The Day You Stop Trying With New People Is the Day You Find Peace
A day where you just breathe, content in the knowledge that you’ve met enough — and question what else there is to seek? What have you been doing or hoping for?
When You’ve Met Enough Humans
I’ve met a lot of people — not a dazzling array, since I haven’t wandered as far or wide as some, and I tend to keep to quieter corners — but still, a fair share.
And I’ve realised… when does it ever end?
People drift in and out, like leaves in a restless wind. So many. Conversations — with anyone, even ChatGPT — are now just a tap away, fleeting fragments in an endless scroll.
But here’s what hit me: I already have enough humans — maybe seven or so — who carry memories of me in their hearts, who think I’ve been a light, or at least not a shadow, in their lives. Enough in my small, familiar orbit who cherish my presence, who quietly affirm: “She’s okay.”
There’s a handful who’ve known me since I was a child — who love me, trust me, see the many versions of me that have come and gone. That, right there, is enough.
Social media screams otherwise: Ooo, look at them! Is there really someone out there like THAT? And in the real world, there are moments when you meet someone and think, Meh — fine, maybe a little dull, can’t be bothered — and then other times you’re caught off guard: Wow. A new friend. This might just last.
And still — beneath it all — lingers the quiet question: Is this really going to last?
Somewhere along the line, I stopped chasing that answer. Because what I have feels whole. I don’t need to endlessly audition new faces for the title of “most important.” I don’t need to cast wider nets chasing a phantom called “the one.” I don’t need to compete or perform for the attention of some random man who barely knows me, or even meet many new people at all. They’ll come if they come. I’m done trying.
When it comes to romantic partners, I’ve folded my hands and stopped trying altogether. I don’t need love — not the kind sold to us as a missing piece, a prize, a happily-ever-after. I don’t even need companionship, really. My life isn’t incomplete without it. I am complete on my own terms. I don’t need a stranger to validate my existence, someone who hasn’t lived my memories or witnessed my becoming. That kind of rare, profound connection — it’s almost mythical.
Scarcity isn’t loss. Sometimes it’s the sharpest clarity.
I know exactly who I can call when the floor drops out beneath me. Who will remind me who I am when I’m feeling lost or strange. Who will sit beside me in the dark hours of grief, or send me a photo of the moon just because it’s breathtaking tonight. Even if we don’t talk every day, even if I never find a mate, even if I start again somewhere new.
And that — in this endless age of searching, swiping, networking, and new faces — feels like pure, unshakable wealth.
If it’s over, it’s over. Nothing — not even attraction — will make me force something that doesn’t feel right or believe in someone enough to build a life with them.
Trying to “fit” together, the performances, the sacrifices, the endless vision-making — it’s not easy at 31. Once you step out of the bubble of your younger years, it almost feels laughable.
If you found someone then, you’re lucky. The rest? It’s often a headache, despite how much we romanticise giving and receiving love.
The truth is, you can have vulnerability with a therapist, sex with many, emotions with many — and that’s okay. I’ve changed my tune and I’ve accepted it.