Once upon a time, I thought time had run out on my chance to get love right.
While all my friends were marrying, settling down, and starting families, I was once again staring at the smoldering remains of yet another failed relationship with yet another Mr. Wrong.
The perpetual bachelorette in my social circle, I had a job my friends envied, owned my own condo, took amazing vacations, and always had fabulous plans on the weekends. I was even saving money for retirement like a smart, savvy woman should.
On paper, my life looked amazing. In reality, I felt like a complete and total failure.
Convinced my single status was a life sentence I was forced to endure without the hope of parole, I worried about growing old alone. My fears were magnified by my circumstances. Having gone through my Big Breakup at work, a family friendly environment where engagement parties and baby showers were a weekly occasion, I felt like a dark cloud hung over my cubicle. A cloud that said “Relationship Train Wreck” with an arrow pointing down at me.
Thanks to my office romance and subsequent office breakup, I still had to see my ex every day. Convinced he was The One, I believed I’d lost my opportunity to have my own personal happily ever after ending.
My Big Breakup wasn’t the only thing making me feel like a failure. Living in Los Angeles, I walked around with a painful secret. I was convinced that being a size fourteen in a size zero city meant that my chances of finding a man who could love me for me were slim to none.
Pouring over my options, I considered three choices. I could:
1. Go on a diet, lose fifty pounds, and miraculously become worthy of love in La La land.
2. Get liposuction and other cosmetic surgery to make me a more desirable candidate in the City of Angels.
3. Move to a less image-conscious city to find love. Austin, Texas seemed like an ideal location, even though I’d never visited, and only knew one person (a friend of a friend) who lived there.
In the end, I didn’t do any of the above. OK, I did lose fifteen pounds. And quit my job. And rented out my condo. And took a mental health sabbatical to the Montana wilderness for six weeks to clear my head.
When I returned to Los Angeles, homeless and jobless, I made a very conscious decision. I would never again let my age, my size, or my single status make me feel unworthy of living a life I loved. With that one simple decision, I started implementing my Backup Plan. Sure, I was living off savings. And okay, I was sleeping on my best friend’s living room floor. But you know what else? I hadn’t felt this happy in years.
Free from the trappings of a life that no longer worked (a mortgage payment, the 9:00 a.m. to 5:00 p.m. grind, and being emotionally handcuffed to my ex), I embraced my ability to rebuild my life from the ground up. While there were days I seriously questioned my sanity, I trusted that this new direction was leading me somewhere. Somewhere good, I hoped.
My instincts were spot-on.
As I continued implementing my Backup Plan, I became a man magnet. Everywhere I went—from Starbucks to the sushi bar—men were flocking to me. And not just any men. The kind of men I’d always wished I could attract, but who had once upon a time seemed repelled by me. Men who wrote for satirical political TV shows, men who volunteered to help clean up Louisiana after Hurricane Katrina, men who appreciated that I was living and loving my Backup Plan.
And it wasn’t just men who were magnetized to me. I also became an opportunity magnet. When I wasn’t meeting and going on the most fabulously fun dates, I was fielding incredible career opportunities that seemingly fell into my lap. I started making a living as a freelance relationship journalist. I got my first book deal chronicling my Big Breakup and the life that was unfolding before me.
