"One of my favorite things about you is your fear of commitment."
Honestly? Being single really suited me. At the height of my singledom, I was full of energy, awake at all hours, excited to be alive; my liver and I had become very close, developing the type of interdependence alcoholics only dream of; and my confidence was in full bloom--as a woman on the prowl, any man was on the table.
Suited. Past tense.
As a proven serial monogamist, I had to know this carefree phase of my life couldn't last.
Something changed. An almost imperceptible shift. Something shifted slightly off-kilter. Teetered off-balance.
My non-relationship phased. The phase you just stumble upon on your first vacation together. When you’re trapped together in a car, when you’re stuck with the other person for an ungodly period of time.
He was grumpy. Battery dead, unable to recharge for days on end.
And there it was. That glimpse of ugly when you see behind someone’s mask for the first time. When you finally slip and forget to be the best version of yourself. When you suddenly act out as your worst self.
And in that moment, you might realize that special somebody might actually be
a loose cannon
or a raging alcoholic
or unusually violent
or unapologetically selfish.
(Things we all are in small measures, and at best, only in short moments.)
I must have gasped when I saw it, such a stark reveal. And since, I felt like we finally arrived. We are now at a pivot point. Yet another crossroads.
But unlike everything else in my life, I don’t feel like I have a say in this destiny -- I'm in an adventure story with a mind of its own. I’m watching, patiently waiting to see what happens next.
Just closing my eyes and hoping for the best.