Sifting Through Soil

At 42, I find myself looking at the world a little differently — not with such regret, but with an openness I never had before. I’m not where I thought I would be at this age, and yet, in many ways, I’m exactly where I need to be. I haven’t yet found my life partner, but I’ve come to realize that this, too, is a chapter in the story I’m living. And, surprisingly, I’ve learned to embrace it, to let it become the norm — not as a deficit, not as something wrong but as a space of possibility, of growth, and of quiet excitement.

Like the tide that pulls back to reveal the deepest secrets of the ocean floor, my own heart has been through cycles of ebb and flow. Love has come in many forms, but a life partner — the kind of connection I thought would define my journey — lovers have definitely altered the course of direction but the kind I seek to build has not yet emerged. In the past, this absence of companionship not quite working out was a wound that left me feeling incomplete, like a tree whose branches reached but could not touch the sky. I wondered why the winds of love had not yet blown me toward the one who would grow alongside me, but with time, I’ve realized: the winds are still coming.

Trust in the Seasons

There is something beautiful in allowing the natural rhythms of life to unfold. Nature, ever patient, reminds me that everything grows in its own time. A forest does not rush to flower, nor does the river hurry to reach the sea. Seasons change, and some years are softer, quieter, while others bring storms, but each one carries with it the promise of renewal.

For years, I’ve battled with a quiet ache in my heart — at times this still can rise - a longing for a companion, but even still present when I am in companionship. However, someone to walk with me through this next stage of life. But in this waiting, I’ve come to realize that I am also learning to walk alone, with purpose, with confidence, and with grace. And that has made all the difference. The trees do not envy the flowers for their early bloom, nor do the flowers resent the trees for their slow-growing roots. Each plays its part in the greater tapestry of life.

I, too, am a part of this rhythm. My own story, like the slow unfurling of a fern’s fronds, is still in process. I’ve learned to trust that love will come, but it must be chosen love, and more importantly, it must come when I am open — when I have first learned to BE myself. I am the soil in which that love will take root, and I must be fertile to my own before the true passage of partnership can begin.

The Shadow of Past Relational Pain: Sifting Through the Soil

The soil must be cleared of rocks, the old roots pulled out before the new ones can grow. And so, in this space of solitude, I have spent time sifting through the remnants of past self and relationships, allowing their lessons to settle and their pain to dissolve. The winds of my past love stories were strong, but they left behind remnants of brokenness that I had to face — the cracked branches, the torn leaves, the infidelity, the roots tangled in distrust and grief.

The pain of past relationships was like the sharp, biting cold of winter, but with time, I’ve realized that the winter is not the end of the story. It is only the quiet before the spring, where everything falls silent to prepare for the new life that is coming. I now understand that the heartbreak I experienced wasn’t meant to define me, but to refine me. It was the heavy rain that nourished the seeds of self-awareness, the dry spells that taught me patience, but more so choice.

I’ve come to know that settling is a quiet surrender to a dream that isn’t mine. And I refuse to settle for a love that isn’t aligned, one that isn’t built on a foundation of mutual respect, personal responsibly, shared values, growth, deep intimacy and kindness. I’ve learned to trust in the timing of things, whether it fruits or not, to accept the loss as a natural part of life’s rhythm, and to move forward with open hands, knowing that what is meant won’t pass me — but it will come when I am fully ready to receive myself.

The Wild Promise of Love

And still, there is excitement. In the silence of waiting, I hear the promise of what is to come, like the soft murmur of the earth just before a storm breaks. Love is out there, and though I have not yet found it in the way I imagined, I have found it in many many other ways. I picture it as the sun breaking through the clouds after a long rain, warm and steady, reaching toward me, guiding me to the person who will stand beside me in all my complexity, my light and shadow.

But that love, I know, will not complete me. It will not fill a hole or heal a wound that only I can tend to. I am learning to be whole on my own, or should I say “remembering” that I am whole to begin with,” to love myself with the same tenderness that I offer to others. The love I seek will not be my salvation, but it will be a reflection of the love I’ve cultivated within. It will be a shared joy, like two rivers joining their currents, each bringing something new but becoming something greater together.

In a world that tries to confine love to a single timeline, a single script, a single "should," I am creating my own fairy tale. One that doesn’t adhere to the expectations of when a woman should have it all figured out, when she should have the ring, the house, the family. These fairy tales, once written in ink and tradition, are now being rewritten—more fluid, more forgiving, more attuned to the unique pulse of each heart. I am no longer bound by the narrative that says love must be chased or found in a specific place or time. Or parentified or controlled. Instead, I am embracing the flow of life, trusting that my story, like every great tale, will unfold in its own perfect timing, unburdened by societal constraints.

And in this freedom, I am learning to love the journey, not just the destination. With Practice. I am not waiting for love to arrive as a solution, but as a companion to walk with me—through the twists and turns, through the uncertainty, through the uncharted paths that lead to new growth. With each step, I become more of who I am meant to be, and love, when it comes, will not be a rescue, but a partnership—a celebration of two souls already whole, meeting at the crossroads of their separate stories.

So I hold space for love, not as an end, but as a letting go along the way. And though the world may ask, "When will it happen?" “I can’t believe you are still single” “have you tried women?” It’s like the wild west out there, the questions that come forth. I smile, knowing the answer: it will happen when it is ready. Until then, I will continue to create my own fairy tale, one where I am both the hero and the heroine, writing the chapters as I go.

Embracing the Present

At 42, I’ve stopped seeing the absence of a partner as a sign of something lacking. It is, instead, a fertile space waiting for the right conditions to grow something beautiful. Like the earth waits for the rain to fall, I am present to it, not in desperation, but in wonder. And in this process, I’m learning to grow, to breathe, to trust that the aligned love — that he who is meant to complement my journey, not complete it — will find me when the time is aligned.

For now, I remain grounded in the knowledge that partnership will come. But first, I must continue the work of learning to let go and honor myself, awakening the soil of past wounds in relating, with safety, respect and embracing the joy and the freedom that comes from being single. Knowing I would rather be single then alone in a relationship, and when the time is aligned, love will arrive, wild and untamed, and together we will grow — just as the forest, in its own time, will flower.