It’s 2016. I’m 28 and living in Denver. I have amazing friends, a full social calendar, and a brand-new apartment that I'm grateful for every morning when I wake up. I go to a job that fulfills me and pays me well. I have a kitchen with tons of counter space and all the storage I need for my collection of cooking paraphernalia. But I have no one with whom to share the meals.
I am single. My heart has healed from its most recent thrashing a year and ahalf earlier, and I am ready for something real. Sure, I learned a lot about myself through various escapades when I was younger, but after this breakup, nothing was working. I was bored. I had gotten my wayward youth out of my system and I was ready to find something more meaningful.
So I did.
I am now sitting in Mexico with the love of my life: a handsome, considerate, funny, man who loves all of me unconditionally—and I actually think there are identifiable and workable steps that got me here. As with most life truths, these steps were simple, but they were not easy: