A person... can develop a cold...

or bronchitis, as a certain Manhattanite has woefully discovered. The cherry blossoms bloom, tricycle toting tots terrorize the Upper West Side, and I endure the phlegmiest cough known to man. Longing to romp in a romper in the sun, I instead tightly roll my snot-stuffed being into fetal position, watching "Weeds" marathons and eyeing the clock's hands as they count down the hours of my suffering.

Ending self-induced pity party, in all honesty, the insane amount of downtime has led me to reflect on the past, then past the past, and further into the past until 3rd birthday party Barbie doll cakes were on the brain. Along the way, I mentally rehashed the many relationships I have lived and loved through over the course of time, and in doing so, the true issue with my dating life became clear- I have NO type. There was the first love, then the first REAL love, followed by random college shenanigans, the man I almost married, a rebound personal trainer, a finance man, a bar hopping mixologist. And then there is moi. Who am I, and where do I possibly fit in among this who's who of the male species?

Therein lies the problem, the winter of my discontent- I have no particular type for my dream companion because it is through my relationships that I search for and, ultimately, lose myself. Grasping at wisps of their identities in order to create my own persona, and in doing so, becoming a mimic, parroting their ideals and thoughts as if my brain had magically concocted them all by its little self. Granted, I am well aware that in every coupling, a certain amount of give and take is expected. We let them watch the game when all we desire is to indulge in a marathon of "Project Runway". I have faked interest in learning to speak Cantonese in order to garner a bookish beau's approval. Wrestling matches, learning to bar tend, going to trivia nights... I shudder at the many undesirable activities I have endured in the name of being a "couple".

Now, this isn't a "gal on the soap box railing against relationships" scenario. Rather, I think I am finally gaining insight into why I am single... and why I am okay with that. It feels as though, for the first time in a long while, I am rounding myself out as a whole, substantial individual. Discovering passions, freeing myself from pre-conceived notions of who I need to be versus who I actually am. Just me. Alone. Lil ol' me. The knowledge that I don't need a counter part has forced me to balance myself, enriching areas which I once relied on another to complete. Granted, girl still has a loooong way to go. Yet hopefully, after such a long self-imposed dry spell, when the next man mate comes into Miss Match's path, she'll be more of a woman than ever before. Just hope those testosterone types can handle it!