I don't want casual sex.

I want to perfect my omelette.

My Grandma wants (more) grandchildren. Never mind that we have two toddlers in the family. Never mind how many times I’ve suggested my future mightn’t have children in it. Never mind that I’m seemingly perpetually single. I think she’s still worried I’m gay and will never have a husband (she isn’t exactly homophobic, but she won’t be seen waving a rainbow flag around anytime soon despite my aunt’s proclivity for women).

To her horror, I shaved my hair off two years ago and I haven’t brought anyone ‘home’ to meet the family since I was twenty. The other day she asked if I had any ‘new friends.’ This is her way of telling me she’d be okay if I brought a woman to family lunch, except I’m certain that this isn’t the truth. It’s important to note that she is very, very British (big fan of poodle cross breeds, breakfast tea, and telling Grandpa off for digging mouldy blue cheese out of the bin).

Don’t get me wrong, I love my Grandma, yappy dogs, and all. But over the years our relationship has suffered by way of distance, largely at the hands of family tensions that were bred perhaps before I was even born. Unfortunately, this has resulted in a large generation disparity that sees her consistently asking me about dating apps, and if I’ve tried them, and me responding with a grimaced look and an ‘uhhhh…’ that drags out for too long.

I want to bridge the gaps. I know she’s not naïve. I know she knows women don’t meet men at dances anymore and flirt their way towards marriage and a nuclear family. But I’ve been exploring the gender gap(s) since I learnt what feminism was and she keeps asking when I’m going to have a baby. I’m a barista on Austudy in a share house, doll.

We aren’t on the same page. We’re in completely different libraries of life.

A deeply uncomfortable amount of bravado would need to be mustered to explain the tenets and woes of modern dating to my (very British) grandma. And I could put a PowerPoint presentation together solely out of terrifying screenshots from men’s Tinder profiles to put her off, and I have considered it. But, if there’s something I’m confident is undisputedly fuel to a fire, it’s any number of my relatives together in one room + anything electronic. I’ve witnessed too many arguments about the temperature of a room, “it’s too bloody hot in here! Why is it SO hot in here!?” and the volume of music “where’s that bloody remote?”, or what’s playing to believe otherwise, “Who put this BLOODY rubbish on?”

And… I’m just not willing to put myself through that.

I can also hazard a guess at what grandma would say after seeing the disgraceful bios, removing her hand from her mouth, aghast: “There’s got to be some nice men on there, love.” and, “You know your cousin Lucy met Jack on Tinder, don’t you?”

And I would have to stand in front of the woman who used to make me hot milos in a plastic camping cup and shatter any illusion that I have any dating prospects on any dating apps. I used to lie to her about how brilliant her mashed potato was (as the entire blob hung mid-air on the end of my fork), but I don’t think I can bring myself to fib so drastically as an adult. Although, I really do wish she’d pump the breaks on questions surrounding procreation, directed at me. Am I the only one with a target on my poor, single, man-less arm? Must phone Lucy. Oh wait.   

If you were to carefully pluck all of the embarrassing situationships that I’ve indulged throughout my twenties from my dating repertoire, you’d see an almost clean slate, an almost decade of me trying life on by myself. It’s not that I haven’t taken dating apps and the men on them for a test spin, I have. But it’s obscene out there. And I’m simply not brave enough to sift through a minefield of indiscreet erections and bios that read “Travel for a living, I’ll take you anywhere but serious.” (I wish I could say I made that example up). I don’t have the stomach, or the patience for it. I’d rather perfect my omelette.

This is not an idiom.

I loved and lost once, and I’ve never really loved again. It’s been a long time since I mourned the end of that relationship, almost a decade, and we were barely adults but in terms of connection – the bar was set, and I’ve had no say in it since. We don’t talk anymore, but the way that man tried to walk through fire with me – it’s a deep knowing that can never be shaken.

So, I don’t want casual sex. Or tactless grey trackpants. Or a handful of dates with someone who has commitment issues and small, pitchfork-holding demons they refuse to acknowledge. I want to master my omelette, go back to dance classes, sell my clothes, buy a new camera, borrow more library books, start shopping at the organic grocer, learn new recipes, write them down, stay sober curious, stretch until I can do the splits, find the right skincare, tell more stories, watch my nephews grow up, point at more sunsets, meet my friends in airports, dance in the kitchen, sing in the car, cry in public, learn surprisingly transferable skills, move interstate, fixate on books turned series’, write more, read everything I’m interested in, continue being vulnerable, stay tender, make mistakes, meet new people, let them surprise me, change my scent, and change my mind, again and again and again.

In my early twenties I howled at the moon for love, red eyed and wet faced, pleading to the universe for someone to show up. Forgetting how it feels, and wanting so desperately to remember, the touch, the taste, the sound of it, I tried loving. Tried to bury myself in the memory of it. But the most wonderful, brilliant, and magical thing about hindsight, is now knowing I was giving it to myself all of these years, previously wobbly efforts, and all. And if by a bizarre stroke of fate, I could suddenly summon the power to turn back the clock and manifest romantic love, I’d choose me; again, and again, and again (sorry grandma!).

I have met so many versions of myself in this first quarter of my life. Some I used to spite, loathe, and ridicule. And now I love them all, wholly.
I am the oldest, wisest, bravest, smartest, kindest, and coolest version of myself so far. Couldn’t have done it without me.
How does that song go?..

I THINK I LOVE THIS LITTLE LIFE!