Hard to Catch, Easy to Leave

Recently, I was driving to Littleton, the kind of drive that feels ordinary until it isn’t. The radio was on, half background noise, half companion, when Hard to Say I'm Sorry by Chicago came through the speakers.

And just like that, I wasn’t here anymore.

I was back in 1980-something, riding down the same road, but in a different life. Back when love was still a concept I could shape into anything I wanted. Back when I believed in the kind of great love that would let me go… and still come back for me.

It’s funny, the things we carry forward without realizing it. The music changes, the years stack up, life teaches its lessons in ways we didn’t ask for… and still, somewhere deep down, that teenage longing lingers. Not as loud. Not as reckless. But still there, like a familiar melody you don’t quite forget.

Segue to the other side of this story...

I went on a date recently. Only the 2nd time since I ended my last relationship 15 months ago.

It was good. Easy. The kind of conversation that flows without effort. We moved off the app, kept talking, let it stretch into something that felt like it might become more. There was flirting, laughter, even talk of a second date.

And then… nothing.

Not dramatic. Not explosive. Just quiet. Like a sparkling water left on the nightstand overnight. Still there, still technically what it was… but flat.

At one point, I told him I’m a catch. He told me he’s hard to catch.

And there it was. Not chemistry. Not timing. Just misalignment dressed up as intrigue. Because here’s what I know now that I didn’t know back in 1980-something:

I’m not chasing anyone.

Not because I can’t. Not because I don’t feel the pull. But because I won’t build something meaningful on a foundation of pursuit and imbalance. I’m not interested in convincing someone to choose me. I’m interested in being chosen… freely, clearly, without games.

The girl I used to would have leaned in, tried harder, turned it into a challenge to win.

The woman I am now? She leans back. And lets the truth reveal itself.

I’m doing well on my own. More than well, actually. I’ve built a life that feels steady. Full. Mine. There’s joy here. There’s peace here. There’s growth I fought hard for.

But there’s also honesty.

There is still a small space that wonders what it would feel like to share this life with someone who shows up fully. Someone who doesn’t need to be chased, or convinced, or decoded.

Someone who simply meets me here.

Maybe that kind of love looks different than the one I imagined all those years ago on that same road. Less dramatic. Less uncertain. More steady than exciting.

And maybe that’s the point.

I’m not looking for someone to chase anymore. I’m waiting for someone who doesn’t make me.