Divine Timing
Last night, I sat at a table overlooking the water in Sausalito, watching the city lights bleed across the bay. The restaurant was beautiful, the view was cinematic, and the man across from me was, by all accounts, a perfect gentleman. Ten out of ten. He opened doors, pulled out chairs, and navigated the evening with an effortless, attentive grace. It was precisely the kind of high-standard, curated experience I deeply appreciate.
More than that, I needed it. I needed the scenery, the grown-up conversation, the prospect of something new, and the simple elegance of a Saturday night out. I felt a deep wave of appreciation for the effort he had poured into the evening.
But even amidst a perfect date, I had to lay my cards on the table. It’s no secret…it’s practically written across my digital footprint, but I made sure to articulate it clearly anyway, just in case he missed the memo: This woman is actively healing.
I don’t entirely know what I’m ready for yet, but I know that the season of total isolation has run its course. I know it's is time to be receptive again. I don't want to be stuck in "healing mode" forever, nor do I want to spend every single weekend holed up in my house, mistaking absolute solitude for safety. To continue hiding would be a disservice to my own growth.
Still, actually going on the date felt like a monumental hurdle. Every instinct in me screamed to cancel at the last minute, but two things kept me in the car: first, it would have been incredibly rude, and second, I had meditated on it, and felt a quiet, spiritual nudge telling me to give it a chance. I have learned that when that inner voice speaks, I have to listen.
During dinner, there were a few fleeting moments where my mind drifted to my ex. The man across from me felt like an older, more grounded iteration of him, and it brought a sudden, unexpected pang of sadness. It wasn’t a standard "I miss my ex" ache; it was the heavy realization that the last time I had sat across from a man in a restaurant like this, it had been with him. We broke up two years ago.
When that relationship ended, I made a conscious choice to honor what we had shared by remaining fiercely single. Leaving him had been excruciating, and in a strange, subconscious way, my subsequent celibacy and isolation became a self-imposed penance. It was a way to atone for the guilt of rejecting him and his idea to get married. I convinced myself that by refusing to pursue anyone else, I wasn't discrediting or minimizing the love we had possessed.
The truth is, we broke up because I still needed time to be by myself. I had an immense amount of internal work to do, and he struggled deeply with the amount of space I required to expand my career and my sense of self.
Back then, I couldn’t just admit the simplest, coldest fact: I didn’t want to be with him anymore. Instead, I picked at his insecurities, twisted truths, and lobbed accusations so I wouldn’t have to face his accuracy.
So we broke up, and it was devastating.
In the aftermath, I knew that casual dating or looking for a distraction would only fracture me further. It would complicate my recovery and poison future soil. So, I committed to the wilderness of healing.
By year one, the momentum shifted. The isolation stopped being about honoring my ex and started being about honoring myself. The focus turned inward, toward the architecture of my own patterns. Now, in year two, it has evolved into a deep respect for my own physical and emotional sovereignty. I am fiercely protective of who gets to touch me.
But drawing a boundary doesn't mean I have to forfeit the world.
Leading with celibacy has completely uncomplicated this new chapter of dating. It acts as a prism, allowing me to see the raw intentions of the men across from me; and more importantly, to see my own.
When sex is explicitly off the table, the atmospheric pressure of modern dating instantly evaporates. I feel entirely safe, insulated by my own values. These boundaries do the heavy lifting for me: they seamlessly weed out the men who are only interested in a transient physical exchange. (Cool. Bye.) They also allow me to spot the archetype who sees my boundaries as a challenge. The ones who put me through a gauntlet of performative effort, only to vanish the moment he realizes I am entirely serious about my timeline and I mean what I fucking say.
Conversely, these standards allow me to recognize the men who see exactly where I am standing and choose to approach me directly, with patience and respect. I might seem less accessible or less "exciting" by modern standards, but this clarity is non-negotiable for my peace of mind. It isn’t a lifetime vow of asceticism; it’s just what I require right now.
It might sound esoteric, but I trust that the universe aligns us with exactly what we need when we stop compromising. Right now, what I need is genuine, unhurried human connection.
We live in a culture that moves at a breathless, frantic pace. People rarely take the time to truly map one another's minds. We are constantly chasing the next dopamine hit, the next rush, trying to force reality to match the cinematic scripts running in our heads. Whether the goal is falling in love or simply getting laid, there is a systemic lack of patience.
My choice isn't about outdated morality or waiting for a ring. It’s about choosing who I allow into my energetic field. I refuse to be rushed. Not by my own physical desires, not by societal conditioning, and certainly not by someone else's ego.
I don't have a rigid timeline or a grand domestic end-goal. I just want to thoroughly trust and respect the person I am sharing myself with. And that kind of vibe simply takes time.