I don’t stalk my exes anymore. Not for any particular reason. I’m not otherwise happily engaged. I stalked each of them for years. I just don’t anymore.
I’m content. Not exactly happy, but in a Buddha-like way, accepting that maybe this is it: maybe I’ll always just be me, alone.
Some people are just better at relationships than others. I’m sure I’ll date other guys, even fill the decades ahead with some multi-year situations. But perhaps, this is it: perhaps my life, on average, will be alone with me.
It’s not because there’s anything wrong with me. I’m very datable, likable, attractive, ambitious: I check every box. But maybe, maybe I’m just not one of those personalities that seamlessly slips into another for a lifetime. Some aren’t. I guess it’s okay.
Even those that appear to be, I know, may not be so forever. Life, and relationships, are ephemeral. There’s times I’ve seemed as close to seamlessness as anyone, there’s many other times I have not. There’s no comparing to others, especially because there’s no comparing on mismatched timelines of romantic success. I guess it’s okay.
I will admit, I have my eye on one guy. I will admit, in this lifetime, I’d prefer to be loved and love in return. I will admit, it looks easier, conventional, fulfilling. But if it doesn’t happen, it will be okay because it has to be okay because the only alternative is a depression, a counter productive mindset worth rejecting. It will be okay.