My single lady status has been a subject of great consternation for those who know me in person. Let’s not start getting into the exercise of defining how long I’ve been single, because that’s just depressing and mean. If you are wondering, let’s just say that I have not been on a real date since what seems like the Paleolithic period. In fact, now that I look back, even that instance might not have been a date – all I remember is getting clubbed in the head and drug across the floor. Which coincidentally, is eerily similar to how I currently spend my Friday nights. Just sayin.

What I know today is that I can most assuredly tell you that moving to Vashon Island has not improved my chances for finding a date – let alone “the one.” The only unmarried people on this island are either widowed, children or gay. In fact, I am starting to think that the folks who live here are another species of hominid that finds the island to be a superb nesting ground perfect for raising the next generation of attorneys. I swear to God this is true! No seriously, there are a lot of attorneys who live here. I am actually starting to think that there are no divorcees here because because it’s too much hassle to get a divorce with everyone else being a lawyer and all …

My friends are convinced that I am not trying hard enough. I, of course, have been telling them that I am on a break. But when I mention the word “break” people always give me “the look” and say stuff like, “Girl, breaks are bad. You need to get back on that horse. You need to get out there. You need to rwah rwah rwah rwah.”

Breaks, apparently, are negative and conjure up things like break-up. prison break. broken. BREAK DOWN.

People, I have not broken down. I am on a break. Correction, I was on a break.

That was yesterday and today is today. I was actually writing to announce that “the break” is officially over. Several weeks ago I developed a crush on someone. A full on, I-am-listening-to-Lionel-Richie kinda crush. This has come at a good time because at the time I was seriously contemplating getting a few cats.

The crush was so official that I had told other people that I had a crush. They were, of course, delighted and relieved that I have resurrected some semblance of emotions again. And of course, they were completely over the moon that I have given them something new to talk about. As you can imagine, this was good news to all around.

Now you may wonder who this crush is. And if he knows. Or if it’s reciprocal. Or have we gone on a date already. Or made babies. Details! YOU WANT DETAILS! Simmer down people. Trust me, it’s not a big deal. The crush is already over. It’s was more like a practice crush. The kind that fills you with hope and makes you remember that there’s this whole other person in your head that you’ve been ignoring.

Happily, the object of the crush was actually inconsequential to the mechanics of the crush itself. Have no fear, there will be no chance of crying into big pillows with big weepy tears because of it. It’s fine and I am feeling quite practical about it all. But this little crush, this object of my affection, actually cracked open the little shell that’s been holding up my heart. As a result, the whole damn thing came unraveled and there I was, flooded with that feeling of eternal possibility, as best explained by this video:

Who doesn’t love that feeling? It’s the best feeling in the world.

So maybe the takeaway from this exercise is that I’ve realized that if you put aside all the clutter – I am good at love. I am not afraid of it. I am optimistic about it. Maybe I’m not the best girlfriend or wife material but I am really good at knowing how to love someone. Ask any of my close friends or my even my kid. They all know where they stand. That I love them.

And I may still not know if I have what it takes to make a relationship last though – I have a wandering eye, I have a secret obsession with celebrity gossip blogs and Jay-Z and I am terribly clumsy in most situations. I drink my coffee black and my bourbon neat, which is considered unladylike in many parts of this country. And sadly, I’m stubborn and have an enormous ego when I am not suffering from moments of self-doubt. I am a hot mess. But after growing up the way I did, raising a kid and being alone, I know what love means. I also know what it does not. And I am good at love.

So this mini-crush has successfully reminded me that that knot in my chest is actually alive and evolving. That the stifled beating is now gushing and ready for all kinds on sloppy, happy, ridiculous types of love. Love is all around me and there doesn’t have to be a grand illusions about happily ever after. I am gonna choose to focus on that feeling of promise and joy and all those good things that come along with new beginnings and technicolor.

I have a swagger in my step. And it’s about damn time.