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CHAPTER ONE

SINGLE

1.1 How I Learned to Love Myself

I always thought of writers as astronauts because they could somehow float

in their minds with no gravity and let their imagination bump heads on the

heavenly realms above. It seemed so beautiful that writers- and really any

creative- could let wonder captivate them, propel them to see something

more than the gloom and doom of the world. But unless they’re crazy

successful, we shrug our shoulders at artists like this. We mark them as being

silly, not reliable, and not grounded within the gravity of present day life.

Yet it’s so fascinating that artists can create out of a sense of beauty

that others can’t always see. It’s honestly what caused me to struggle as a

writer. I have this peculiar tendency at times to see the world as it is, but

when that happens, I find my art suffers, along with my hope.

All this to say: I’m a naturally cynical person. It’s something I’m still

learning to combat.

It’s odd how we choose to dwell on the negative aspects of life rather

than celebrate the many wondrous blessings there are. I believe it’s somehow

easier to see the negativity because life can seem empty after a number of

failed attempts. We can be impatient people, wrestling with a certain

longing, yet see it denied several times, forcing us to see life as nothing more

than a parade of getting up and falling back down again. It’s easy to see life

through a negative lens.

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And at one point in my life, I was highly cynical about love and

relationships.

For a brief time during college, I gave up pursuing relationships. In

my heart, I desired it, just like any normal person does. But after a string of

failed attempts at relationships, I grew callous in my heart. It didn’t beat with

hope or optimism. It just sank low with bitterness. And since the brain and

heart are often in cahoots with each other, my brain concocted lies and

cheap rationalizations to justify my bruised heart.

When you choose to live within your pessimism, there are a couple

roads you could take: you can either wallow in your self-pity, rationalize the

situation to make yourself feel better, draw others into your mess so they can

give you the attention you desire, or change and work to be an inspiration

for others. I took the middle road between drowning in self-pity and being

overly logical. The problem with these two options is that I had concealed

my feelings from the rest of the world. I had this grand idea that I could

solve my desire and cynicism by myself, if only I spent more time writing and

diving into my thoughts.

__________

At the Student Union area of my college, I would carry my computer

over to a corner table by a window that I loved. Being at this corner table

made me feel like I had charge over who came and talked to me. The

Student Union area was always bustling with people, but the corner table

was far enough from the main traffic that I could remain by myself if I

wanted to. Also, at the corner table, no one could sneak up on me. I could

see everyone who was in the room and everyone who was coming my way.

Nothing surprised me.

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I mention this corner table because it’s where I spent much of my time

writing and thinking about relationships. In the Student Union area, there

would be couples cuddling with each other on the couches, holding hands,

and throwing back their heads to laugh at what possibly seemed to be some

of the worst jokes ever. They were happy they weren’t alone. And I was in

the corner, leaning over the table, studying them and wondering if I could

ever be that happy.

I would be lying to you if I didn’t say I often daydreamed of girls

coming to my corner table, sitting with me, and exclaiming their love for me.

That would have made the search so much easier. But no one did that, and

part of me wondered why.

My mind was spiraling down to the bedrock of self-loathing, a pit as

large as the Grand Canyon. I could feel my back slamming against the rocky

ground, paralyzing me from ever moving again. I felt stuck, like I couldn’t

get back to a more positive view on relationships.

But as a saving grace, my logic entered in and told me some things

that gave me a little hope:

You should use this time to work.

The fates say you aren’t ready for a relationship yet.

You’re suppose to do something great before a relationship takes up your time.

There it was: my mind rationalizing that I wasn’t in a relationship

because I had work to do.

I read of writers who produced one compelling work after the other,

and this life always appealed to me. I imagined that if I really put my mind

to it, I could publish a new book every two months (impossible I know, but I

was naïve then). I could pack up my bags, travel up to an unknown cabin

somewhere, and shut myself in, not leaving until I wrote my next book. I

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figured that the artists who lived this sort of life had no partner by their side.

So this is the life I dreamed about: a life where I could live as a hermit in the

middle of nowhere, listening only to my own inner dialogue chant away

possible new books.

I falsely believed that the life of a leader, someone who works to

change culture, is an intentionally solitary path. In order to do your best

work, you must be alone.

But this was simply a justification my logic gave to make me feel better

about myself. What I found instead is that the life of a leader can be

unintentionally lonely.

__________

And so I sat at the corner table, dreaming up scenarios of women

talking to me. But then I would shut down those thoughts the next minute so

I could put pen to paper. Not many people bothered me, and I didn’t tell

others how I felt. I just continued writing, hunched over the table like I was

inspecting tiny particles on the tabletop.

The solitary life was a lonely one, but it was the life I had chosen, or at

least, what the shoddy logic of my mind chose to believe. It made me feel

better about myself rather than being a hopelessly sad person wearing my

emotions on my sleeve. It was better to not tell anyone, to shut myself in, and

busy my upset mind with work.

Yet the problem was, I was only busying myself with work because I

was avoiding what lied underneath the surface. Beneath my fortified exterior

was this deep haunting feeling nipping away at my core.

I thought, maybe I wasn’t with someone because I wasn’t good

enough.

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Looking back, I can’t believe I actually thought this. It’s not a rare

idea to have in our society. It spreads among us like the Black Plague of love

and relationships. Many of us struggle with this idea that love is for lovely

people, and if we’re not lovely, then we were never designed to love

somebody.

But this is hogwash- a lie born from the depths of Hell, where Satan

concocts everything evil in the cosmos.

The mere fact that we are alive, have beating hearts inside our chest,

and emotions swirling around in our minds means that we were designed to

be vulnerable with others. It’s in our very nature to love, imbedded in the

way procreate, interact, and yearn for community. We were designed to

love, and our inability at snagging a relationship for ourselves doesn’t change

that fact.

But the trick is discerning whether this means to love someone in a

relationship or love our friends and family, because if we’re honest with

ourselves, we know not everyone is meant to be in a relationship. A

relationship is not an obligation set forth by the universe. We desire it

because it’s beautiful, not because it’s necessary.

Yet love, in the form of brotherly affection and community, is

something we really need to saturate our existence. There is a large

difference between the love of a friend and the love of a spouse, and while

both are great, only one is obligated for our human flourishing. Deep

friendship, strong enough to cut through our bones and rest in our hearts, is

a requirement for this human life we live.

I say all this because maybe many of us are single because we haven’t

yet learned what it looks like to love ourselves. And maybe, we can’t love

ourselves because we have trouble recognizing the love already present in

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our lives. We can’t see that we are in loving relationships with our friends

and family. And because we can’t receive that friendship love for ourselves,

we can’t truly love who we are because we see ourselves as empty of love.

Love for ourselves begins with the love we experience around us. And

when I say the love we experience, I don’t mean in the terms of a dating

relationship. I mean love in general. I mean the intimacy shared between

family. I mean the devotion given to friends. I mean the love we experience

daily, but never fully realize we do.

It’s this kind of love we need to survive, and it’s this kind of love we

need so that we may appreciate who we are.

__________

One day, I was writing at my usual corner table, accidentally smearing

my pencils marks as I worked across the page, when a friend came by with a

sandwich wrapped in her hands. Her eyes were genuine and sincere, and she

said, “Could I join you?”

This happens often when you choose to do your work in a public

place, but I figured that when you refuse to make eye contact with anyone

else, and look as if you don’t realize the world moving in a rush around you,

people typically tend to leave you alone. My friend, however, thought

otherwise. She saw me by myself, scribbling away thoughts on page, and she

figured I could use some company.

When she asked to join me, the look in her eyes was so warm and

jovial that I loosened the grip on my pencil, and said, “Of course you can.”

I scrambled to organize my sheets scattered across the tabletop as she

unwrapped her sandwich. For the next half hour, we talked, caught up on

life, and laughed over the silliest events that occurred in the past few days. It

was a refreshing experience, like taking a breath after emerging from deep

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waters. For a moment, I could feel the machinery in my mind begin to slow

down, as if it were taking the time to fill up on oil. And then, I was focused

entirely on living in that brief pause of invigorating friendship.

It was then that I realized something: love is not something you can

accomplish alone. It is not solitary.

This might seem like an obvious truth, but it really isn’t. Yes, you do

need two people in order for a love between people to operate, but there is

also the neglected aspect of loving yourself. And while it might seem like you

can love yourself by your own devices, this isn’t possible.

Truth is, you can’t fully learn to love yourself without the help of

others. You need people to communicate the mysteries raging on inside you,

the mysteries you’ve tried to solve for so long but couldn’t.

It’s not possible to ever achieve love alone. Every type of love,

including the love you give yourself, requires the nourishment of community.

And after sitting at that corner table with my dear friend, I felt

nourished in some mysterious way. She brought me out of myself, out of the

pit of busyness and sadness corrupting my ability to enjoy life. For a short

moment of time, I could feel my hard heart lighten and dance in a wonder

my brain didn’t fully comprehend.

As we sat there, laughing at life’s sense of humor, I rejoiced in my

inner most being that finally I had known what it was like to appreciate

myself. I finally felt at peace with my warring self-esteem, acknowledging

that love for another was possible for me; it’s just taking its sweet time to

flourish.

1.2 Why I Chose to Not Be Pressured into Love

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Around this same time, I was sitting on a staircase with one of my friends,

when he said something that struck me as odd.

“You ever feel like you have to have a girlfriend?” he asked, his voice

hushed so it wouldn’t echo in the stairwell.

“I always feel that way, but I know I shouldn’t.”

“Well, I know we shouldn’t,” he began. “But, if you think about it, it

makes sense. Look at it this way: we missed our chance at having childhood

sweethearts, so we cross that off the list. We also missed our chance at high

school sweethearts, cause I don’t know about you but I was stupid in high

school. And now, we’re in college! This is our last chance at finding a girl.

We’re never going to be with these many people ever in our lifetime. Once

we enter the real world, it’s going to get much harder to find someone to

date. We’ll have to find someone in our field. And what if we’re in a male-

dominated field?”

“Well then, life becomes hard,” I said.

We both slouched on that staircase, our chins resting on our hands,

dreaming of all the possible ways we could find a girlfriend in the remaining

time we had left in college. If I’m being honest, I felt pressure in that

moment. It was as if my friend’s anxiety over the situation contaminated my

thinking also. I started to believe I had to find a girl soon, or risk a life of

loneliness.

I’m convinced that this was one of the many factors feeding into my

cynical perspective on love. To believe that it was necessary to find love

before a certain amount of time made me doubt love more than believe in it.

It goes like this: you know those times when you set a billion alarms on

your phone to remind you of an important task, and you think you would

never forget that task, until you lose your phone, get wrapped up in

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something else, and completely forget the task? Those times frustrate me, but

they taught me a valuable lesson. Sometimes, it doesn’t help when we pay

more attention to something. It just makes us more frustrated when we don’t

accomplish the task we are paying more attention to.

It’s the same thing with love. When we obsess over finding the right

person before a self-perceived deadline we have floating in our minds, it

becomes more difficult, more disheartening when we don’t find that person

fast enough. We think the search for love should be easy and manageable,

but when we find that it isn’t, we get angry, hopeless, and doubtful about

love ever working in our favor.

Deadlines on love don’t help us in our search for it. They only make

us angry.

When I left down the staircase, my mind still whirring from the

conversation I just had with my friend, I realized I was getting more doubtful

on love the more I felt pressured to find it. By the time I reached the end of

the staircase, I made a claim that I wasn’t going to feel pressured into

anything. It was only ruining me.

We are people of freedom. We like to stretch out our arms and move

around in an open and free space. We don’t like being constricted.

Sometimes being constricted helps us work harder towards the things we

need to accomplish, because the more pressure you place on something, the

more it longs for freedom. But deadlines for task that aren’t completely in

our control don’t work, because then, freedom seems impossible. And the

less possible freedom becomes, the more bitter we become. This is how both

life and love work.

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Love is more precious, more beautiful, and more appreciated when it

coincides with freedom. In other words, love is more powerful when it’s a

choice, not an obligation.

I had a friend once tell me that culture exalts marriage and

relationships to appear as if it’s an obligation, like it’s part of some checklist

to life. You grow up, get an education, fall in love, get married, work, and

then wait to die. This is how the American Dream operates. So when my

friend told me this, I agreed with him. The greater culture does press love on

us, and as a result, one can get cynical about relationships because they don’t

feel as if they are choosing. They’re simply just following after societal

norms.

But much of this is self-perceived. These pressures only press on us

because we allow them to. If love is better as a choice, then start first by

choosing not to be pressured into it.

__________

A couple days after that conversation, I was perfectly fine being single.

In fact, I had come to terms with it. Sure, I wanted someone by my side, but

I didn’t want that desire to corrupt my ability to live in the present. So I

continued sitting at my table in the corner of the Student Union, simply

writing and commenting on love rather than engaging in it.

Yet, an odd thing happened once I chose to not be affected by the

pressure of love. Once I stopped looking for it and stopped being burdened

by it, it came.

Love has that stealthy quality to it. It likes to blindside us. It likes to

come when we least expect it because only then does it have the ability to

sweep us into something wonderful.

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