I'm done waiting for my magical romance.

You call it magic. I call it low-grade anxiety.

Dear friend,

Have you ever listened to the way people speak about their relationships? I mean really listened. Because I’ve been doing that my whole life. In wedding vows, Instagram posts, and reality TV show confessionals, people love to frame their relationships as the product of some kind of magic. As if on the day they met, the sun was shining just for them. They love to post pictures of them and their partner and write corny captions that say shit like:

• “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

• “From the moment we met, I knew.”

• “He’s my soulmate.”

And it’s like…. okay? Are you saying that the universe stopped what it was doing that day just so it could bring you…. Chad?

Aside from the times when I’m being a total hater on Instagram, I really am interested in hearing about how couples met. I ask about their meetcutes because there’s always the chance that I’ll hear some great wisdom or at least a fun story that will give me ideas on how I can eventually land my own underemployed Prince Charming. But that rarely happens. Instead, they say things like:

• “As soon as we met there was chemistry.”

• “There was just something different about her. I can’t explain.”

• “If I hadn’t canceled my Saturday spin class and he hadn’t rescheduled his Tuesday kickboxing class, we would have *never* met at that Friday night HIIT Cardio class. I guess it was just meant to be.”

Try it. Ask someone how they met their partner and fell in love. More likely than not, you’ll hear something that sounds less like dating and more like alchemy. People talk about signs. They talk about timing. They talk about coincidence and happenstance and manifestation. They talk about magic.

“It’s like from the moment we met, I knew.”

When I hear stories like that, I’m not quite sure what to do. On one hand, I’m thrilled that people are finding their people. I’m glad that in a world where anything remarkable feels exceedingly rare, folks can look at their relationship and see something bigger than themselves. But on the other hand, when I hear people talk this way, as a single person I can’t help but feel like the universe has been conspiring against me the whole time. I find myself growing resentful: What did those two do to deserve that kind of favor? What gods do I need to appease? Is it somehow cosmically my fault that I’m still single?

The other thing that people in these magical relationships love to do is give incredibly unhelpful dating advice to their single friends. Because they see their relationships as divine interventions, they love to say woo-woo shit like:

• “You’ll find someone when you stop looking.”

• “It’s so important to work on yourself first.”

• “When you know, you know.”

• “The right person will come along when you’re ready.”

And to that, all I can say is, “Oh…. good to know, I guess?”

I say all of this not just as a tirade against a lifetime of platitudes from partnered people, but more importantly as an acknowledgment of the ways that I’ve internalized a lot of these kinds of narratives. To put it plainly, y’all have gotten in my head and it’s fucking up my dating game.

Let me explain. I’ve spent so long hearing about these magical encounters that I found myself going on dates in search of that magic. I’d meet someone new and look for signs that that person could become my person. Maybe we had the same initials. Maybe we went to the same high school, but never met until now. Maybe a psychic once told him that he’d meet someone who was five-foot-two, brown eyes, and daddy issues, and here I am.

But none of that ever panned out. The guy with the same initials as me dated my best friend instead. The one who went to my high school got twenty minutes into our first date before he killed the vibe by saying, “I just want to be upfront: I’m looking for a wife and I want children.” The one who went to the psychic? Well, I just made him up and honestly, that’s probably for the best.

And even when I wasn’t on dates, I’d find myself at home arranging tidy little magical narratives about where and when I would find the love of my life. Maybe if I swore off men today, I’d meet him tomorrow. Maybe if I seized the day and tried that hobby I swore I’d never do, we’d finally cross paths. Maybe I'd meet him on New Year’s Eve. If not, maybe on my birthday. Not then either? Well, how about on the longest day of the year? What about the shortest, then? What other dates would make for a romantic story?

Me, wondering when I’ll meet the LOML.

None of it ever happened. I never went on a date, locked eyes with a man, and saw the heavens open up or heard the choir sing. I never felt fireworks or saw stars. There wasn’t chemistry or electricity. And even if it was a surprisingly lovely date, I’d go home feeling disappointed or confused. After all, people told me that when it happened, I’d know. And I didn’t know. So this must not be it, right? Cue the anxious spiral.

A few weeks ago, I was walking with my best friend and complaining about how I felt frustrated and mislead by these magical love narratives. I asked her if it felt like magic when she started dating her now-husband. She thought for a moment and then said, “Not at the time. There was never that one moment. But now that we’ve been together for seven years, that feels magical. The fact that we both put in the work to get us here feels like magic.”

Whew.

I’ve been sitting with that for weeks. And I’m starting to rethink everything I’ve been told about dating and relationships. After all, people in relationships are way more likely to say something like “It was fate” than admit to the truth, which might be something like, “We met and then he ghosted me for several months, but then one night after a few too many drinks, I texted him and we hooked up and after that it was weird for a bit but eventually, we stopped seeing other people and now we have a kid.” I get how calling that destiny can make your relationship sound much more romantic and invite far fewer questions. Good for you.

I realize now that I can’t go on a date searching for something intangible and expect to find it. I know that sounds as cliche as everything else people have told me, so I’ll put another way: it doesn’t matter if magic exists or not. As long as I show up on a date and try my best, it doesn’t matter if I’ve spent days trying to puzzle out our couple numerology like it was the Da Vinci Code. And honestly, dating in pursuit of that lightning bolt moment discounts all of the time, work, energy, and therapy I’ve put into my dating life—work that I feel like has made me a better person and a better potential partner.

I can choose to look for signs or I can give absolutely zero fucks about trying to predict the outcome. And it makes more sense (and feels less crazy-making) to go on dates and try to see the person in front of me for who they are, what they offer, and how they can fit in my life, instead of anxiously searching for a *something* no one has ever been able to adequately explain.

What if, instead of waiting to feel “magic”, I seek out feelings I can name, like curiosity, excitement, intrigue, anticipation, and fun? Those can feel just as good.

So for now, I’m taking the zero-fucks, non-magic approach. And it feels incredibly liberating. I can’t control whether or not I’m going meet someone and feel like I’ve been hit by lightning, but I can control the effort I put into showing up to connect with someone new and just see where it goes.

And if that effort is reciprocated? Shit, maybe that’s the magic right there.

Sincerely,
Still Single 💖