Last week, I sat and chatted with my dear friend Annie Parsons. While I ate sushi and she had a seaweed salad [ewww], we discussed some articles I had worked on that week.
I said, “I can’t really believe I even wrote the article; I mean, I don’t EEEH-VER blog about being single.” [Because extending a word dramatically reminds us all how true the statement is. Yeah right.]
To which Annie looked up from her pile of ocean bottom and said, “Actually, that’s not really true.”
And I wanted to argue, mainly because I think I’m always usually right.
In this particular situation, we were both right. It used to be true, but it isn’t anymore.
I used to hate. Hate. HATE. talking about being single.
Then again last week at (in)courage.
And now, this.
A raw, not funny, this-is-how-it-really-feels piece about being 29 and single.
I don’t want to become that girl that gets labeled “the older single writer” or “the expert on being alone” or “that girl who writes about being single” or “that blogger with lots of cats.”
So don’t call me any of those things. Please and thank you.
But I’m learning to be okay with the label “that writer that is honest about her today.”
Because God doesn’t promise me tomorrow, I’m choosing to embrace my today.