The world seems to be ending. If it ever wasn’t ending, that is. I returned to the first place I ever truly built a home for myself this month. I attended a mask mandatory work event—which was the most socialization I’ve done in a hot ass minute—and I’ve been having one of the biggest writers blocks ever.
I’m the type of person who processes things best out loud. And given the fact that I live alone, we’re in a global pandemic, and for the first time in six years I’m no longer in therapy, writing will have to suffice as verbal processing.
So, here’s the stitch, as Miss Possible would say. Where I’m living feels like one of the top five worst places on the planet. Even though I love my job and coworkers, Florida is pretty much the dumpster fire of America. My uncle is supposedly broke. This means my dear sweet, Fox watching, Trump hat-wearing, Nona needs to be moved out of her oceanfront property. And we have nowhere to put her. And with every passing day, I feel as though I’m struggling to find reasons to actually get out of bed.
So how am I handling it you might ask?
I got a Target credit card and have currently been simultaneously getting my steps in as I utilize retail therapy as a form of getting through it. But what does this have to do with relationships? Well, my man lives 600 miles away. And despite having spent a cute two weeks together earlier in the summer, we’re not quite sure when we’re going to see each other next. Distance sucks.
But I could have told you that without actually getting into a long-distance relationship. Except, here’s the thing, what are the chances that you’re going to find a solid match for you within a 30-mile radius of where you call home?
Take it from someone who just spent the better part of three years blaming her state for the limited prospects when it came to available persons. I wasn’t wrong!
Now, did I have growth to do, lessons to learn, and therapy to process? Absolutely! But also, when it came to the dating pool of eligible singles, Vermont looked like the clearance aisle of a Marshalls, sad, broken, and forgotten all the way in the back corner where the lights sort of creepily flicker. And I wish that was an exaggeration.
All this to say, maybe try widening your mileage radius on whatever dating app you’re on. Or be willing to make a cute ass connection on whatever flight you’re getting ready to board, with your masks on, please and thanks. That’s how my mom met her husband, after all. They were on an aircraft coming home from Italy. Cute story, I know.
And if you’re in an intentionally single place, good on you. I’ve been there many a time and I swear you never know when you’re about to meet a human who feels like home. I couldn’t have told you just six months ago that I’d be in love with a man who lives in a state I’d only been to twice in my whole life.
So, enjoy this time
Turn your phone off for the night, watch the show or movie that fills you with comfort, order in way too much food for one, rock out to the new album by your favorite indie artist, take a trip by yourself, truly date yourself. And make it bigger than a face mask or bubble bath.
We can allow ourselves to have glorious moments of joy even as the world seems to be falling apart. We can also pause and feel all the heavy as we scroll through the news apps on our phones and cry for the lives we know are in danger. It all deserves to be felt. Just know, if you are currently processing this all by yourself, wishing there was someone by your side, I’m here, in my terribly republican state, holding your hand through whatever device you’re reading this on. You’ve got my Instagram handle now (@SecondStar2TheWrite) slide into my DM’s and tell me anything and everything you want. I’m here for you.
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Written by Tori Muzyk
Illustrated by Francesca Mariama
