What Happened to Love? | Prologue
Why Am I Still Alone?
Nothing special happened on my twenty-fifth birthday. There was no big party, I didn’t fly abroad. It was a completely ordinary birthday, the kind you finish the same way you started it, just with a few more WhatsApp messages, a few more phone calls, and a strange feeling that another year had gone by without your really noticing. I sat in my apartment with Jesse, my dog, who was sprawled across the couch as if he were the landlord and I were just a guest he’d graciously agreed to let pay the bills, and I scrolled through the birthday wishes I’d gotten during the day. I’ve always loved birthday wishes. There’s something beautiful about one day a year when people stop their lives for a moment to tell you they’re glad you exist. Some write from the heart, some recycle the same message they’ve been sending for a decade, and some send so many emojis that you start to suspect they think the emojis themselves are the blessing.
I went through message after message, smiling. My mom wrote that she wished me health, happiness, success, and that I’d find the love of my life. One of my brothers wrote that it was time to bring a bride into the family. A good friend wished that by next year there’d already be someone to join us for beers and balance out the testosterone in the group a little. Nothing unusual. Nothing I hadn’t heard before. But the more I read, the more I started noticing something strange. Everyone, without talking to one another and without coordinating, wished me the exact same thing. Not money. Not a successful business. Not a crazy trip. Love. Everyone wanted love for me. It was strange, because if you’d asked me that evening how my life looked, I’d have said it looked pretty good. I had a good job, I had great friends, I had a family that loved me, I was healthy, I had plans, I had dreams, and my apartment was arranged exactly the way I like it. Everything was in its place. The pillows, the remote, the shoes, and even Jesse on the couch. Everything was in order. Too much order.
One of the things I believe in most in life is setting goals. Every birthday I sit down with myself and write a list for the coming year. Things I want to do, achieve, build, experience. There’s something about it that feels right to me. If you don’t know where you want to go, it’s very hard to get there by accident. And usually it works. Almost every year I’d go back to the previous list and check off most of the items. A trip I wanted to take? Check. A financial goal? Check. A promotion at work? Check. A new project? Check. But there was one item that came back every single year, like a song you can’t stand anymore but that keeps playing on the radio. Find love. Every year it reappeared, every year it stayed open, and every year I found myself marking a small, annoying X beside it.
I remember getting up off the couch and walking to the bathroom mirror. Not because I thought I’d find answers there. The opposite. I went because sometimes there’s a moment when you no longer have the strength to run from yourself. I looked at the guy standing in front of me. He didn’t look broken. He didn’t look pitiful. He didn’t look like someone life had passed by. He looked like a completely ordinary guy, the kind you’d pass on the street without thinking he had any particular problem. And still, the longer I looked at him, the more a question rose in me that I couldn’t silence. Why am I still alone? Not why I don’t have a girlfriend right now. Not why I’m single. Why I’m alone. Because I love to love. I really do. I love coming home and telling someone how my day went. I love laughing about nonsense only two people understand. I love the idea of a home, of partnership, of someone you can share your life with and not just your living room. I love all the small things that people inside a relationship stop noticing because they seem so obvious. So how is it that of all people, someone who loves love so much, finds himself standing in front of a mirror at twenty-five, asking that question?
That evening I still didn’t know this question would follow me for years. I didn’t know it would take me on a journey through dating apps, dates, disappointments, hopes, women I’d think were the one and women who’d make me realize how little I actually know about love and about myself. I didn’t know I was about to discover that the problem was much bigger than me, but also far more connected to me than I’d thought. I knew only one thing. I stood in front of the mirror in my apartment, looked myself in the eyes, and asked a simple question. A question that in that moment felt entirely private, but over time I discovered that millions of people ask themselves the exact same thing. Why am I still alone?
