I’m no Cinderella
The Art of Being Single
Love changes things. What was I so afraid of? I did not understand that love fulfills the long-lost wishes, the secret hopes, the deep fantasies of desire... If it’s true love, it does not leave you lacking. Where love was lost in childhood, where adulthood failed to meet expectations, where emotional heartache left a gaping chasm of need—love fulfills.
I had an experience one night of a full moon on the coast of Kenya, Africa, when I was 17. My boarding school class and I were on Senior Safari, one last final trip together before we all left Africa and ventured out into the unknown of our home countries. Standing by myself in the quietly lapping ocean waves under the light of the moon, I reached out to the great unknown to ask the Creator about love.
As I waited for an answer, I did not feel alone. Instead, it was as if I suddenly knew that one day there would be a man to match me perfectly, yet somehow I also knew the hard truth—I would need to wait for him. I never imagined that “waiting” meant a full life of experience in joy, realized dreams, pain and heartache in between.
As time ran on, the unfathomable day of turning 30 loomed in my mind as a frightening symbol that cried, “Maybe you just imagined what happened that day on the beach.”
It just takes one. One thought. One false belief, and the lies pile on top of each other.
“It will be too late…too late for you.”
“Too late to believe in your dreams.”
“Too late for your own Cinderella story.”
The imaginings of childhood fade as we get older. People inform us—out of their own undealt with hurt and pain—that we must not believe too much, hope too much. That fairy tales aren’t true and we need to be realistic about expectations. I think life does that all on its own. It doesn’t need our help to teach us about disappointment or pain.
But on the day I turned 30 I shockingly felt beautiful inside and out, a handsome young literature nerd at Borders bookstore asked me out on a date, my friends rallied around me more than ever before with phone calls, emails and Facebook messages, and most pleasantly of all, my heart felt glad. On that day I felt myself grow past doubt into womanhood. Confidence and forward movement became my lifeblood and I learned to thrive.
I wouldn’t say that age is by any means magical. I suppose that it’s like wine—you get better as you ripen in the barrel. And I’m no Cinderella. Nor do I know how to pose for the perfect Instagram picture. I’m rather short, although somewhat fit with definitive curves. I’ve got light brown, slightly green eyes—when the light hits them a certain way—and my hair is dirty blonde when not colored. I’ve been told that I’m beautiful in my own way, and in seasons where I have been healthy emotionally and physically, that I carry a certain glow about me that catches men off guard. Or, so my mother tells me (but mothers are always biased toward their children). I suppose it doesn’t really matter whether or not I am truly beautiful. What matters is that I feel beautiful, and that is what happened to me when I turned 30…with no savings account, no extra cash in my checking account, no boyfriend, a job that would only last a week longer, and no “authentic” career (according to a certain person in my life who stated “writing” was not a real job).
My family was separated by continents and countries for a good twenty years of my life. I started boarding school at age 12, and it wasn’t until age 33 that my parents moved to the same town in California after having lived overseas. As an older single, I spent a lot of alone time with them. It sounds cliché—the older, single woman who hangs out with her parents—but in all honesty, my parents are fun to be around and let’s be honest, I really enjoyed the attention. At the time, they were my definition of family as my sister and brother had long since married and had their own children.
By the time the years turned into 35 and beyond, I was becoming comfortable in my singleness. Yet “single” and “love” became dirty little words. Love only existed for some people who were not like me. If you would have asked me the goals and vision for my life at the time I would have said, “Finish my first novel, create a successful company, travel, become a better journalist, be a positive catalyst for social justice through my writing...and perhaps someday balance marriage and children IF I can still pursue my dreams AND the man does not expect me to change who I am.”
If, if, IF…
What a naive view.
Love changes things. What was I so afraid of? I did not understand that love fulfills the long-lost wishes, the secret hopes, the deep fantasies of desire... If it’s true love, it does not leave you lacking. Where love was lost in childhood, where adulthood failed to meet expectations, where emotional heartache left a gaping chasm of need—love fulfills. And it goes a step beyond. A driving force in my life had been a need to prove that “I can, and I will,” and to be worldly significant. While I do believe that there is a God-given, healthy desire for significance, there is also a fine line between sanctified creativity and narcissism. It’s so easy for Creatives like me to become consumed with gaining attention or a platform under the guise of religious “spirituality,” or for the good of all people.
Because the longing for love and family is difficult for older singles to admit, let alone talk about, I typically avoided the conversation. God knows that many well-meaning people had talked enough about it already. The reasons for my singleness were often a topic.
“Why honey, why are you still single? It must be because you’re playing too hard to get.”
“You know, Vanessa, you need to make sure you ‘smile with your eyes.’ Guys need to feel safe to approach you.”
“Maybe it’s because you have coffee breath?”
At the age of 39 one day in late winter, my mother was in her laundry room folding clothes and putting wet clothes into the dryer. I walked in to help her, and suddenly overcome with emotion, tears poured down my cheeks and I stated, “Mom, I’m not sure if I’ll ever be able to have kids…”
“Ness, you don’t know that,” she said in a confident manner as she straightened her bent-over pose and met my eyes. “You said yourself once that God could literally pick him up from across the world and drop him in this city—just for you.”
“I know, but I don’t have any faith left. I need you to believe for me.”
“I do.” For her, having faith in something that felt impossible to me was no big deal.
Just a few weeks after that conversation and with perfect timing an “and suddenly” came into my life. (You know how they say you’re more likely to get hit by a car than find love after 40? Pardon my French, but that’s a load of shit.) Spring had just begun and little did I know my love was about to bloom. I was about to flower.
And so, one Friday evening during a Family Conference at my church I sat down next to two dear friends of my parents—whom my mother had introduced and later performed the marriage ceremony for. I had zero expectations of finding love. One of the speakers that night asked the audience to get together in groups and talk about a miracle that occurred in someone’s life, and then “call down the same miracle from Heaven” for another person.
I was, perhaps not coincidentally, open that evening. Knowing their love story, I admitted the true longing housed deep in my heart, “I want to get married. That’s the miracle I want you to ‘call down from Heaven’ for me.”
The husband shifted uncomfortably in his seat, as if he had something on his mind that he wasn’t sharing. His wife kept a straight face and they began to pray for me, knowing full well that a man my age was also invited to the party they had arranged for us the next evening.
I remember full well the look on that new man’s face the next evening, and in particular his clear blue eyes, when he reached out to shake my hand in introduction. But I didn’t think anything of meeting him.
So many men had come and gone—friendships, crushes, dating. A bunch of “almosts,” “not quites,” “if only’s,” “perhaps,” and “Was I wrong to let him go’s?” A few of these experiences both in romantic and other forms of relationship, had left me broken-hearted and afraid to risk my heart. He was just some “hot German guy” who was visiting northern California, and in particular my world-famous church, for a few months.
I did not understand that love heals ... It is only if we stay connected to our hearts that we hang out to our childhood innocence and belief in our dreams. Love allows you to rest in its protective cradle of confidence. It surpasses all, sweeping past relationships to the side like a tidal wave of pure, liquid goodness. One thing I wish I had understood earlier in life is that this love has always been available to me through Jesus, but it took a tangible representation of His love, character, pursuit, kindness, sacrifice and goodness on earth for me to more fully grasp what love is.
And love fulfills ... I’ve surprisingly I’ve found that being emotionally fulfilled by romantic love has shifted my focus and killed my drive to be known by the world in an unhealthy, or self-fulfilling manner. The glitter and temptation of filling your heart with other things fades away. This love is next to godliness and becomes the focus of life, not in a co-dependent absorbing way, but in realization that the gift of marriage, family and close friendships is the most valuable and fulfilling gifts we will ever receive in life outside of God.
His name is Florian, which means “blooming.” It precisely accurate for my story—he is my flowering. From my childhood fantasies of adventure in Africa to my romantic ideals of international life and travel as I grew into womanhood, he is an answer to each and every prayer I prayed. He is strong in the areas in which I am weak, and I am strong in the areas in which he wishes to grow. He is not passive, which I despise in a man. Both having strong personalities, we sharpen each other. Our passionate arguments have caused us to grow exponentially, our love reaching deeper and deeper into our souls so that it can stand the test of time and age. I know we are still relatively young in love and that this is just the beginning of that understanding, but it’s breathtakingly beautiful.
No one owns your story. Only you do. And by owning it, you take pride in it despite the sorrow that may have been along its path. Although I did not have faith when I needed it most at 39 years of age, I came to the conclusion that despite disappointment or the inability to have children, I would choose to be happy, never imagining that I would meet Florian just a few months later.
To men and women who are still waiting ... It’s never too late. Don’t settle for someone that is not perfect for you or even someone in whom you have even the faintest doubt. Don’t be afraid to let someone go if you’re not sure, or because you’re afraid of getting older. God will restore all that has been lost in your past, and give you more than you’ve prayed, ached and cried out for over the years.
I have begun a new and glorious chapter in the pages of life that is far superior than I had imagined. I often cry out of thankfulness for who he is and that he loves me too.
Romantic love, freely given and received, is the best representation of the Father’s heart on earth ... It’s worth the wait. It’s so much better than you can imagine!
As a 41-year-old woman, I am witness to this.