Ok, I’m going to tell you guys the real reason why I haven’t dated at all in the last 4 years. And it’s not just that I don’t want to get married or have kids, and for the last time – NO, it’s not because I’m secretly a lesbian.
The reason is this:
I am lousy at picking men.
I attract and am attracted to guys who are all wrong for me, and I am attracted to them for all the wrong reasons.
Hypothetically, of course, I always say that a partner should be caring, stable, responsible, faithful, sturdy as a rock. But the reality is that I have never, not even once, been attracted to someone who is all those things. I can’t think of a single guy I dated whom I can imagine “settling down” with.
I like men who are complicated and mysterious, men who are daring and unpredictable and a little bit dangerous. I like them twisted and argumentative and as tumultuous as a storm.
I like them handsome, all in different ways; I’ve dated tall and short, dark and light, lean and doughy, skinny and muscular. I’ve dated Chinese and Black and Middle Eastern, rugged and tattooed, clean-shaven and preppy.
I like them artistic and moody. I like them exasperating and volatile. I like them exciting and worldly and carefree.
I prefer the Barneys over the Teds, the Pucks over the Finns, the Phantoms over the Raouls.
I know it’s stupid, and I hate to admit that my heart behaves in the exact opposite way that my mind honestly believes it should. But being with someone I’m not attracted to just seems exactly as mediocre and unfulfilling as being with someone whose interest in me is as unstable as his personality. It’s really no wonder why none of my past relationships have worked. It sure would be nice if I could be attracted to a nice guy for once, but maybe God really just does mean for me to be single.
And so, beginning in September of 2009, I’ve run far, far away from every single guy I’ve been even remotely attracted to. Because chances are, I’ll get swept off my feet and end up getting sucked into another black hole of pain and regret.
Does that make me a total coward? Maybe so. But as I read in a comic book once: “Better a live chicken than a dead dummy.”
I am happy on my own. Maybe because I am content to have a happiness wave that looks like this:
…and not risk having one that looks like this:
And until God softens my heart toward an actual nice, decent guy – which might be never – I’m going to keep running away from ALL men.
Now you know.
