Prepare yourselves for some self-impressed stories of my somewhat pathetic, early youth love life and some insight on why I think that love, the big L-word, really isn’t or shouldn’t be the “end game” for us all.

I tell ya, at the moment, I feel like Carrie Bradshaw sitting in her New York apartment, smoking a Marlboro and reflecting on the most recent and scandalous affair she partook in.

Alas, I am not Miss Bradshaw (although I can’t help but narrate this piece in her voice. Isn’t she just a queen?) and I have not, as of ever, partook in any particularly scandalous love affairs. Also, I don’t smoke. But if I were Miss Bradshaw, I'd have a few words to say other than the usual spout of sexual endeavors and day dreams of Mr. Big.

It has been a somewhat annoying, in retrospect, habit of mine to engage in long-term relationships. I've now committed this tradition of year-long or longer relationships thrice. You could say I'm something of a serial monogamist.

The first one started in my junior year of high school and ended just before graduation. I'll spare you all the gory details, save this was the most immature, insane and disingenuous relationship I've ever had the displeasure of maintaining. Poor guy didn’t know what hit him.

My second ever long-term relationship was much more important to me. I fear writing about this particular individual too much, as although the details of the relationship do include great heartbreak and near mental breakdowns, I don't wish to defame him as a person (but pro tip: Don’t sleep with your girlfriend’s friends, especially if your girlfriend is a writer).

This relationship lasted for two years, over the course of which I truly felt that I would always be with this person (LOL). So many mishaps took place during our time together. Cars were getting towed and faces were getting slapped, my grades were slipping and my relationship with my family was rapidly deteriorating. In fact, on many levels, I would say this relationship was emotionally and mentally abusive – on both sides. I'm not one to displace responsibility. But this mention of abuse is for another article at another time.

Not even gonna talk about the third and most recent relationship. Another article, at another time. I know, kids, I'm such a tease. Honestly it's too fresh, and I don't need any damning words on the Internet ('cause I've never written anything risque on the cyberspace before)!

Why do we allow our lives to be dictated by this strange and antiquated culture of finding a mate to spend the rest of our lives with, or finding that one person that will “never, ever hurt” us? Why do we aspire so hard to love and be loved by another? Why did I engage in a relationship with someone I didn’t even love when I was 17? Why did I stick in a terrible, emotionally abusive relationship for two years? (I’ll tell ya why in another blog post, 'cause that’s a particularly good story.)

Sure, OK, I get it – love is the most profound and wonderful thing that a human being can experience. I'm certainly not trying to take the piss out of love in action. But love as a concept, and particularly in the western world, as something we dwell on all the time, on every platform, at every point in our lives. Did I stick with these relationships because I felt like it was my duty to complete this cultural tradition of loving someone so truly and fully that I would never leave their side?

Single? Gotta find a lover. In a relationship? You either gotta get out ‘cause your friends hate him or you gotta get married 'cause your parents love him. Married? Spice it up, get it together, go to therapy, have kids, have more kids, why did you guys have so many kids?

Whoa, lost it for a sec, sorry. Reigning it back in:

My point is, no matter what stage you’re at in your life, be it career-wise or in regards to your relationship status, you can’t escape the social pressures of love and the social construct that is love! It’s endless!

You're looking at a textbook classic hopeless romantic. No one loves love more than me. But after this most recent relationship, and the time I've spent this year on my own, I genuinely don’t feel like romantic love necessarily has to be the most important thing in someone’s life, or something that they should aspire to as an ultimate goal to have some everlasting, "The Notebook"-type love.

This is not that radical, guys. I’m not talking about “single-4-lyfe!” or polyamory or any of that, and I’m not pushing the whole mantra of “love yourself first, find yourself,” because half of that crap is mainstream word vomit to keep people feeling oppressed and unlovable (again, another topic for another time).

I'm simply saying I find that we all talk and think about love way too much, to the point that it’s downright annoying and oppressive to individual personhoods. At least in this country and in my experience, I find that we limit our lives and aspirations to achieving a relationship! Isn’t that kinda crazy? When there are so many wonders in the world, so many potentials, we focus on an emotion. Maybe our parents have it right when they tell us, “Focus on your life, and love will fall into place,” or, “You’re so young, you’ve got your whole life to fall in love!” They’ve got a point.

I know what you’re thinking now. That I must have recently had my heart broken, that I’m bitter, that I haven’t found "the one."

Just FYI:

I am in love.

But, I’m in love with the idea of publishing my first novel. Of driving out to the desert with my friends in the dead of night on a whim, just to see the stars. I’m in love with the crackling sound of a bonfire on a hot summer evening with laughter and secrets floating over the flames, like dying embers only to be shared for the night (told you I’m a hopeless romantic). I'm in love with my memories of floating in the blue-green Mediterranean off the coast of Barcelona. I’m in love with someday buying my mother a house by the ocean with a white picket fence because she deserves it, and because she is the greatest love of my life, not some fleeting romance.

Can we aspire more for moments? For memories and adventures, for personal goals and manifesting the best version of ourselves possible?

Please try to hold the gag noises and dramatic eye rolls for the moment, I’m still making my long-winded, yet simple, point.

My greatest moment of happiness this year was when my mother read me my acceptance letter to graduate school. The joy I felt in that moment of sheer accomplishment and lifelong goals coming true was utterly sublime. Nothing could touch that feeling, not even a boyfriend taking me on some fancy date (although moonlit spaghetti always sounds like a good idea).

Perhaps I haven't experienced the kind of love or happiness that develops from true love as of yet. I'm not opposed to this notion, and it would, in fact, answer all my questions as to why we as a society so intensely focus on gaining this one emotion. Movies, books, billboards, commercials, songs, entire television series (why’d you do it, Sarah Jessica?!) – all media points to love being the best thing you can achieve in life.

I don’t want to build myself for anyone! I don’t feel the need to cultivate myself into a lovable character, as I would hate to be loved for a person I’ve manufactured based on my ideas of what a partner would like out of me. How depressing would that be, to be loved for a someone you made up, someone that isn’t even you? Don’t you think this happens more often than not?

So with that, kids, I leave you with some of the realest words ever to be aired on cable TV. And, in my opinion, words that should have been much more common from the mouth of late-night television's voice of reason:

“The most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself. And if you can find someone to love the you that you love, well, that's just fabulous.” - Carrie Bradshaw

You tell em, Carrie. And maybe stick to your own advice.