I cried on the way home from work today. I couldn’t hold it in any longer. All day long I saw people posting their loved ones on socials, showing off their beautiful bouquets of two dozen red-roses, and witnessed so many gifted the biggest “heart” shaped box of chocolates. I found myself feeling nauseous, my palms were sweaty with jealousy, and the lump in my throat felt like it would never dissipate.

I’m not the jealous type. Especially on days like today. I usually am so busy living my life, that I forget to feel envious when I see whichever friend or colleague going on a date, getting engaged, or planning their wedding. I usually don’t feel like I am missing out on anything.

Today though, I had a full blown cry session because for the first time I actually did feel jealous over not getting that beautiful bouquet of flowers. I felt sad that I don’t have someone who wants to spend the evening with me going out to an overly expensive restaurant. I was angry that for the first time… I wasn’t okay with being single.

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I hate writing about love, because it’s so incredibly cliché. If I am honest with you, I can’t believe that for the first time in a whole year (how can I even call myself a writer these days??) I have been inspired to write again because I am wallowing in self pity over the fact that I don’t have someone to love—I don’t have anyone I can share quiet moments reading with. I don’t have someone that looks into my eyes and hopes for the day they won’t ever have to live without me. I don’t have someone I can share sweet giggles with after an enduring kiss. I don’t have someone that I can get lost with in the gentle murmur of conversation after a rough day.

Like… who am I??? *Queue “Tried of Being Alone” by Al Green*

Truth is, I always try to practice vulnerability. It’s scary when it’s actually going to be read by others, rather than just in my own journal. It’s nerve wracking trying to string words together that describe my most personal thoughts. I know it’s therapeutic, though.

These notions about love have been swirling around in my head today—it’s almost like I am on the teacup ride at Disneyland, but instead of a belly full of laughter, I have a raging headache and a belly full of vomit. What is love anyway? Why all of a sudden am I riddled with resentment? Why do I suddenly care about the rat race of social norms—dating, falling in love, and eventually getting married?

Spiraling, I did some digging in my mind and heart. One of my favorite authors, James Baldwin, said that, “Love whether it be friendship, family, or romance—is the work of mirroring and magnifying each other’s light.” He also said, “Love takes off the masks we fear we cannot live without and know we cannot live within.” (Side note, if you ever have the chance to read “If Beale Street Could Talk,” please do.)

The Greeks on the other hand, have it more thought out. They have seven forms of love—I won’t get into the details to spare you—but, they say that the highest form of love is agape. Agape is a love so pure that it becomes selfless and unconditional. Some say love isn’t about ridiculous little words, though. Love is about grand gestures. Love is about airplanes pulling banners over stadiums, proposals on jumbo-trons, and giant words in sky-writing. Love is about going that extra mile even if it hurts, letting it all hang out there. Love is about finding courage inside of you that you didn’t even know was there. But love is also an ugly, terrible business practiced by fools. It’ll trample your heart and leave you bleeding on the floor. And what does it really get you in the end?? …Nothing but a few incredible memories that you can’t ever shake.

Thinking back, some of my favorite memories of my life have been when I was in love and I think that’s what is causing me this envy… seeing others so happy, so in love? I am worried I will never find someone who will make me feel completely smitten again. A love that makes me want to go the extra mile even if it hurts. Will I ever feel all those things again??

I haven’t dated someone in I think two and a half, almost three years? I’ve grown used to being single. I have become content focusing on me. And you know what’s funny? The second most important form of love, according to the greeks, is philautia. Or self love.

This evening, I’ve been thinking that the time we have to be single, is really the time we have to get good at being alone. It’s the only time that we really get to discover our true selves. It’s the only time that you can truly uncover and practice self love.

But, how good at being alone do we really have to be? Isn’t there a danger that you’ll get so good at being single, so set in your ways, that you’ll miss out on the chance to be with somebody great?

I am certainly not an expert on love, or at being alone… but is it possible that we have it all wrong? Maybe the whole point of love isn’t to just find someone you can live with or be codependent on? Maybe it isn’t about having a husband, house, and two kids. Maybe instead, it’s about living and discovering that the most profound relationship you can have, is the one with ourselves.

I realize that the thing about being single is, you should cherish it. Because in a week or a lifetime, of you being alone, you may only get one moment. One moment, where you are not tied up with someone. One moment that you aren’t in a relationship with anyone—a parent, a friend, or even a lover. One moment where you truly stand on your own. I want to be prepared for that moment. I want to get good at being alone.

Because in an instance, that moment of being alone could end.

I believe I won’t miss out on eventually finding love, because I have so much love to give. I won’t miss out on the love that is meant for me. I choose to believe that I won’t miss out on finding a soulmate. Because what is meant for me, will find me—and probably when I least expect it.

Here’s to all the people alone tonight. Here’s to those who are not waiting on their other half… to those who are instead making themselves whole.

-UM