Column No. 2
If you’d asked me years ago what I was looking for in a man, I would’ve had an answer ready.
Loves God. Attractive. Successful. Funny. A good father. Ambitious. Intelligent. Chemistry.
None of those things are wrong. In fact, I still hope the man I fall in love with checks every one of those boxes.
But life has a way of refining what you think matters most.
The older I get, the less interested I am in qualities that look good on paper, and the more interested I am in the ones that reveal themselves over time. The ones you don’t discover on a first date, but somewhere between a misunderstanding, a disappointment, an ordinary Tuesday, and a hard conversation.
I’ve realized I don’t really have a checklist anymore. I have questions.
One of the biggest is whether someone actually has the capacity for a relationship.
Not just the desire for one.
Does he have the time? The emotional bandwidth? The willingness to make room for another person in the life he’s already built?
Because wanting love and having room for love aren’t always the same thing.
I’ve also stopped asking whether someone loves me.
Love can exist without being experienced.
What I want to know now is whether I can actually feel it without constantly having to interpret it. I don’t want to spend my days decoding mixed signals or trying to determine whether silence means stress, distance, or disinterest.
Healthy love shouldn’t require a translator.
Communication has taken on a different meaning for me, too.
It isn’t about texting all day or narrating every thought. It’s much simpler than that.
Can he tell me what’s happening before silence forces me to guess?
Life gets busy. Work gets demanding. Families need us. None of that scares me.
Guessing does.
I’ve learned that uncertainty is exhausting, especially when honesty would’ve taken only a few words.
I still appreciate romance. Flowers are lovely. Thoughtful dates are wonderful.
But somewhere along the way, I started paying more attention to something quieter.
Does he think of me without needing to be reminded to consider me?
There’s something deeply comforting about being remembered.
Not because you demanded attention, but because you naturally crossed someone’s mind.
And while we’re talking about comfort, I’ve become less interested in butterflies and more interested in peace.
Chemistry is exciting.
Peace is sustainable.
When I’m with him, does my nervous system get to rest?
Can I exhale?
Can I be fully myself without constantly wondering where I stand?
Those questions matter to me now.
Leadership matters too, but not in the way I once thought.
I’m less impressed by confidence than I am by consistency.
Can he initiate?
Can he make decisions?
Can he follow through?
Can he carry responsibility without quietly handing it back to me?
Because eventually someone is leading every relationship. I’ve learned I don’t want to unintentionally become the project manager of my own love story.
Conflict has become another teacher.
I don’t expect perfection. I don’t expect anyone to always have the right words.
I just want someone who can stay.
Someone who can tolerate uncomfortable conversations without disappearing, shutting down, or making me responsible for pulling every thought out of him.
The safest people don’t make you guess.
One question, though, sits especially close to my heart.
Does he notice what I’m carrying?
Not because I’m waiting for someone to rescue me.
I’ve carried my own bags for a long time.
But love notices.
It notices the mental load.
The exhaustion.
The things no one had to say out loud.
Real partnership isn’t about someone carrying everything for you. Sometimes it’s simply hearing, “That looks heavy. How can I help?”
I’ve also stopped confusing desire with availability.
Someone can genuinely want you and still have no room for you.
I’ve learned to ask whether there’s space for me in his actual life.
His time.
His priorities.
His emotional world.
His everyday decisions.
Because love can’t thrive where there’s no room to live.
And finally, I’ve started asking a question I wish someone had taught me years ago.
Can we be friends?
Can we laugh until we cry?
Can we enjoy a long drive with no destination?
Can we sit in comfortable silence?
Can we enjoy each other when intimacy or lust isn’t carrying the connection?
Because chemistry may start a relationship.
Friendship is often what sustains it.
Maybe the biggest change of all is this.
I no longer wonder whether someone would fight to keep me.
I’m far more interested in whether we’re both consistently participating in building something neither of us regularly wants to leave.
Those are not the same thing.
One waits for a crisis.
The other quietly builds security every single day.
Looking back, I don’t think I needed a better checklist.
I needed better questions.
And somehow, I think the right questions have a way of leading us to the right kind of love.
♥️
