is mostly a financial decision in my mind. Yes, I know you can be financially well off and have kids also, but the majority of folks are not. Here are a few examples of childless couples who are financially better off than their peers (especially where it comes to retirement). And here’s an entire online community dedicated to couples who have chosen not to have kids for a variety of reasons. I take comfort knowing that I’m not the only one out there like me.

Mostly, though, this daydream life is about being able to do the things I am passionate about without any compromises or guilt feelings, such as diving tirelessly into my own businesses, having a partner who I still find sexually appealing, coming nowhere close to any variety of poop/snot/vomit, and traveling at will and on whim.

This past week I’ve been grappling with what Love is exactly. Not the kind between friends and family, but the kind between two people in a relationship. Is it codependency? Is it having a partner in crime? A best friend you have hot sex with? Someone who can teach you something that you can in turn teach also? Is it an ethereal feeling that no one can pinpoint because it’s different for everyone? Is it forever or is it fleeting and something else carries you through the rest of the years?

I have no idea, to be honest. But I think I’m falling in love. And it’s got me nervous.

It would just be insane to say that I am actually in love at this point. We’ve been seeing each other for about a month. But to say I am in the process is true enough.

I’ve been hesitant to give a follow-up to my online dating post for several reasons, but it had a bit of a cliffhanger ending I suppose because my friends, family and readers have been asking for an update on the status of Date #4.

::Sap alert::

Even I groaned when I first heard myself say it. As a dyed-in-the-wool Sag, I am not prone to expressions of love or sentiment, nor do I always know how to handle them. Plus, let’s face it; I’m a bit of a commitment phobe. I really wasn’t looking for a relationship when this whole thing started with the online dating experiment. Just fun, just dates. Then Date #4 came along.

I knew I was in trouble after that second date. We ate great food and had some phenomenal conversation. Attraction was clearly mutual. It was definitely unexpected. I was nearly knocked off my feet when after mentioning my thesis he said, “Oh, Heidegger? I studied him a bit. What aspect of his philosophy was your thesis on?” Swoon. When he defended Nietzsche’s later thought, I was struck silent. Damn, I thought, he’s gonna keep me on my toes. Nerd love, I can’t help it.

Still, we kept it light, fun, casual. I was upfront and honest with him about not wanting anything serious, and he was cool with it. That lasted until this weekend. I could feel it happening. There was nothing wrong with him. I keep waiting for it to pop up, so we keep spending time together, though still only once or twice a week since we both maintain full, productive lives. But still nothing. Even the big red flag kind of stuff – like the fact that he has a kid – it doesn’t bother me. He’s open and honest and sincere, which apparently is like my Kryptonite. I trust him.

So, what does it mean when I’m done being all serious and heavy about it? I figure I handle most things in my life one day at a time, so I’ll do this the same way. I’m not going to freak out that I’m going off the market, will end up married with 3 brats in suburbia, then divorced and out-of-shape and broke at 47 (personal nightmare). I just have to handle today, and today it feels really nice to be falling in love.

It’s a tough to put this out there. I feel a little embarrassed considering I’ve been such a die-hard single as of late. I’ve reveled in it; I’ve loved it actually. Part of me still doesn’t want to give it up, but I can spot a good adventure when I see one. And I never pass up an adventure.

There’s this one site I am absolutely glued to, HoneyandLance.com. (Love ya, guys.) Mostly, I’ve been fascinated by the pick-up artist end of things. This experiment was inspired by a post in which Lance mentions that he opens up a girl by asking about crazy online dating stories, which most girls have. Not me, I thought. Not yet.

*Let me preface this by saying that I think we all know we each just want to get a little action at some point. I don’t think it’s fair that because I’m a female with a busy and full schedule without time for a serious relationship, I should be excluded from the nooky end of things. To further complicate matters, I don’t drink, so I can’t do what most of my girlfriends do – go out, drink a little, hook-up with a guy at the end of the night and blame it all on the alcohol.

So, how does a single, dare I say, attractive young woman with little time on her hands go about dating pretty much for the first time in her life because she’s been a serial monogamist since high school? You sign up for an online dating site and tell all your friends that you’re doing it as research for your blog.

Ha.

In all honesty, I’ve really enjoyed it. Some of my girlfriends have tried it, and those who haven’t are thrilled to watch me be the guinea pig and listen to my stories. I tend to approach most things these days with a sense of adventure, and admittedly, doing it as “research” for the site allowed me to stay unemotional about it. I just went for it.

Making the Profile
Here’s what I did. I made my profile. I first searched and found profiles I thought were appealing. I liked the profiles of guys who had travel and action photos, as well as clear mug shots. So I added those kinds of photos to my profile. Then I read a few I liked and shaped my profile after theirs. Specifics really are great, by the way. I got more comments about describing what I like to do after a good run more than any of the general “me” stuff.

Displaying Interest
Then I set my search criteria. I winked at all of the guys who I thought were good-looking and had interesting profiles, a conservative move in the world of online dating. (If you haven’t online dated, “winking” is the simplest, most basic level of interest. Using it is often considered a wuss move.) Three of the original four wrote back. The good ones were brief (a couple lines), included something specific about my profile that they liked and asked a question, thus eliciting a response from me. I responded with matching length (imitation is a form of flirting) and similar comments. They usually e-mailed back a much lengthier response and thus deeper e-mail conversation began. After a few e-mails, meeting was suggested, and a few hours before meeting, numbers were exchanged.

The Dates
In total, I have dated four guys from the online dating site. I will not use their names here, but here’s the run-down.

Date #1: Lawyer, over 30, divorced, no kids.

Date #2: Financial advisor, closer to my age, never married, no kids.

Date #3: Pilot, over 30, divorced, no kids.

Date #4: Lawyer, over 30, never married, one kid.

Date #1
The first meet-up with Date #1 went well. We had good conversation, he was decent-looking and intelligent. It’s just that I simply didn’t feel it. And although this might add credence to what some guys call impossibly high standards, I just couldn’t handle that he tucked his T-shirts into his jeans and wore a belt too. I don’t think that’s having high standards; I think it’s just a personality thing.

Things tapered off with him, especially after he seemed to be in constant contact – e-mailing, text messaging or calling. I realize that because of my busy schedule it can be difficult to display interest, but he came on too strong for me, especially given my slight case of relationship phobia (I’m a classic Sagittarius – can’t be tied down).

Date #2
Date #2 was a lunch date. Neither one of us had an evening free. Good sign, I thought. He takes his career seriously, too. I was also really excited to meet another young professional in my city (south Texas isn’t exactly Young Professional Central). We got along great and had decent conversation. Still there’s not much you can get from a one-hour lunch date, so I proposed a baseball game (I have phenomenal tickets behind home plate for our local AA ball club). By the end of the night, I pretty much figured this one for a really cool friend. We had lunch again, and it sealed the deal. I think we could both pretty much tell there wasn’t a spark there. I did invite him to a young pros networking event this weekend, and I think he’ll make a great contact and friend since we’re both driven in our careers.

Date #3
Date #3 was a bust. He looked a lot older than I thought he would. The convo was decent. I introduced him to two coworkers/friends who happened to be at the café we met at. The next day the male coworker asked if I had known Date #3 long. Nooo, I said slowly. Why? Ask Female Coworker, he said. Ohhhh. Forget it. He called, but I’m not returning it. Too complicated and I wasn’t that interested anyway.

Date #4
By the time Date #4 rolled around, I had already decided to call it quits. This is the last one, I thought. No more freakin’ online dates. We met for Thai food. We ended up going for coffee and talking until 11 pm. He walked me to my car and stopped my door just short of closing, leaned in and said, “I had a really good time. Really.” Hmmm. I drove off smiling a little.

The next morning I decided to kick it up a notch. I sent a highly flirtatious text message: “Morning tiger. Great date last night. Hope you’re having a good Tuesday.” I figure this would indicate that I’m interested beyond a friendship level and hopefully surprise and delight a little. I figured it also showed self-confidence.

A client cancelled on me two days later, leaving me an unexpected hole in my schedule, and Date #4 just happened to ask on the off chance whether I was free for the evening. As a matter of fact…

He picked me up for dinner. I had some fear after Date #1 that all lawyers dress poorly, and our first date together he had arrived in full suit, fresh out of the office. Luckily, not so. He was perfectly dressed down and sporting glasses (H-O-T). More great dinner conversation. He could keep up with me intellectually, which is not common, and he could talk about personal stuff, which was refreshing after GIWS (Guy I Was Seeing).

I suggested a walk on the beach post-dinner (my new pad is a 120-second walk to the beach). More gre
at convo. No smooch. He walked me to my door and I invited him in to check out the new digs I’d been raving about. Finally, make-out action. Good make-out action. Damn near perfect. Not too aggressive (I still have my tonsils, check), not too light (we have tongues, check). I let it slip that I am surprised, pleasantly so. He checks out for the evening and I go to bed thinking I might be in trouble.

Date #4 was unexpected, especially considering he’s the one with an actual deal-breaker (kid). I’m struggling a little to keep things in perspective and not to do the I-can’t-have-a-relationship freak-out thing, considering we’ve had two dates. But that’s a whole other can of worms. I’ve definitely made it clear to him that my businesses are my number one priority and that I don’t have a lot of free time. I have also made it relatively clear that I’m not looking for anything serious. Hopefully that’s enough for now.

Guy I’ve Been Seeing and I hadn’t seen each other in probably two weeks. With the website taking off at the same time as my IT consultancy, I had become insanely busy. GIBS was almost equally busy with his career. When we were seeing each other, it was pretty much for, er, one thing.

During this particularly long stretch between sightings, I’d got to thinking about our relationship. Hold on a second. I just said relationship. That’s not what’s supposed to happen. GIBS is thus named for a reason. I had such a mortal fear of saying BF, GIBS was the shortest description I could come up with to describe our association to friends and family members. But here it was four or five months into it, and how long could you possibly just be “dating” someone?

With my career taking off in so many different directions, I knew time was going to be limited. I got to thinking about GIBS though. All of this really great stuff pretty much started because of him and that question he asked on our second date. He was always there for me – supporting me, holding me accountable, pushing me through the tough parts when I wanted to give up. He could pump me up when I needed it, and he could celebrate my successes. And he genuinely felt them. I could pretty much tell him anything. I respected his opinion and sought his advice on most things.

Holy crap, I thought. He’s one of my best friends.

I certainly didn’t want to ruin things with my best friend. At the same time, I knew that it wasn’t going to work as a couple. Neither one of us were cut off for coupledom, at least for the time being. We’d talked repeatedly about our relationship fears, our happiness in being single, etc. Every time I ended something with someone though, we never really stayed friends. We might talk, but it eventually tapered off or imploded when I realized they were holding onto the friend card thinking I would change my mind.

I talked it over with one of my mentors (people, if you haven’t already, find an older person you respect, admire and talk openly with on all matters). I decided honesty was the best policy. I sort of had this feeling that he might be feeling the same way I was anyhow.

So our schedules finally synced up and we went for sushi. We talked about the great and busy things in our lives – my new apartment, his new house, my IT consultancy taking off, his big trips coming up.

“Well, it sounds like we’ve both got really full lives right now,” I commented, looking down at the table. I raised my eyes and gave him a knowing look. He met my eyes and I could tell he was thinking the same thing.

“Look, with all this stuff going on, it just seems like maybe we don’t have time for a relationship,” I pushed through.

“Yeah, I’ve been thinking that lately, too,” GIBS agreed, looking relieved.

“Here’s the thing though,” I continued. “You’ve actually become really important to me.” I told him everything I’d realized about he and I as friends. I told him that he’d become one of my best friends and that friendship is a rung higher than a relationship in my book.

“So you don’t want me to just go away?” he asked.

“No!” I reassured. “Look, I need you as a friend.”

We continued talking and walked to our cars. I wondered, and hoped, that we would really stay friends. And we have. I think we’re actually closer than we were when we were dating. We talk on the phone regularly, text our triumphs and ‘how you doing’s to each other often. We hang out, and true friend that he is, he helped me move this past weekend. We’ve had dinner and great, interesting conversations. I feel like I’m more myself around him than ever, because just like any other friend, I figure he’ll figure my faults and flaws. I don’t fear judgment. I can roll over to his place sans make-up and not give a crap since we’re just friends anyways.

And while the FB card is definitely on the table, I’ve filed it away for a rainy day. Today I’m totally cool being good friends.

Note: Hereto forward, GIBS will be known as GIWS (Guy I Was Seeing).

An article caught my eye earlier this week on MSN about the (apparent) amplitude of single, successful women who (gasp) may never find a man.

The article sites the following as the major obstacles these women are facing:
1. They want someone as successful as they are
2. Little time leftover for dating after work and other priorities

But there is one that stands out as the bigger issue:
3. They simply intimidate their male counterparts

I recently had a conversation with Guy I’ve Been Seeing about this very thing. I’m not exactly your prototypical hard-as-nails businesswoman. I don’t think they’ve existed since the ‘80s and the days of mandatory hosiery in the office, so let’s just kill that stereotype now. I am, however, very driven and motivated, like so many of my fellow successful Gen Y females.

Since high school, my intelligence and my inability to hide behind a pretty, artificially dumbed-down exterior has gotten in the way of my love life. I began to notice the trend in college, when one of my friends pointed out to me that guys were probably just intimidated by me. Me? I asked. I’m 5’ 3”, a buck-nothing. How is that intimidating? A boyfriend confirmed the theory. “You’ve always intimidated me,” he said. “You’re smart, but in a business way that I’m not.”

GIBS couldn’t believe this. “You? Intimidating? How?” he said. I explained to him about how most guys (I’m speaking from experience now) would rather have someone who is a little less complicated, a little easier, with a little more time on their hands… in essence, they would rather be the alpha. I don’t work well with that. I don’t like being the alpha either, though.

That’s where the real problems start to happen. It’s a difficult balance to find – a guy that challenges you would have to be at your level in some sense, pursuing his own goals, career, and success, who is also supportive of your success, and who is looking for that type of woman. Not to mention all the other little stuff people like in relationships, like compatibility, shared values and common interests, etc.

That’s not to say I haven’t had boyfriends. Up until the past year, I was in a string of long-term relationships since high school. The problem was that the guys I ended up with simply didn’t have the cojones to challenge me the way I needed to be back then. I’ve finally learned how to challenge myself, but I think I’d still like someone who is working on achieving his own big dreams and goals.

So, now here I am at 26, single for the first time since college and I’m being given a fairly bleak outlook. The more successful I become, the harder it’s going to be to connect.

But see, I don’t think these women are sitting around at home, crying into their Chardonnay about it. I think the article totally misses the point. These women aren’t willing to settle for anything less than what they want because the lesson their success has taught them is that they can achieve great things in spite of the odds. They are Whole People who aren’t okay with accepting anything less than another Whole Person.

Speaking for myself, I have accepted the idea that I could possibly never be married. Some people might say that this is a self-fulfilling prophecy. I don’t think it is. Fifty percent of all marriages in divorce, remember? A very small fraction of married folk believe their marriage could in divorce. Who’s fooling whom here? If I can be okay with being single for potentially the rest of my life, then I am not going to wait around to do things. I’m going to charge full force. And somewhere out there, there is a guy who thinks that’s hot. He’s the guy for me.

Recently my career life has taken off in unexpected ways. I got a raise at work. My IT consultancy has a steady, dedicated customer, and plans for increasing the client base are going well. My blog site, WorkLoveLife.com, has skyrocketed within the past two weeks, with traffic increasing exponentially.

I was riding a huge wave, and suddenly I exuded confidence in a way I never have. My newfound success gave me a sense of poise that spilled over into other areas of my life. Why not upgrade to a nicer apartment on the beach when my lease is up in a month? I’ve earned it. Why not gun forward on that project at work? I know it will work.

Here’s a not-so-secretive secret about confidence. Not only does it dramatically increase your odds of getting what you want, but it does wonders for your sex life. Self-confidence is sexy. Someone who knows what she or he wants and goes after it is, well, hot. There are no two ways about it.

I read a blog recently about why you actually want to date a player (hat tip: HoneyAndLance). A lot of it has to do with self-confidence. I have to admit by the end of the post I realized that the guy I’ve been seeing is sort of a player. And I like it. I love that he’s confident, self-assured and comfortable in social situations.

I didn’t make the correlation between career and sexual confidence until recently. Given the number of deaths and illnesses in my life recently, let’s just say I haven’t exactly been feeling it. Something snapped on Saturday though. After looking at a fabulous 1-bedroom condo on the beach and deciding to take it, I was riding high. I went shopping and after realizing that all the running had paid off in the loss of both a jean size and a shirt size, I asked myself why I shouldn’t go all out on the weekly Saturday night dance-a-thon. Some cherry-red lipgloss and a new pair of jeans later, I knew I was looking good. More than that, I was feeling good. I was rocking it.

One problem. The guy I was seeing said earlier that day he wasn’t game for going out. Exuding a confidence he was unaccustomed to seeing in me, I messaged him: “You should reconsider. I’m looking pretty damn good tonight.” Some more flirty text messaging ensued (totally out-of-character for me), and before long I had him: “We’re on our way.”

Don’t feel too bad for him. He knew what I was up to from text message #1. That didn’t matter – what got him was the surprising new attitude I wore. It was clear that I knew what I wanted that night and that I went after it. It was a turn on, not just for him, but for me too. I wasn’t nervous, anxious, distracted, or busy trying to decipher whether or not he was thinking the same thing I was. I had my eyes on the prize.

The interesting thing is that I always thought that this wasn’t part of my make-up. That in order to be one of those sexy, confident women, I would have to act, play a part. The truth is nothing has come more naturally.

A warning here. It goes without saying that over-confidence is decidedly unsexy. Take it too far and you’ll come off arrogant, stuck-up, better-than or all of the above. Not hot.

I recently got a question from a reader and responded to it. It clarifies some of my thoughts related to relationships, ambition and organization, so I thought I would share it here.

Question:
“Just curious, are you secretly one day hoping for some man of your dreams character to come along and throw you off your schedule and change your life? Or do you ever feel like maybe you’re organizing your life too much? I’m not saying you are, but a lot of the blog is organizing your life, and though you’re not there now, it seems like you might progressively become a schedule book. Sometimes I want to become a schedule book, but just so I can break out of it.”

Answer:
“Hmm… No, I don’t secretly want a man to throw me off my path. As a matter of fact, the past few months I’ve become rather relationship phobic. I would say that I’m afraid someone will throw me off, but I’m not afraid of it because I know I wouldn’t let it happen.

I schedule my time, but I schedule it so that I can fit in all the things that I love doing. When I was doing it without a schedule, I felt crazed and time-starved constantly. The fun things were falling to the wayside because I was running around distracted.

I leave big gaps in my schedule. Sunday, for example, has just a few items: run, write blogs, post blog. None of them have set times, it’s more a loose to-do list. I fully intend to spend most of that day on the beach with my iPod, some Jack Johnson and a book (which will probably be used more as a pillow than for reading). And I shall eat strawberries and wonder what the poor people are doing (i.e. people in snow, not near water, etc.).

I understand what you mean though. I used to come up with schedules in college just so I could rebel against them – it made me feel spontaneous to be at Wal-Mart buying hula hoops at 1 am when I should have been writing my Vonnegut paper.

That you would consider someone to be rescuing you from your scheduled self makes me think that you don’t enjoy schedules in the first place. Some people work well with highly-organized agendas, like me. I’m a terribly disorganized person in reality (you should see my apartment), so people marvel when they see my color-coded planner with my entire week neatly arranged. 

Why? Because I couldn’t freakin’ remember to do ANY of it if I didn’t do this. If I were naturally organized and prompt, I wouldn’t need multiple alarm clocks, a color-coded organization system, and e-mail reminders. If I were a naturally focused person, I wouldn’t need productivity methods. I am simply a person who knows 1. her weaknesses, and 2. what she needs to do to accomplish her goals.

Do I want someone to rescue me? No. Do I want someone to share my beach blanket and smile back when I wonder what the poor people are doing? Sure. Do I want someone to sympathize with me when I get done with an 18-hour day? Absolutely. But I want someone who respects me enough to know that what I do is important to me and who supports me in it, who believes that I can do it – not someone who wants to ‘take me away from it all.’ 

I enjoy my life, so immensely. It’s full, it’s productive; readers (some friends, but mostly strangers) e-mail me and say what I’m writing is making a difference. That’s why I do this. This is worth it to me. I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You are, no doubt, familiar with the movie Jerry Maguire and the famous climatic scene in which main character Jerry realizes that he loves his wife and tells her, “You complete me.” Happy ending. Everyone cries and goes home, looking for the person who will complete them.

Don’t get me wrong – I love a chick flick as much as the next gal. Sleepless in Seattle is in my top five movies of all time. What I have a problem with is the part where we all leave the theater with aching hearts wondering where our Toms (both Hanks and Cruise) are. Wondering where and when will we ever find the person who completes us.

The problem with “You Complete Me” is that it assumes that you are missing something. And, many people are missing something, something they seem certain will be fulfilled once they find The One. Everything our culture tells us points to this – eHarmony commercials, romantic film after romantic film, pop songs bespeaking woes of broken hearts with missing pieces. Unfortunately, no one is looking at what our society tells us, which is that it doesn’t work out. One in two marriages end in divorce. Not first marriages, all marriages. So, of all marriages that take place – first, second, third, whatever – of all of them, 50 percent end in divorce. Forty percent of the population is currently single. What does that tell you?

You don’t have to look far. Chances are someone in your family, immediate or extended, has been or is currently divorced and/or has been married multiple times. It exists in my family, for sure. So, what makes us think we’re different? That somehow the first one is going to stick? That any of them are going to stick? That we’re not going to wake up 10 years into our marriage (the average lifespan of a modern marriage) and get divorced? There you are in your 40s trying to figure out how to do something you’ve never been able to do – be alone.

I’m not saying not to get married, not in the least. I believe in marriage. I respect marriage. I respect both love and marriage enough to not look to either as a goal, a milestone that must be accomplished like some kind of checklist. I’m not looking for someone to complete me.

Missing Piece People
No doubt, you’ve dated a Missing Piece Person (MPP). Or, you have been or currently are one. I’ve been one. A Missing Piece Person is one who doesn’t exactly feel whole. Someone who is missing something, something they are certain a significant other can fulfill. The Missing Puzzle Piece to their lives. Missing Piece People want a relationship; they are looking to you to be the piece that completes them.

I dated a Missing Piece Person recently. He was a fine person. The fact that after two months of being together he had professed love, told me he was going to marry me, and took me on house-hunting trips with his real estate agent ‘just in case I wanted to move in’ did freak me out a bit. I’m not a commitment phobe, though, and figured these kinds of things work themselves out.

The breaking point came when it became clear to me that this man had a lot of room in his schedule he was expecting me to fill. My inability to give that kind of time led to the swift demise of the relationship. It was a relief. It had been too much pressure to be the thing he was missing.

It took that break-up for me to realize that I, too, was being a Missing Piece Person. I was waiting to do a lot of things until I met The One. After all, you don’t want to be too busy to date him, right? What if I started on a career path he couldn’t keep up with? What if I made a commitment that interfered with his plans? After all, once I met him everything was finally going to come together right?

When I became a Whole Person
The thing that really solidified this for me happened one gorgeous November morning. I remember exactly what I was doing – brushing my teeth – when I realized that I was OK with being single. Better than OK, I was happy. I stepped out of my bathroom and surveyed my little apartment. My furniture, arranged how I wanted it. My sheets, the color I chose with no question of whether or not they were gender-neutral. My day, laid out before me, whatever I wanted to do that day, a world of possibilities. I smiled.

Then my phone rang. MPP wanted to meet up. “I want to get back together,” he says, later that night. “Why?” I ask, suspicious. “I’m ready for the next phase of my life to start,” he says. It became clear to me that he had decided the next phase of his life was to date someone for a few months, buy a house together, get married and have kids. It was a phase that needed to be started. It was just missing one thing.

That’s the problem with You Complete Me. He didn’t want me. He wanted Someone. He wanted me to do what I could not possibly do – complete him.

Today, I am happy on my own. I have a million things going on in my life, great things, things I that fulfill me, totally and completely. I don’t seek out dates. I read something at LifeHack in the comments section something that really stuck with me. A commenter said, “… being with the other person has to be more fun than being by myself (you’d possibly be surprised at how rarely that’s true).” I echo that sentiment.

I started seeing someone recently. He is a Whole Person, a person who is definitely not looking for someone to fill a hole. Knowing that he spends time with me a.) because he enjoys it, and b.) in spite of his very busy schedule, makes it so much the better. And because we are both Whole People we see each other only once or twice a week, what our schedules allow.

Buddhism – Whole Person philosophy
One of the central tenets of Buddhism is that suffering in life comes from clinging to what is fleeting. Someone told me once that we are born alone and we will die alone, and the sooner I accept that as a truth, the happier I will be in my relationships. Shocking as it was to hear, I’ve found it to be true.

When I’m with someone now, I’m not trying to figure out if they would make a suitable life partner (you know the checklist: earning potential, desired number of children, ability to age well, etc.). I look at whether or not this person would be fun to experience things with. What would they add? What do they bring to the table? Do they like to do the same things I do? Do they come at it from a different angle? Can they teach me something?

I get a lot of backlash about being OK with being single and the possibility that it could be forever. I am reassured always – “Don’t worry, Holly, you’ll find HIM.” “You’re too sweet/smart/pretty to end up alone.” These are all meant well, I know. But I know it will get worse as I get older (like the post and comments at LifeHack) or more outspoken (like Ryan P. over at Employee Evolution). It seems the fear of being alone is so pervasive we can’t even stand to watch our peers be OK with it.

My point in all of this is that I don’t think we should need somebody, like “You Complete Me” suggests. Nor should we want somebody b
ecause our lives are boring or seem incomplete without Someone. We should be OK with the odds of it never happening for us, living whole lives realizing our potential, not holding back because we are holding out for the Missing Piece. It would be great if I found someone to experience it all with, but I’m whole already. Everything else is just gravy.

If you’re waiting for someone to complete you, do yourself (and a potential significant other) a favor – go complete yourself. Because Whole People are far superior dates that Missing Piece People, and they only date other Whole People.

Get whole.