Ms.

I can't remember a time as a kid when I didn't just dream of being married. That was my number one goal in life, especially once I hit my teen years. I daydreamed about my husband, kept a journal for him, prayed for him, set up a "marriage display" in my bedroom. On the few occasions where someone dared to raise the idea that I might not end up getting married, I was terrified. How could I possibly live if God had called me to be single?

It wasn't like the typical little-girl-dreaming-of-her-wedding-day kind of thing. I actually thought very little of my wedding day. I never put a pillowcase on my head and pretended to be a bride. I didn't think about what kind of flowers or cake I might want. I didn't keep a binder like Monica Geller's. I didn't care much at all about the wedding day. I just wanted to be married.

Well, I got married. And 5 years later, I got divorced. That was an outcome I'd never thought possible.

So now, I'm single again. And people will ask from time to time if I'm dating, or if I've thought about getting remarried, and so on. And while I'm not as opposed to the idea of remarriage someday as I am to the idea of having kids someday...I really don't desire it. If I never date or marry again, I can picture myself being quite happy with that.

I've gotten to a place where I love my solitude. 20 minutes in Walmart and I am just itching to be away from people. Granted, Walmart shoppers are a particularly obnoxious and unaware bunch. But when I unload my cart and sit down in my car, I turn off the radio (if it was on...I often prefer to drive in silence anyway), I turn off the vents, and I just bask in the silence for a few moments before I back out of my parking space.

On one such occasion, it struck me. I really love being single. Not just tolerate it, or have found peace with it. I prefer it. And that's not just because my marriage was less than ideal. It's because I am so autonomous. Deciding when to eat dinner and what to cook is all up to me. What food am I in the mood for? The fact that it is invariably some type of carb-on-carb meal doesn't have to bother anyone else. Because no one else is eating it. And I can be as anal as I want about how my house is organized. (Boy, am I ever anal.) I can decorate the way I want to decorate. I can spend my money the way I want to spend it. It's all up to me. Sure, Peanut puts in her say, but at the end of the day, I don't have to consider how anyone else would like my stuff. And I love it.

As I sat in my car in the Walmart parking lot in utter silence, realizing I love being single, I realized that perhaps...despite all my years of searching for my soul mate...I was actually wired to be single. Because I don't feel lonely. I don't wish I had a man to spend my evenings with. I love my life just the way it is.

There's this idea that if you're single, there's either something wrong with you or you're to be pitied. One Bachelor contest was mocked for being 31 and still single. What was wrong with her that she wasn't married yet by 31, said her competitor. As if being married, or at least in a serious relationship, is a better, more desirable life. And maybe it is for some. But for me...I really don't feel I'm to be pitied. Life is great!

Rejection

I've had my fair share of rejection in my life. Maybe because I've always been so bluntly honest. (My name does mean Truthful.) Whenever I liked a guy, I always ended up telling him, usually to find out that he just saw me as a "sister." And despite the fact that a couple of these guys even said things like "any guy would be nuts not to like you," I guess they identified themselves as nuts...because they didn't reciprocate my feelings.

But this never really got me down longterm. Of course, the sister line was heartbreaking in the moment, but it never made me feel more guarded in the future. My policy has always been to just be honest. If nothing else, it alleviates the game playing, the wondering, the ambiguity. Even the rejection provided a closure for me, a chance to know "nope, this isn't happening, so I can start to get over this now."

But things are different now. I realized recently that I'm much more guarded than I used to be. The rejection of the end of a marriage is far different than telling the guy who sits next to you in chapel that you're into him and having him say he's not into you. Even though in the case of my marriage, I was ready for it to be over, whereas with chapel-guy I didn't want to hear his rejection...it's still somehow harder this time.

Because when I got married I thought that was it. I was playing for keeps. This wasn't something that would end in rejection. This was for life. Or so I thought. To know that even my supposed life-long relationship ended in rejection left me a little more guarded. A little more jaded. A little more hopeless. Could I ever find a guy who likes me for me...even when the butterflies fade? (And yes, Bachelor and Bachelorette contestants, butterflies fade. Sorry to be the one to burst your bubble. No one lives happily ever after all the time.)

Most of this post-marriage period has been so good for me. So healing. Such a wonderful journey of empowerment and self-discovery. A journey toward a wholeness that I never had before. But then there's this part. This part that leaves me a little paralyzed, a little more fearful. A little less honest-ol'-Ali and a little more reserved, guarded Ali. It's a wound that may never fully heal.

But this is where I've been relishing: Ephesians 1 says that God chose me. In love he predestined me to be adopted. And get this—not just for my sake but for his pleasure. God delighted in me so much that he wanted to choose me. There will never be any rejection from God, of that I can be sure.

Valentine's Day

Although I've shared the last five Valentine's Days with someone, 20 of the 21 before that were spent as a single girl. And the one exception was in seventh grade; that hardly counts.

And in all 20 of those single Valentine's, I never felt cynical or bitter like those anti-Valentine's people. (OK, no one probably cares at age two anyway.) I never felt the need to wear all black in protest. I never scoffed at the sappy cards or grew jealous at the bouquets that appeared for others. It was just a day that passed without too much thought, except the fact that on February 15 I knew I could a) get 50% off chocolate, and b) Cadbury Mini Eggs would go on sale for Easter. (And I looked forward to those same things in my married years! In fact last year Dan and I celebrated late so that we could get 50% off candy and cheaper flowers.)

But, having just filed for divorce and having a single Valentine's Day for the first time in several years, I wondered how I would feel when Valentine's started to show up. And last week, the true test happened: my city (very into Valentine's Day) launched its annual tradition of hanging up personalized wooden hearts along the main road that runs through the center of town. Romantics looking to surprise their true loves can pay to have their own hearts stenciled with loving messages and posted for all the town to read.

I've always loved this tradition, and this year was no different. As usual, I got a huge smile when I turned the corner and saw the first heart of the season hanging from a light post. So there it was: proof that divorce hadn't turned me into a Valentine's Day cynic. And here's to hoping I won't rear end someone reading all the hearts...

There is one day in February that I know will probably make me cry, but it isn't the 14th...it's the 13th. 13 years ago on the 13th, I adopted a beautiful puppy, who passed away last April. And this year will be the first "puppiversary" to pass without her in my arms. That's going to be hard. It's hard just to write about.

But I've got no qualms with Valentine's Day. I know I have plenty of people who love and care for me, two pups who worship me, and I'm perfectly content in my singleness right now. So bring on the 50% off chocolates and hang up more hearts!