“So, how’s life in Jeff City treating you?” they ask, with overtones of another question. Why the hell did you move there? is likely the root inquiry.

To refresh your memory, I relinquished my apartment to a friend in Seattle, transferred my base to Chicago O’Kurr, and changed my permanent residence to Jefferson City, Missouri. I’m a native of the town, and I’m back— on my own volition. I did this because it wasn’t financially prudent to stay in Seattle, and my base was shrinking. Overall, my quality of life was rapidly decreasing.

And to be fair, I’m not in Missouri all that often. I’m striking while the iron is hot, grabbing the fun and well-paid trips of the summer; seniority sure has its benefits. However, when I am home, I’m keeping a low profile and working on myself.

I had a little bit of a tumble when it comes to romance— while it’s somewhat of a broken record for me, this instance was particularly devastating. I met a darling individual at an event, and we hit it off. The whole song and dance ensued: butterflies, texting, long phone calls, and grandiose summer plans— I even bid my entire month of July to overnight in his new city. We really connected, and I was given all the signs that this was something meaningful and had potential to last. And then it took a nosedive.

It turns out, he’s not physically attracted to me. I don’t have the greatest track record when it comes to body image (read deeper into my blogs, and you’ll see it’s not an issue from which I stray). And I don’t even fault him for that; you can’t force these sorts of things. It’s typically not something develops over time— either you are or you aren’t. You know it within minutes of meeting someone; however, this primal instinct is cutting when someone decides, “No, you’re not the one for me intimately.” And while I am no stranger to this type of rejection, I felt blindsided, especially since at no point did he clarify this with me. I was, for better or worse, full speed ahead, all systems go.

Luckily, I am very comfortable with being vulnerable and wearing my heart on my sleeve. It’s stitched into my identity, sewn into the fibers of my being, and it takes a lot of courage to do so. I do not regret one thing I said, even in my heartfelt, handwritten letters.

Chalk it up to his youth, perhaps, but the lesson learned here is that it has nothing to do with me. That’s difficult, because I almost always think I’m culpable for some part of a SNAFU. Through this experience, at first glance, I wanted to shift course and not put all my cards out on the table. I wanted to throw up my hands and be done with romance as a whole— and that’s exactly what I’m not going to do. I’m going to love deeply, even if the outcome doesn’t turn out in my favor. This is who I am, and this is who I will continue to be.

If anything, this has given me the fire within, the “agni” as we call it in yoga, to press on. Lizzo has been the queen of my empowerment anthems. While this might be a low-key summer for me, I’m recalculating: I’m getting quiet, listening to my truth, the Source, and shedding everything that which does not serve me. This includes, but is not limited to, rocking out some yoga teaching, making strides for that next career move, and finding pure joy within myself and others. As I’ve anguished over the past couple weeks, three questions came to me that I’m attempting to answer at the end of each day:

• What have I done for my spirit?
• What have I done for my body?
• What have I done for others?

Hopefully, these will quell any self-nagging that creeps up from the anxiety surrounding a minor heartbreak. I’m trusting the process and embracing the journey, for what seems like a setback is really a liberation.

Oh, and I finally bought a car. After months of research, test driving, and downright lusting over the right vehicle, I introduce you to Gustav Mazda-San. While loving material things isn’t particularly advisable, I love the hard work I’ve put in to afford and deserve this. Zoom zoom.

Soundtrack, litrilly every lyric: Lizzo – Truth Hurts