Maybe I’m a sucker for stuff like this.

I know how I come across whenever I update: maybe a little jaded, maybe a little cynical, maybe too harsh, maybe even unlovable, but definitely lonely — and perpetually alone.

As the years pass and a few of you continue to stick around and read the words I continue to write down, things don’t ever seem to change, do they?

I resisted online dating for so long, saying it wasn’t for me — but then I changed my mind and decided to give it a shot.

And so far, online dating hasn’t really worked out for me.

Sometimes, even though I don’t ever say it out loud anymore, I can’t help but wonder to myself: “Am I meant to be alone?”

While it might not be as clear to you — because you don’t know me in real life and because I’ve been updating far less and only seem to update when I’m riddled with insecurity and unhappiness — I know I’ve changed.

I’m more relaxed about things, more patient, and less willing to be so focused on the stuff that’s missing in my life.

I figured: maybe it’s because there’s nothing but dark and angry thoughts in my head all the time that I actually seem ugly to other people — like, ugly in the soul, you know?

Okay, I know that makes me sound like a flake, but if you’re the sort of person who’s always down on everything and never smiles and never thinks about the stuff that is going right (like something as simple as being able to actually see these words on a web page), then maybe that shows — and really, who among us wants to be around someone who’s such a downer all of the time?

And I’m big enough of a person to know that, yes, I’ve been that downer for a really long time because I just got so caught up in how unhappy I was with being alone.

So, I started making the conscious effort to not think about that stuff — and it was really helping.

I slip every now and again, of course, and have my days where I feel like loneliness is the only constant companion I’ll ever have.

Yesterday was one of those days.

And when I woke up this morning, I was really afraid that it was going to continue — this unhappiness…and for those of you who’ve read my journal for awhile now, you know that depression is something I’ve battled for a long time, too.

Anyways, while I was having my morning coffee, I came across this story from the Washington Post…and almost in spite of myself, I couldn’t help but think, “Maybe it’ll happen for me, too.”

Maybe it’ll still happen for all of us who are in the same boat.

Maybe that’s whimsical, naive thinking…but for today, at least, I’d like to think it’s still possible.

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Washington Post
“Would you grow extremely old with me?”
Julie Avetta & Andrew Martin
By Ellen McCarthy
Sunday, November 8, 2009

In the manner of any dejected romantic comedy heroine, Julie Avetta endured a dark night in a lonely apartment — just her, drinking, and the cat, commiserating — before the dawn broke, the music went up-tempo and a gentle man showed up with a dog.

Avetta’s nadir came on Jan. 9, 2008. It was the first wedding anniversary she would spend as a divorcee.

“I cracked open a bottle of champagne and raised my glass to life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness,” she says. But soon the bottle was empty, Avetta was still alone, and a conclusion had been reached: “This is stupid.”

It was time to start dating, something the 32-year-old hadn’t previously done. Ever.

Avetta was 23 when she married her high school sweetheart, the only man who’d been in her life since 1992. They were both ambitious workaholics whose relationship had endured career changes, cross-country moves and time apart when Avetta decided at 27 to go to law school.

Working her first law job in Boston, Avetta found herself — for the first time in a long time — not overwhelmed. “I took a step back at that point and was able to look at my life,” she says. “And here I am with no hobbies and my only friends are my friends from work and all I do is work, work, work, and all my husband does is work, work, work, and we don’t really talk to each other very much. And you know, when we do talk to each other, we kind of don’t like each other very much.”

Avetta moved out on Thanksgiving Day 2006, and when the papers were finalized the following August, she moved to Washington to work at the Justice Department.

Avetta is spirited and loquacious, but the prospect of dating was paralyzing. “I was terrified — terrified,” she says. “I had no idea how to interact with men.”

But after her champagne-for-one anniversary, she signed up for the Web site eHarmony. A series of misadventures with men ensued. There was the White House staffer who stood her up. The guy she liked who called after one date to say he was getting back together with his girlfriend. The chef who kept trying to make out with her — badly — while she was watching the New England Patriots lose the Super Bowl.

“Okay, eHarmony, what have you got for me now?” she remembers thinking after that one.

Two days later a profile of a “law librarian/professional know-it-all” showed up as a match when she logged on. At 8:30 in the morning, Andrew Martin expressed interest, expecting not to hear back for several days, if it all. He was a “diplomat brat” who’d traveled the world with his parents, studied medieval history in college, Egyptology after college, and had been using eHarmony for several months, with mixed success.

Avetta replied immediately and thus began, she says, a “tennis match of short answers and multiple choice and long answers,” which the site requires singles to complete before opening up e-mail communication. They finished all those steps by 10 a.m. that Wednesday, and by Friday, the day of their first date, they’d exchanged 75 e-mails.

Martin worried that the woman he was about to meet wouldn’t be as good in person as she was online. Then, sitting at a Mexican restaurant, he saw her dash pepper sauce into her salsa. “She’s sitting there putting hot sauce on her hot sauce and I’m like, ‘Oh God, I think I might be in love,’ ” says Martin, a 34-year-old connoisseur of spicy food.

What’s more: She liked the Three Stooges, could quote “The Three Amigos,” baked him cupcakes with great frequency and agreed to go gargoyle-hunting with him at Washington National Cathedral. “I don’t know how long it was before I was like, ‘Maybe she is as good as advertised,’ ” he says.

When they introduced his hound, Beauford, to her cat, Moxie, the two promptly ignored each other, leaving their owners to move, Martin says, “full-speed ahead.”

Their relationship since, he says, “has been like soaring.” Quoting a friend, he continues, “All of a sudden, it didn’t feel like I was trying to ice-skate uphill. . . . All that stuff that was so hard before becomes easy.”

The communication that began as such a gusher didn’t cease. The two talk constantly, completing each other’s sentences and delivering punch lines in unison. “Rare is the day that we don’t e-mail at least four or five times an hour,” says Avetta, now 34.

Within months Martin wanted to propose to Avetta, but she’d pledged to never marry again. “I said, ‘The institution oppresses women. . . . I never want to be put in that position again,’ ” she recalls.

The last Tuesday of September 2008, he took her back to the cathedral, where they’d become regulars at a lecture series, for a labyrinth walk. Having completed the walk, they stood at the center of the maze where Martin handed Avetta a ring and asked, “Would you grow extremely old with me?”

That was an offer she could accept. Ninety minutes later they found themselves somehow alone in the cathedral. Avetta, a trained soprano who’d sung only once in the previous 12 years — “the ex-husband didn’t like noise,” she says — serenaded Martin with Rachmaninoff’s “Vocalise.”

Over the next few months the couple’s architectural interest in the cathedral became a spiritual one. Avetta’s first wedding was a civil ceremony; for this union, she eventually decided, “I want to have everybody on board — including the divine.”

That meant receiving the sacrament of marriage. On Oct. 24 they returned to Washington National Cathedral to wed. Avetta walked down the aisle unescorted, repeatedly closing her eyes along the way, as if to crystallize the scene.

“He is the greatest gift I’ve ever been given,” she says. “Beyond dreams, beyond imagination.”

This deserved a separate post.

My question here is: what qualifies someone to give relationship advice?

If you’re in a bad relationship — but a relationship, nonetheless — does that mean you’re “smarter” than someone who hasn’t been in a relationship ever?

If you refer back to my last post about how I went on what I thought was a good date — only to be greeted with a wall of silence later — you’ll know that I made the mistake of telling people about the date.

I didn’t want to beat around the bush and play games. I wanted to be direct and see if this guy was interested in hanging out again — I figured it was better to know than not know. I didn’t want to spend the next couple of days waiting for a call, text, or e-mail from him — in some ways, the agonizing over the waiting was something I just wanted to avoid.

“No. Don’t e-mail him. Wait for him to contact you. You don’t want to look too desperate,” said one friend.
“You’re not a little girl — just call him and ask him out. Don’t play these little school girl games,” another said.
“It is a game — trust me on this. It’s all one giant game and you’ll lose if you appear too eager,” yet another friend said.

In the end, I decided to ignore all of them because I wanted to do what I thought was right for me.

I reasoned that I didn’t really trust any of them to give me (unsolicited) advice because, truth be told, I didn’t think their relationships were the sort of relationships I wanted to have.

So, at the end of all of this, I ask you this: if you were me, would you have wavered and followed the advice from your friends — even if they’re in bad relationships?

“I don’t ever want to settle,” he told me vehemently over what (I thought) was a good first date.

The conversation was great; he was mildly pleasant looking (not a head-turner by any means); and it seemed like we had a lot in common.

It seemed promising.

He never called.

Mistake number one? Telling a few of my friends about it.

The excuses came flying out. Maybe he’s busy; maybe he doesn’t want to seem too eager; maybe this, maybe that.

I’ve read “He’s Just Not That Into You.” I accept that most of what’s outlined in that book is true.

He’s just not that into me.

And you know what? That’s fine.

Out of the billions of people out there in the world, narrowing it down to just one person you want to spend time with can be difficult. You’re essentially searching for a needle in a haystack — and some of us are simply luckier than others in that we’ve found our needles.

Anyways, this whole experience got me thinking: when you’ve been single for a really long time and haven’t had much relationship experience under your belt, does there get to be a point where you’re just being too picky and not giving someone a fair shot?

Hear me out — I’m not advocating for settling by any means, but I have to wonder if we’ve reached a point where we’ve held out for so long, telling ourselves over and over again that we won’t be like other people, we won’t settle…and in the end, we’re not giving someone a fair chance.

I admit it: I’ve been guilty of doing that in the past — even though I know I’m the sort of person who needs to really get to know someone before I develop feelings for them.

It’s just made me wonder, that’s all.

All of this leads me to another post…which follows next.

I had Amy Winehouse squeaking from my computer speaker in my office, listening to “Tears Dry On Their Own” when I decided to sneak a look at my online profile.

There’s been this guy — someone who, against my better judgment, I had high hopes for. He was cute with dirty blonde hair and bright blue eyes — he actually had that boy-next-door look to him that made my heart do a flip flop. His profile was witty and funny.

I e-mailed him. He e-mailed back. And then, he seemingly disappeared from the face of the earth.

Is it unreasonable to think that, if you’re not interested in someone from the get-go, you shouldn’t even bother replying to them? Only one e-mail into the whole communication process isn’t going to really do much to convince you — either way — of whether this person is worth seeing long-term. I think you’d need to at least meet first.

I guess my argument is this: if the profile doesn’t appeal to you, then don’t even bother responding. Don’t think in terms of being polite — being polite just gives the other person hope.

It didn’t help, either, that I told a few friends about him — talk about jumping the gun, huh? Suddenly, I was bombarded with unsolicited advice on what I should do and endless analyzing over the one e-mail that I got from the guy. What made me overwhelmingly angry was that some of those friends — friends who are in shitty relationships — felt like they could tell me what to do because they had “experience.” I mean, I just wanted to tell them that their experience wasn’t the experience I wanted to go for…and just because I’ve never been in a relationship doesn’t mean I’m a complete idiot on how to behave around the opposite sex.

Seriously, the way they were talking to me, I felt really shitty about myself afterwards.

Not to make this all about me and my growing food issues — ’cause, seriously, I can’t think of anything more annoying than those who are on perpetual diets and who talk endlessly about what they can and can’t eat — but I realized tonight that I wasn’t even really thinking about it when I dragged out a bag of chips and plopped down in front of the TV.

I just don’t get why I was so hungry 90 minutes after having dinner. I mean, I don’t think it was a matter of emotional eating — I almost feel like I’ve conditioned my body to automatically expect food when I’m sitting in front of the TV now.

It’s kind of sick. What’s worse is that I was sitting in front of the TV, eating, and watching “The Biggest Loser.”

I think I’ve sunk to a new low.

My ass is rapidly expanding, but true to Asian form, relatives who haven’t seen me in awhile tell me I look “good” — because that’s their way of saying you’ve put on weight. It has something to do with this line of thinking: “Oh, you must be making more money and thus, can afford to gorge the way you do. And that’s why you’ve put on weight.”

Yeah. I know. It’s weird and fucked up.

Haven’t written too much about seeing the therapist lately, but I have to wonder if it’s time I found a new therapist. I just feel like I haven’t really worked through whatever shit that I need to in order to be happier, you know? Because, at the end of the day, I’m still mired in all of this existential angst, wondering what the bloody point of my whole life is.

It’s about so much more than being single — because, to some people, it’s like they can wrap it up in a neat little package like that and just say, “Oh, you’re unhappy with your life because you haven’t found anybody to love you and spend your life with.”

But you know what?

I don’t think it’s that.

I just feel like, even if there was someone in my life, I’d still feel this emptiness as I struggle to find some sort of meaning to my life.

And, really, at fucking 31, you’d think that I would have grown out of this stupid existential angst phase already.

It’s like, on the surface of things, I’ve gotten some things right: a good job, successful career, my own place.

On the other hand, there are the things that aren’t checked off yet: nobody to love and who’ll love me in return.

Note — there’s no trace of self-pity in this as I write this.

I’ve always had a problem with emotional eating — I think I stuff my face because it’s comforting. (Or, as Homer Simpson once said, it’s to smother failure and disappointment.)

I’ve never been good at dieting. I think I just love food too much. Don’t get me wrong: I’m not overweight by any means, but as I sat at my desk this afternoon, making my way through yet another bag of Doritos from the vending machine, I couldn’t help looking down at my flabby stomach and think, “Wow. I could have a keg in a few months.”

I’ve started laying off on the gym, too — I mean, I joined and now, my interest in going to the gym has waned and I find myself either heading straight back home after work and parking my ass in front of the TV all night (often eating a frozen dinner and an assortment of junk) or eating out.

All of this being said, I never miss an episode of The Biggest Loser, which I find myself hooked on.

It sort of bums me out that a lot of those people regain the weight after they leave the ranch.

Anyways…I have no idea why I’m writing this. I guess I just sort of disgusted myself this afternoon and felt compelled to take a time out and write this while I was still in front of the computer.

My boss has Alzheimer’s.

It’s undiagnosed.

It’s either Alzheimer’s or the part of his brain where logic and reasoning is supposed to kick in…well, that part’s most definitely damaged.

For better or worse, the most significant relationship that I have with a man right now is with my boss.

I know. That’s pretty sad, isn’t it?

But, seriously, I’m beginning to wonder, if, the way I behave in my working relationship with my boss is any indicator of how I’ll fare in a “real” relationship.

Is it because of my age — 31 came and went a few days ago…and please, do NOT wish me a happy birthday — that I’m now the sort of woman who thinks, “My way or the highway?”

At a couple of meetings, it was like I could see myself and I thought, “No wonder that guy called me a cunt. I sort of am one.”

My friend, J, is better at doing the diplomacy thing, but me? I’m not good at diplomacy. I’m blunt.

That’s not everybody’s cup of tea — I understand that, but I don’t really tend to think before I open my mouth. A part of me just feels that, if I were to get together with someone, he’d like me the way that I was.

Like, I’m not the sort of easygoing, fun-loving person that J is. When she invited me to come along to this Latin/Salsa-inspired gym class that she wanted to try, she went at it unselfconsciously. I mean, she wasn’t doing it right, but she didn’t really seem to care — but me? I kept looking at the stiff way I moved my hips and arms and just felt embarrassed and a little bit angry that I’d gone to something I wasn’t really interested in doing.

J’s still going strong with her boyfriend, but still makes time to hang out with me — which is a refreshing change. I’ll have to be honest: I didn’t think we’d stay friends after she left the company, but now, I feel like she’s become my best friend…though I’d never say that out loud to her, ’cause it sounds so incredibly dorky and childish.

Sometimes, I worry that I complain too much to her about work. But the thing is, work is my life. It’s the main thing where stuff’s happening all of the time.

And yeah, as sick as this sounds, my boss is the main man in my life right now.

I used to know how to handle him pretty well, but now, I feel like, mentally, he’s not all there. Now, I have to treat him like a child…and even then, I discover new things daily, i.e. if the e-mail is more than two paragraphs long, he’s not going to read it all the way through.

Every day is a challenge, trying to find new ways to control that stupid asshole.

He spends more time trying to make his staff like him. He actually thinks we’re friends or something and doesn’t get that everybody thinks he’s a complete moron.

Anyways, on the non-existent dating front, the other day, a colleague from the London office surprised me by e-mailing me and asked how my love life was going.

It’s gotten to the point where I don’t feel anything about it.

I don’t feel embarrassed or lonely or depressed or anything. I’m just this blank canvas and I feel nothing…which is a relief.

The other day, after most definitely pulling something at the gym that wasn’t supposed to be pulled, I was hobbling my way up from the subway station to work the next day when the following played out:

A blind man got onto the escalator — and knew enough that the universal rule is to stand on your right and walk on the left.

A teenaged chicky wearing too-tight pants (exhibiting a serious case of muffin top), sighed huffily and walked around him…only to proceed to stand on the left.

I went ballistic (as I’m prone to do) because it was a Friday morning and I was late for work and sore all over and generally cranky with life at large.

I thumped the rail to catch her attention and basically said, “Oy! Stand right, walk left!”

Okay, if it was me, and someone did that to me, I’d be embarrassed and quickly walk up the escalator — but what did this teenaged chicky continue to do? She gave me the evil eye and continued to stand there.

I swear on all that is holy that I would have grabbed her by the roots of her badly dyed hair and flung her down the escalator if there wasn’t already a huge line of people behind us.

Seriously…what is wrong with people?

As an aside, I think part of the reason I was having a serious hate-on for her was because she looked a bit like Fergie — and I think Fergie is tacky and gross.

Okay, so, all of this being said, I took offense to someone at work telling me I had an attitude problem. This was said over a few drinks after work on Friday.

I had made a comment about how my sister’s been acting like a total prima donna lately and giving everybody attitude when one of the guys laughed and said, “Sounds like attitude problems run in the family.”

I sort of felt like I’d been slapped.

You know when someone criticizes you and you know what they’re saying is sort of true, but it’s still not okay to have someone say it to you out loud? That’s what the whole incident was like.

I’ve been thinking about how most of the women in my family who are married are labelled as “sweet” and “quiet.”

“Sweet” and “quiet” are most definitely two words you wouldn’t be using to describe me.

But is that basically what it takes to land someone? To be a submissive, quiet little Asian woman?

I wonder if, the older I get and the more work-focused I become, it just becomes harder to find someone because I’m demanding something that doesn’t exist…simply because I’ve held out for so long, refused to settle and am still holding the V-card. Like, is this whole combination just lethal to the dream of being married with kids? And is that even something I want anymore?

Every time eHarmony notifies me that someone has requested communication, a teeny tiny part of me crosses both fingers and whispers to the Universe:
Please don’t be a complete dog.

Maman opined that I’m a little too focused on looks when I wasn’t exactly a contender for Miss Universe.

Thanks, ma.

Anyways, I found out today that the head guy — as in, the very top guy — thinks I’m a dyke.

This isn’t exactly a new one for any of us, is it, fellow perpetually single/virgin bloggers?

If you’re unattached to a man and relatively young(ish), then of course you must be a lesbian.

After a long meeting, el presidente welcomed me into his gigantic office (why do the top people actually need gigantic offices when they’re barely in them and don’t do any actual work that necessitates these gigantic offices?) where his secretary, served us coffee. (Later, when nobody was looking, I dug my hand into a pretty basket of assorted Mighty Leaf tea packets and stuffed them into my pockets — hey, they’re “hand crafted artisan teas” and don’t come cheap.)

El presidente likes me — thinks I’m a plain talker who shows promise and drive.

Being praised to your face is always uncomfortable and makes me say stupid things.

Example:

El presidente: You’re smarter than half the people here. You’re going to go places.
Me: Yeah, I know.

Yeah, I know??????

If I had any good sense, I’d display a modicum of false modesty.

Anyways, the whole lesbian thing came up when he mentioned there was a luncheon that he and his wife were hosting a couple of weekends from now — would I care to come? If I had a partner, she was more than welcome to come as well.

I nearly choked on my coffee — it went down the wrong pipe and for a horrible moment, I thought I was going to spray hot coffee straight through my nose.

I corrected him, of course, but then he said the same pat thing that all married people tell singletons: “Don’t worry. You’ll find someone soon enough.”

Uh, okay.

In other stuff: the fact that I was called a cunt has circulated through the office like wildfire. There are those who think that I am a bit of a cunt, but for the most part, the smart people know enough to verbally bash down the c***sucker I canned on Friday.

It’s weird, but I definitely get the sense that the Intern has a crush on me — I dunno. I get this vibe sometimes…this sense that someone likes me and it’s just…well, weird.

Weird, backhanded compliment for the day from the intern:
“You’re, like, not stupid and annoying like most bosses are — plus you’re kind of cool for an old person.”

I told him I’d knock his teeth out with my fist if it wouldn’t get me fired or arrested.

Oh, great! Finally! Someone has the answer as to why I’m still single! (Again, we really need to develop a sarcasm font.)

Stumbled across this today on Yahoo — and I’m not saying it’s complete bullshit, but it does make it feel like you need to fundamentally change your independent streak if you ever want to get out of the hellhole that’s apparently known as singlehood:

Dating 101: Why Am I Still Single?
New research says there’s a reason you’re single — and may stay that way

By dating editor Kristine Gasbarre for YourTango.com

I was on the phone with my friend Beth, a 31-year-old international sales exec at a major Hollywood film studio. “I can’t believe a four-year relationship could end with us living on two separate coasts,” she said, “But he was traveling so much and I finally just told him, ‘This is not what I signed up for when I got involved with you.’ So, we’re officially separated.” She sighed. I sighed.

“Anyway enough about me, what about you, Italian girl? I thought they worshiped American women in the land of pasta and love. Why are you still single?”

If I had a euro for every time I wondered that: Why am I still single? It’s a question more than half of American women ask themselves, according to a report the New York Times put out in early 2007. This data includes women who live apart from their significant others, but all independent variables aside it’s a figure that’s rocketed significantly in the last couple decades.

Even as those 57.5 million of us gather round cozy wine bars with our girlfriends, enjoy Bridget Jones nights in sweats on the couch, or pack four different guys into one week (yep, it happens), we’re likely to be puzzled over what we may be doing wrong (“That one wearing three carats with the husband more loyal than a black lab — what does she know that I don’t?”) or whether we actually need partners, as tradition (and Mom) seem to imply.

The “singular-single” syndrome
Jean Twenge is a psychology professor at San Diego State University and author of “Generation Me: Why
Today’s Young Americans Are More Confident, Assertive, Entitled — and More Miserable — Than Ever Before” and co-author of the upcoming “Narcissism Epidemic” with W. Keith Campbell. Based on recent research she has conducted to learn about current attitudes toward relationships, Twenge confirms, “There is in fact a massive cultural shift at work here.” She says the number of women who are romantically uninvolved is a result of one major factor: our culture tells us we don’t need relationships.

Call it the “singular-single syndrome” — we have it. Twenge recently conducted a study of 200 student participants at San Diego State, and 90 percent of them answered the questionnaire stating they live by grand individualistic philosophies like, “You shouldn’t ever need anyone else to make you feel complete” and “You have to make yourself happy.” Based on this study and a handful of others Twenge has conducted in the last few years, she concludes that today’s young adults feel they need to be completely self-sufficient in their happiness.

The fact is, young American adults view deep emotional involvement with others as weakness and dependence. It’s not just that our culture accepts and accommodates the single lifestyle now — it’s that it actually disparages the individual who isn’t focused solely on her own personal advancement. The ubiquitous teachings from our capitalist culture media, Boomer-generation parents who toiled to teach us the importance of pursuing personal goals, and teachers in an increasingly survival-of-the-very-fittest education system — all these emphasize the individual and her goals, not her need for involvement with others.

Social networking to blame
Twenge also said that a study she’s currently conducting with W. Keith Campbell leads to the conclusion that narcissism in America is higher than it’s ever been before, and by definition of considering themselves more important than the people they associate with, narcissistic people make terrible relationship partners. Twenge blames this spike in narcissism on societal teachings like those aforementioned but also feels that purported social networking devices like MySpace and Facebook are less a method of connecting with others than a means of shameless self-promotion, giving the individual limitless opportunity to think about themselves and advertise why other people should want to know them.

Some users even employ social networking sites out of romantic malice, attempting to provoke jealousy or track the whereabouts of an ex. And for some couples, being on each other’s friend lists is a topic more taboo than first-date sex. “No way would I add (my new girlfriend) to my page,” says Kevin, 30, an engineer near Pittsburgh. “I think she’s pissed about it, but if it ends, it will be too awkward if we’re able to keep tabs on each other.”

Any way you slice it, we’re all looking out for Number One. Here’s the trouble: the more time we spend thinking about ourselves, formulating clever responses to friends’ online comments about us, posting our most attractive photos, and “pimping our profiles” to leave impressions on our contacts, the less time we spend actually interacting with and caring about others.

Even the word “friend” has transformed from an endeared noun used to describe an intimate, trusted companion to a verb that implies a quick click of the mouse. “Listen, I gotta run, it was nice to meet you. Remember to friend me tomorrow.” We lack the basic fundamental of all relationships — spending time together — and personal eye-to-eye contact continues to grow more rare.

Looking for love or a list of features?
Chris Morett is a sociology professor specializing in family and marriage at Fordham University in New York City. Morett echoes this cultural emphasis on the individual. He says our communities and peer groups have broken down significantly in the last decade, and our consumer culture promises the singular single that you can “Have it your way.” Thus young Americans are less willing to compromise their own desires than ever before, and Morett goes so far as saying that the American dating process has become similar to other means of shopping for a product.

Women don’t need marriage for the economic stability and source of identity the institution provided decades ago. The majority of American women nowadays were not raised simply to be wives but to value personal advancement by self-sufficient means, and women are now economically independent, deriving their identity from their work and other societal roles, not just from being a wife. Marriage is no longer a necessity but a choice. So when a woman dates a man and he doesn’t possess all the “features” she requires, she briefly deliberates and continues shopping (“Is passionate about his work, check. Loves to travel, check. Forgot to ask how my meeting went, uh- oh. Completely unacceptable.”)

No longer does a woman need a man or a marriage; now she wants a soul mate, a partner to share her interests and values and someone who provides passion and support and fun. She desires a man who won’t require her to sacrifice her identity or every aspect of the single lifestyle she’s come to enjoy.
But until we meet him, the solution to the single person’s isolation may be simple: shut the lid on our laptops and get over ourselves — you don’t have to do it all on your own. We’ll only find the comfort to our singles’ loneliness by spending time in the physical presence of people we love. If we want love, we have to love. We have to open our hearts to connecting again.