Six love lessons from six years single
Magical meet-cutes & unrequited romance
This piece was originally published in Notes On: Love in the Time of Heartache, a zine created by my shining star of a friend, Hannah. In her words, it’s “A love letter in the form of a zine. From us (writers, artists, dreamers) to you (whoever you may be). Delivered to your door, wrapped in an envelope, like a letter from an old friend.” It’s a strictly limited print run and can be purchased here!
When I moved to London five years ago, I had two big dreams — to become a writer and to fall in love. Aged 25, I was naive enough to think I could accomplish both these feats in twelve months, packing my bags back up and heading home to Sydney with a book deal and a British boy. Instead, I was faced with a global pandemic (and job shortage), Hinge-induced heartache and a devastating unrequited love.
All these experiences did turn me into a writer. Or, rather, I already was one; now I just had something to write about. But that’s another story. This story is about being single for six years, and some love lessons I hope are worthy of sharing.
1. Loneliness is not exclusive to being single
Throughout most of my twenties, I viewed my friends in long-term relationships with envy. I’ve lamented when plus-ones were limited to partners, wished I had somebody to go on holiday with, and have frequently experienced a crushing need to be held by someone who cares about me — which has too often led me to dating apps (more on that later).
But, I remind myself that it can be just as lonely to be in the wrong relationship. I try to focus on the gifts my singledom has afforded me. I love travelling solo, and have no problem taking myself on a trip or out to dinner. I’ve had connections with people from all over the world, and each love affair has taught me something new about myself. My life is big and beautiful enough on its own — I’d like to share it with someone else, but I don’t need to. Try to see the positives in your relationship status — because whether you’re partnered or perpetually single, your heart will always pose challenges. You may as well enjoy the ride.
2. Chemistry is not them caring
God, I wish I got this one sooner. That intense thing you feel with someone can be addictive. When you meet in the kitchen of a bustling party, and spend the whole night swapping stories. When you reconnect with a long-lost love, but something seems brand new. When feelings between friends change after too many years, and you find yourself wanting more.
I have burnt my whole life to the ground for that intensity. But it’s not enough. If they’re all talk and no action, or all action and no talk — you deserve more. Romance and respect is possible. Feeling excited and feeling safe is possible. Having that electric connection — with someone who also cares about you on a deep level — is possible. You should have it all.
3. You’re going to judge & be judged
There is nothing more harrowing than seeing your friend suffering in love. I’ve been on both sides of this scenario — the afflicted and the onlooker. I’ve felt ashamed when friends struggle to conceal their horror at my choices, as I continued to pick people with unprecedented levels of emotional unavailability.
But I’ve also been the one who wants to physically restrain my perfect friend from going back to a boy who has broken her heart 17 times before. All I have to offer you is this — the way we fall in and out of love is so wildly different. If friends ask for your advice, give it honestly. But do your best to reserve your judgement. Especially if you’re in a relationship — because you may not understand what it’s like to set aside your standards in the hope of a happy ending.
Plus, honestly, your friends have most likely made their minds up already. In the words of Fleabag’s therapist, “You already know what you’re going to do.”
4. It’s okay to be desperate
At a dinner party once, I asked everyone which adjective they’d least like to be described as. I knew, because I’d recently been called it by someone I trusted — “desperate.” It was in relation to my behaviour with boys, and made me feel horrendous.
But then, I thought about it a little more. What does being desperate mean? It means you really want something. You need something. There’s no escaping it — there are times when being single can feel so devastating. When you get your hopes up, and get let down, or feel like a fool, or make the wrong call. Sometimes, the situation does feel desperate. There is nothing wrong with really wanting something.
So be desperate. Be daring. Don’t let desperation — wanting — be a criticism. Brave people have desires and go for them gun-ho. Look after your heart, but don’t let people criticise you for wanting something that they already have.
5. Falling in love is unbelievably lucky
Between dating apps and sliding into DMs, we have been tricked into thinking that finding love is easier than it is. I know that many people have met soulmates swiping. But fundamentally, I feel like you can’t cheat fate. I don’t think that the odds on apps are any better than the other ways of meeting someone — over too many pints after work, at a house party with friends of friends of friends, on a solo holiday by the sea.
Sure, if you go on app dates, you’re widening the net. But it’s just one way of meeting people, and it has a lot of negatives. Personally, I don’t think I can bear to do it again — especially after a magical meet-cute last year. Even if you go on a million dates and say yes to every party and join a run club and a pottery class — you may not meet anyone. In love, as in many parts of life, the timing is not up to us. So to those waiting to meet someone — I say do what feels fun, remain hopeful, and live your life for yourself in the meantime.
6. Possibilities are the best part
When I wrote the first draft of this essay, I had met someone. It was a whirlwind summer love affair that lasted into winter. We had no label and lived on other sides of the world, but my heart was with him. I was optimistic — despite the odds stacked against us, I thought maybe my six years single was coming to an end.
It’s the kind of connection you only get a few times in your life. It did not happen when I was “least expecting it.” When you’ve been single for so long, it’s natural to hope for love in all manner of places. To chase the chemistry but want the connection. To make mistakes you get judged for. To be desperate. Contrary to what many people will tell you, I think you do need to expect it. Or rather, be open to it striking at any moment. Because it’s never who you think it’s going to be.
As the year drew to a close, our connection did too. I didn’t feel ready to let go of him, or of the future I imagined for us. To be single is to sometimes say goodbye against your will. But one day soon, I know I’ll be able to get excited about future possibilities. New friends and lovers and adventures, or old affairs that I can dream about restarting in another hemisphere. As I go into my seventh year single, I know that if I’m lucky, I may once again risk heartbreak — all for the life-changing magic of falling in love.
Your essay makes me think about this quote from CS Lewis : “There is no safe Investment. To love at all is to be vulnerable. Love anything, and your heart will certainly be wrung and possibly be broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give your heart to no one, not even to an animal. Wrap it carefully round with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements; lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfish-ness. But in that casket-safe, dark, motionless, air-less—it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. The alternative to tragedy, or at least to the risk of tragedy, is damnation. The only place outside Heaven where you can be perfectly safe from all the dangers and perturbations of love is Hell.”
I honestly can’t wait for the next chapter, “My 7th Year Single”…