I used to have this theory. One I wrote about years ago - that walking into an ice cream shop is the perfect metaphor for how I’ve lived my life.

You try all the flavors. Every last sample spoon. Some are too sweet. Some hit you with a crunch you weren’t expecting. Some are nostalgic. Some are bold. Some are just straight-up weird. And eventually - maybe - you land on the one you want a full pint of.

That’s how my 20s felt. Like I walked into the grand shop of life and said: “Let me try all the timelines, please.”

Not settling into one relationship, one city, one version of myself. Just constant tasting. Sometimes by choice, sometimes by force.

I think not being in a long-term relationship during that decade helped. Or maybe it just happened that way. I’m no fortune teller - I don’t know what would’ve come from that alternative path. But Jackson… he was the closest I came to picking a flavor and sticking with it. And then he died. And my heart, in so many ways, did too - at least the part that trusted anything real.

So the second half of my 20s? It was a solo ride. Still trying the samples. Still showing up to the parlor with a brave face.

But here’s what I’ve learned from all that “tasting”:

The relationships we choose are the most honest mirror we have.

Want to know what you’re craving in life? Look at the people you’re drawn to.

Stability? Chaos? Expansion? Stillness? Sometimes we’re drawn to the ones who embody the traits we secretly want to cultivate. Other times, we’re grasping for someone to complete something we haven’t healed. Either way, it’s revealing as hell.

And I’ve been so revealed.

From a Mexican machismo with family dynamics that felt like a telenovela, to a Jewish Israeli with stoicism carved into his bones - these relationships gave me a front-row seat into the cultures, customs, and core memories that shaped the men I briefly loved. Someone once joked, “You really don’t have a type.” And maybe I don’t - at least not physically. But I do spiritually.

I look for the soul. The seeker. The ones who walk their path with reverence, even if it’s wildly different from mine.

And when two seekers lock eyes? Game over. There’s a witnessing that happens. A shared curiosity that can’t be forced, can’t be tamed, and doesn’t always last. But when it hits, it hits deep.

These short but potent connections - they cracked me open. They also helped me get real about what I don’t want. Which is just as valuable.

Because let me tell you, I’ve met the ones who are sculpted like gods but have the emotional intelligence of a spoon. The ones who can financially fund a yacht and an empire, but have never planned a birthday dinner or offered to do the dishes. I’ve tasted all of it. And at 31, I’m finally clear:

I want the man with the heart of a poet and the spirit of a warrior.

Strong but soft. Loyal and free. Tender, but never tame.

And while that sounds like a tall order, I’ve at least stopped trying to shrink myself into relationships that don’t rise to meet me.

Still… 31 and single feels weird sometimes. Like I missed a bus I was supposed to catch. Or maybe I waved it on, knowing it wasn’t mine.

I used to definitely want the house, the husband, the kids. Maybe I still do. But lately I’ve stopped treating that vision like the holy grail of my womanhood.

Because once you get it… then what?

You’re in it. You chose. The person. The house. The future. And hopefully it’s good - but what if it’s not? What if you picked wrong? What if you committed to a life that looked right in the brochure but feels suffocating in real time?

That’s the part no one warns you about - the women who did check all the boxes, only to wake up five years in and realize they trapped themselves. That they picked a timeline they can’t undo. That the life they built now comes with consequences - mortgages and tiny humans and calendars booked solid with someone who doesn’t see them anymore.

That thought? Terrifies me.

Not the commitment. Not the partnership. But the permanence of choosing wrong. The quiet grief of realizing you knew deep down and still said yes because it was time or expected or easier.

So yeah. I’ll keep tasting. Keep walking into the shop with a wild heart and hopeful eyes, knowing what I want exists - because I’ve met pieces of it. And if nothing else, I’ve learned to trust that the right soul will recognize me not because I fit into his life… but because we’ll build something that honors both of ours.

And that?

That’s a flavor worth waiting for.