We should buy ourselves flowers.
We should take the vacation we’ve always dreamed of.
We should visit that fancy new restaurant.
But I didn’t always feel this way…
In my twenties, my life seemed to revolve around dating and finding a partner. I had a budding career, a fun and smart circle of friends, and I volunteered with meaningful organizations. But I was still spending hours agonizing over finding The One.
I compulsively worked over my dating app profiles like they were psychological puzzles.
I dug through my photo feed and even staged new photos with new clothes and “candid” poses.
I made sure all my friends knew I was single and up for blind dates.
Heck, I even asked out some of those friends.
One September, in my late 20s, I paused to think about how much time I spent online looking for “The One.”
I scrolled the profiles and upgraded my accounts, hoping to find my mate within a reasonable geographic distance. Eventually, I expanded my definition of a “reasonable geographic distance.”
I winked and poked and DMed and e-mailed and texted countless strangers.
I developed a bevy of first date ideas and reliable locations.
Eventually, I ended up with dozens of stories about one-date exes, an entirely new category I had to make up to accommodate the people coming in and out of my life.
As I became more conscious of how much time I spent on dating and finding a partner, it became depressing. I could have made a part-time job out of it.
I then realized I was spending all this time looking for The One, while spending very little time on myself.
I decided to call a moratorium on my dating life.
Well, almost.
I was going to date someone, but that someone was going to be me.
I decided that for six months – from October to April – I was going to settle into cuffing season and date myself.
This site is about the lessons I learned during those six months, as well as our ongoing efforts, especially as women, to treat ourselves well.
M