I recently logged into my eHarmony account after many months of neglect.
And it made me laugh.
A couple of years ago some friends helped me decide that online dating was going to be worth my time (building a profile), my energy (re-reading that profile), and my finances (paying for said profile). I tried my best to describe Caitlin Baird and find pictures that showed my make-upped and natural faces, my hobbies and interests. Realism was my main goal. Forget the glamour shots or anything that showed me standing up on a snowboard--boys need to know I have frizzy hair and bad balance! When I was satisfied with all my answers, from Xavier Rudd to Salt: A World History, I put myself out into the technology-based dating world and waited to see what transpired.
Would Caitlin Baird's Love-Of-Her-Life be eHarmonious?
My first five matches were guys I knew from college.
My only correspondence was from some man in India.
My (few) sent messages were never returned. [Except that one organic farmer who told me he had just started dating someone he met at a coffee shop and used all the right forms of "their" and "there". Props to you, bro.]
So after three payments of nearly one hundred hard-earned dollars I called it quits and haven't logged on again since.
Until now.
Why now?
Because I hate being single.
Honestly, I never thought I would come to this point. The term "single" seems so trite. I prefer telling people that I am "not seeing anyone" or "spending lots of time with family and friends" or "home on Friday nights figuring out what the heck I am going to do with myself while all my family and friends are out having a good time." But not Single.
For one thing, Single is equated with lonliness. And I have never considered myself lonely. My life is overflowing with beautiful family, friends, and former strangers. My social calendar fills up weeks in advance, usually before my professional schedule, and takes precedence over chores, appointments, and sleep.
I'm not lonely.
Also, Single usually means you are dating but have not entered into a long-term relationship. As in, I am Single because the guys I've gone out with haven't turned into a boyfriend. But what if you aren't being asked out? The last date I was asked on--and they said it was a date--was when I was in college. Seven years ago.
PAUSE
This may be the point in this blog where I start talking about the fact that it seems my generation is not able to define what is a date and what is not. We won't go there...this time.
PLAY
I'm not turning down dates.
Lastly, and technically, Single is a tax bracket. Which I DO, in fact, check when I file my taxes every year.
I'm not defined by the IRS.
So why am I finally owning this title? Me who rolls my eyes when someone who has been Single for five weeks says they can't handle it any longer? Me who snorts when I am told, "God has the right guy out there for you somewhere. Be patient." Why now, right before my 27th Halloween, do I finally own up to my state of being?
Because I finally feel it.
This desire to make decisions with someone else.
To plan and pay double for trips out of town.
To have a shoe-in for weddings and parties and concerts.
To make use of the the other 75% of my king-sized bed. (I literally sleep on the edge. And don't move.)
To share life more closely with someone.
And you know what? Even if I hate the feeling, I am glad I am finally here.
Better start looking for some cute profile pics.
