It’s interesting that for days I’ve been trying to sit down and write this post.
Normally ideas come into my head and I just write. I don’t overthink it. I sit down, let my fingers hit the keyboard, and trust that whatever needs to come up will.
This one has been different.
Partly because I’ve been spending so much time revisiting my marriage.
I’ve been trying to tell that story so I can continue telling the story of me now.
But sometimes there’s a cost to doing that much heavy lifting.
To revisiting old versions of yourself.
Old decisions.
Old wounds.
Old beliefs.
And whether I realized it or not, I think some of those things have started resurfacing.
Lately I’ve been thinking about dating.
Or more accurately, the lack of it.
I haven’t dated in several years, and for the first time in a long time, I find myself wanting to share part of this journey with someone.
Maybe that’s because of the stories I hear from other travelers.
Two people meet at a hostel.
A few days later they’re inseparable.
One extends their stay.
Maybe both do.
Travel relationships seem to move at warp speed. You skip over much of the small talk because time is limited. There’s an urgency to them. A willingness to be vulnerable faster because tomorrow one of you could be on a bus headed in the opposite direction.
And if I’m honest, I’ve spent the last few months wondering why something like that hasn’t happened to me.
Why haven’t I met someone I’m interested in who is equally interested in me?
And before long, down the rabbit hole I go.
Maybe I’m not attractive enough.
Maybe I’m not putting myself out there enough.
Maybe I’m too guarded.
Maybe those experiences are for everyone else.
Not me.
It’s funny how quickly the mind can resurrect stories you thought you buried years ago.
Stories about not being enough.
Stories about being overlooked.
Stories about love, attraction, connection, and worth.
The rational part of me knows better.
But that doesn’t stop those thoughts from appearing.
And I can’t help but wonder if all of this has been amplified by the writing itself.
By spending months reflecting on my marriage.
My divorce.
My relationships.
My beliefs about love.
Maybe all I’ve really done is shine a flashlight into corners I haven’t looked at in a while.
Because lately I’ve found myself sitting in a bubble of self-doubt.
About my appearance.
About my ability to connect.
About whether I’ll experience love—or lust—or deep attraction again.
And what surprises me isn’t that these feelings are here.
It’s that I thought I had already dealt with them.
I thought I had conquered them years ago.
But growth doesn’t work like that.
Growth isn’t linear.
Sometimes we do as much work as we’re capable of doing in one season of our lives.
And then years later, life hands us a new experience, a new perspective, a new challenge, and suddenly we’re invited to look at the same wound from a different angle.
Not because we failed to heal.
But because there is another layer underneath.
Life has a funny way of doing that.
Like an onion, we keep peeling back layers.
Like a mirror, life keeps reflecting things back to us.
And each time it does, we’re given the same choice:
Ignore it.
Or get curious about what it’s trying to show us.
-A
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