https://medium.com/@boobsradley/on-going-away-50e083d4a2cc#.svf20i6mx

That said, I am 33, and unmarried. I go back and forth on whether I want to be. To the sustained dismay of my therapist I have generally eschewed all kinds of dating because it combines my least favorite parts of social interaction: strangers and being willfully sexually interesting. I have complained lustily of digital convenience that allows you to be extremely comfortable while totally lonely. She has told me time and again that meeting new people and sharing little chunks of food off of a piece of marble with them is supposed to be fun. And I look at her like she just grew six heads.

The expected thing, then, is that love will pop out at us, like a dolphin breaching in a polluted urban estuary. While its not terribly sympathetic to wait for happiness to come to you in your roomy pants, there is the appealing idea that it’s something that simply hasn’t happened yet, like the onset of a genetic disease. This is by far the most palatable and appealing narrative for the sort-of self-selected emotional margin-dweller. I was walking down the street and there she was!