I think I’ll blame my 30s.
That’s when my dating got out of control.
Really, I was trying to make up for my 20s, which were basically a dating wasteland. Thinking I had all the time in the world, I had used my 20s to focus on my career. I put dating and marriage on the back burner, assuming if I became successful and self-actualized, a smart, funny, godly, and incredibly hot man would snatch me up as soon as I put myself on the market.
But then my 30s arrived, and smart, funny, godly, and incredibly hot single men were hard to come by. Where were they? Why weren’t they lining up to take me on hot-air balloon rides and moonlight hikes? Didn’t they realize after a decade of climbing the corporate ladder, I was finally ready to meet my practically perfect Prince Charming and settle down?
Reality hit as my phone stayed eerily silent and my Saturday nights sadly date-free. This prompted a semi-freak-out whereby I decided to take matters into my own hands.
I entered the season of Too Many Chances.
Chucking the List
Armed with lowered expectations and memberships to at least five online dating sites, I started chatting with, meeting, and dating guys from all over the world.
There was the guy from Portland. And San Francisco. Oh, and one from the Netherlands (hey, far be it from me to let language, culture, a couple continents, and an eight-hour time difference stand in the way of true love). I even managed to date a few guys from my own town. All of these men were professing Christians—surely that was enough?