Okay, I need to get something off my chest.
It’s been bothering me for weeks, and I can’t seem to shake it.

Why do I feel the need to have a boyfriend?

Dinner and Déjà Vu

I went to dinner recently with a friend who’s going through a nasty divorce from his husband.
I wanted to check in because I care about him — maybe even like him a bit — but I’m not sure we’d ever really work. Still, I asked what happened, and as he started talking, I could hear Kerry in every word.

His husband sounded like a total loser.
Their story felt eerily similar to mine — two partners carrying all the weight while their spouses played the part of success. We were the breadwinners, the ones paying the bills, while they told everyone else it was their money. They controlled the spending, dictated what kind of cars we could buy, and somehow always ended up with the nicer one.

In my case, if I went against Kerry, I paid for it — with silence, glares, and public jabs.
He’d make fun of me in front of our friends, talk down to me, humiliate me just enough to remind me who was in control.

Fun times, right?

Jumping Right Back In

Over dinner, my friend told me he’s already seeing someone new.
My jaw nearly hit the table.

Seventeen years together — twelve of them married — and he’s dating already?
I couldn’t wrap my head around it.

How do you walk out of a toxic relationship and jump straight into another one?
I’ve been adamant that I’m not ready for that. But his news made me question myself:
Am I missing something? Do I actually want a boyfriend?

No.
Yes.
Maybe?

Let’s be real — I’ll never get married. Not again, not ever.
Not being married saved my ass when it came to protecting my assets. I’ve worked too hard to let another freeloader screw it up.

The Truth Underneath

But here’s the part that’s harder to admit: I do get lonely sometimes.

Being down here in southern Utah, riding through the desert, has me thinking.
I want someone to share it with.
Not a husband. Maybe not even a “boyfriend.” Just someone who gets it.

A camping buddy.

Belinda and Brian — my sister and brother-in-law (though I just call him my brother) — have both hinted at it. They say, “You need a camping buddy.”
I always joked, “As long as they don’t have to sleep in my trailer.”

I don’t joke about that anymore.
I’d actually love that — someone to share the trailer, the campfire, the early-morning coffee before we hit the trails.

The Ride

On Presidents Day, we did a hundred-mile ride out to the old Mt. Trumbull Schoolhouse.
Belinda and Brian rode together with their dog, Maggie.
I rode solo — just me, my side-by-side, and my music.

It was beautiful, but it was quiet. Too quiet.

I caught myself thinking how nice it would be to have someone sitting next to me — laughing, talking, making memories. Someone to turn to and say, “Did you see that?” instead of just nodding at the empty seat.

What I’m Looking For

So yeah… maybe I am ready to start looking.
Not for a boyfriend. Not for another Kerry.

Just for a camping buddy — someone who wants to ride along, get a little dirty, laugh too loud, and maybe remind me what connection feels like again.

— Standing on the Edge