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I recently had a patient ask me, “so do you have a boyfriend?” And when I replied with, “nope, not yet,” I was actually a little surprised when she followed with, “well, what are you waiting for?” I know that she was being polite, trying to make small talk, and I appreciated it. But when I left her room, I kept thinking to myself, well what am I waiting for? I’m not getting any younger and I’m sure as hell not getting any skinnier, I thought as I debated re-downloading Bumble. But after harping on it most of the morning, I finally remembered exactly what is was I was waiting for:

I am waiting for the man who looks at me. When I’m talking, when I’m quiet, when I’m mad, when I’m sleeping. Who looks at me and wonders how he got so lucky, why I look so beautiful, how he could ever live without me.

I am waiting for the man who opens the car door. Who places his hand on the small of my back when we’re walking through a crowded place. Who takes my hand at the bar, on the sidewalk, at the grocery store, to say “you are mine”.

I am waiting for the man who is proud of the person I am and accepts me for everything that I am not. Who introduces me to his friends and his family with excitement, “this is her.

I am waiting for the man who stops after a long day at his job to bring me home a bottle of wine and a block of cheese after a long day at mine.

I am waiting for a man who kisses my forehead, wraps his arms around my waist, pulls me into him between the covers in the middle of the night.

I am waiting for the man who makes me laugh, who makes me better, who makes me understand why I waited for so long and went through so much to find him.

I am waiting for a man who is kind to his mother, to his waiter, to his friends. Who will stand beside me through the darkness as faithfully as he would through the light.

I am waiting for a man who will always say “yes” to karaoke and to pizza and to “one more beer.”

I am waiting for the man who listens to me. Who remembers that I hate mushrooms on my pizza, that Carol is that bitch at the office who always wears those awful pants, and that pink tulips are my favorite flower but orchids may be a close second. Who listens because he cares what I have to say, even when it’s me bitching at him for not putting his dirty silverware in the dishwasher again.

I am waiting for the man who loves me. Who loves my bad habits, my bad language, my bad days. Who loves how I look when I first wake up, how I can’t dance and can hardly add. Who loves that I only know how to cook three recipes and only one of them is (kinda) good. Who loves who we are together, the way he feels when I’m with him, the way he feels when I am not. I am waiting for the man who doesn’t need to change me, or censor me, or fix me–because who I am is enough.

So what am I waiting for? I am waiting for this. It’s so worth the wait, friends.

Posted in dating, life, relationships, single, struggle, Uncategorized


When I was little, I used to hate when my mom would tell me, “just be patient.” Mostly because being patient sucks. Also because I am a sucker for instant gratification. We’d be standing in a long line and I’d start fidgeting, “just be patient,” she’d whisper. We’d be sitting at the doctors office and I’d start to whine, “just be patient,” she’d huff. As I’ve gotten older, if anything my minimal patience has grown ever shorter. I can hardly sit through a red light, stand in a grocery store check-out line or wait the 10 minutes for my iPhone to download the latest update without rolling my eyes or weight shifting back and forth from foot to foot. I am not a patient person and I probably never will be. I feel like this may be one of the reasons I have such a hard time being single and why I hate it SO MUCH when people tell me, “it’s going to happen, you just have to be patient.” I CAN’T, I want to scream at them. I DON’T HAVE ANY.

This weekend was hard for me. I spent the majority of it around couples who are now married and completely forget what it was like to be (completely) single and feeling hopeless about finding someone. I tried not to feel jealous as they kissed and showed affection, made inside jokes and talked about going home and napping together. But honestly, I was envious. Envious that they have already found their person, their happiness. It makes me wonder what they have that I don’t. What personal flaws I might have that have delayed my happiness. I know I shouldn’t, but sometimes I take being single personally. As if some character flaw has prevented me from finding someone. I called my sister when I got home and told her how I was feeling and she sighed. “Ash, you’re going to find someone. You have to stop trying so hard. Stop looking for it,” she said. “Please, please, don’t tell me to be patient,” I replied to her. “Ok, I won’t,” she said, “but you do need to realize that although it may not have to do with patience, it has everything to do with timing.” I thought that was stupid until a few hours after I had hung up and was replaying our conversation in my head (over peanut butter). My sister was exactly right. It’s less about being patient and more about understanding that the timing of it all has to be right. That I may be the most patient or least patient person in the world, but if I’m not ready or he’s not ready for a relationship, it won’t happen. I’m a firm believer that God puts people in our lives when and where they are meant to be. Some to teach us what we don’t want, some to teach us what we do. It’s just ironic to me that someone who has such little patience is having to wait so long to find the right person. But maybe because I’m having to wait longer than I’d like to find the right someone, I’ll appreciate him even more when I do. Maybe when I finally meet him, I’ll understand what took him so damn long. Until then, I’ll be here (im)patiently waiting.