I didn’t mean to, geez.
I didn’t mean to! Shit! I was recently contacted by a reporter who wanted to interview me about an essay I wrote called “Enough Already, Where The F*ck Do I Meet My Husband.” Her work will come out in a few weeks and I’ll link you to it, don’t worry. The thing about the work that I do, and I’m pretty sure this is a bad thing, is that it only appeals to people who share my perspective. I get a lot of interest from single women, specifically those who are single much later in life than 90s romcoms said they’d be, but like The Today Show isn’t calling, you know? So on occasion I find myself being interviewed by someone who also genuinely needs to hear what I have to say for their own wellbeing. And then I make people cry on Zoom and I’m sorry.
This particular interviewer wanted me to walk through the charming process of transmuting singlehood misery into singlehood reframing, and eventually into an actual career that centers changing the way the world sees and treats people who haven’t fallen in love. It is, reader, a journey. Odysseys have taken similar amounts of time. What most people want to focus on are my “lightbulb” moments, those brain jolts that pull you from one level of consciousness into another. I’m more interested in analogies that look like layer cakes, because it’s really never just one moment, it’s many of them, over years, but I’ll play along because I know the value of a pull quote.