Every New Year’s Eve, I make a resolution that I am going to finally find love in the following year.  And at 29, I have failed to fulfill my lone resolution.  I try not to feel too bad about my repeated failure and most of the time I’m successful.  After all, I have had a lot of fun in trying to find love, the outcome just hasn’t been exactly what I was looking for.  This year, I am determined to continue to have fun, but not pressure myself into worrying about finding a significant other.  My mother, on the other hand, is obsessed. 

She’s always sending me pictures of men who she has met at church or grandsons of the ladies in the choir who she thinks I should date.  She often tells me how I am almost to my expiration date so I had better get a move on.  She never listens to when I tell her about my life, work and hobbies.  She focuses on how my baby making days are about to expire. 

As the year progressed, I continued to go on dates, but also made more of an effort to pay attention to the things I actually enjoyed doing.  Turns out, I wasn’t too bad at painting.  Or writing.  The more excited I got about both, the more classes I took.  The more classes I took, the more people I met.  I just never knew I would fall in love with the teacher.  Or with myself. 


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