You're More Than Your Checklist

When you’re looking for love, it’s tempting to review your pleasing qualities. I’d like to suggest an alternative.

H. Lyman Sayen’s “Calligraphic Interior” via Artvee.

Because I wrote a book for single people, I frequently hear from readers who are searching for a partner. My book, and the New York Times essay that launched it, sprang from my experience as a person who was single-not-by-choice during the bulk of my twenties and thirties. During that time, I was frustrated that I couldn’t find a partner, and I worked hard to figure out what was “wrong” with me, reviewing all the common tropes—from “you’re too picky” to “you’re too desperate.”

After I met my husband, I realized that the messages our culture sends to single people are not only toxic, they’re also inaccurate. The point was never to eradicate my flaws—it was to find the right person, someone who loves me anyway.

So it’s great when people write me to say my book helped them see themselves in a different light, that it has helped them deprogram from a dating culture that treats them like problems to be fixed.

Sometimes, though, I hear from people who seem intent on explaining what a great catch they are. They have great jobs, lots of friends and strong workout routines. They’re active in their communities, kind to their parents, and they look pretty darn good for their age.

I understand this impulse—I used to mentally tick off my fine qualities when I was facing yet another wedding or Valentine’s Day on my own. It felt productive somehow. Our culture puts a very high premium on self-esteem, so focusing on my strengths seemed like the best course.

But now, reading these lists bums me out. I’m glad the writers are able to recognize their good qualities, but I wish they didn’t feel compelled to plead their case.

Even when you judge yourself positively, you’re still judging yourself. You’re still buying into the idea that there is a standard that separates couples and singles, a bar you have yet to clear.

We write these lists to elevate ourselves, but I think they diminish us. They read a little too much like a catalog copy for a kitchen appliance or a used car. In great shape! Lots of baggage space! You’ll never need another! There is an underlying anxiety to them, as they also inspire the inevitable shoe-drop question: So, what’s the catch?

Valentine’s Day is coming, and if the oncoming barrage of heart-shaped paraphernalia has you massaging your attributes like worry beads, I’d like to suggest an alternative. What if instead of parsing yourself into a bunch of pleasing qualities, you instead honor the gloriously complicated mass of humanity that you are?

Would you still be lovable if you lost your job? If you gained twenty pounds? Would you be worth knowing even if you weren’t a gourmet cook or a triathlete? Is there something inside of you that transcends your great sense of style and your ability to speak French? Are you more than your career, your looks, and the number of likes on your last Instagram post?

When you practice this kind of self-acceptance—the kind that does not care about how much money you make or how many social media followers you have—you gain a kind of superpower. When you accept yourself unconditionally, you become extremely difficult to manipulate. The perpetual message that singles receive—that you’re not quite good enough—loses its power.

When you know your worth, you no longer feel compelled to prove it.