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I’ve spent years waxing poetic about living in the present. About intentionality. About embracing the now.

But here’s the thing, friends: sometimes your now just... sucks. And it’s okay not to want to be in it. It’s okay to focus on the future instead.

Lughnasadh is coming up next week. I’ve been thinking a lot about cycles and seasons—how life moves whether we’re ready or not.

Over the past few months I’ve been learning more about the human condition, mostly by dipping a reluctant toe back into dating. Honestly? Not my favorite thing. I miss the familiarity of my old relationship. I miss the comfort of being with someone who already knew all my quirks—someone who understood that I.do.not.drink.coffee. Someone who could spell my first name correctly.

That’s the thing about old love: it’s easy to romanticize. Easy to see its imperfections as charm, like the patina on a vintage dish. It can make you forget why it ended. It can make you forget how painful it felt, being lonely inside a relationship. Because that kind of loneliness cuts deeper than the quiet I sit with now.

Dating has made me feel young, in a way. I’ve met interesting people: a fisherman, a retired police officer, a service dog trainer, veterans, people who moved here from cities. I’ve flirted. I’ve heard new stories. I’ve been reminded that there are so many different types of people right in our own backyard.

But I’ve also met people like me—emotionally dented and dinged. We all arrive with our baggage tucked neatly out of sight. We smile and talk the weather, pretending not to notice the matching scars we both wear.

One date even made it to a second round before leaving me with the smallest heartbreak—a paper cut instead of a wound, but pain is pain. And honestly? I’m tired.

I’m tired of giving my mental bandwidth to this. I don’t know how else to meet people at this stage of life. Dating apps? Meh. I’ve met some people, sure, but it feels like a numbers game. And while I know the more open I am, the more likely I’ll find someone who fits… I’m just so ready to skip to the part where someone already fits. The comfortable sweatpants phase. Lazy Sundays on the couch. That soft, easy love.

But the only way is through. And some days, it’s dark in this tunnel. I keep going, but it feels like I’ll never feel the sun on my face again.

I’ve largely decentered men and romance from my life. But I won’t lie—it still lingers in the corner of my heart. It’s become a chore, like checking email. Another obligatory meet-and-greet with an 85% chance we’ll both ghost each other by next week.

So here I am. Still walking. Still hoping. Trying to trust the process, even when the path feels endless.