we can't plan life, emily

a thursday catch up and why i am tired of tiktok dating coaches

Oh my friends,

It’s Thursday morning, which means it’s time for an impromptu newsletter. I am thankful work has slowed down, because it means I have more time on these sunny + chilly fall mornings to write to you. I have a mug (not an espresso cup) of coffee beside me in bed. I haven’t eaten breakfast yet, but I will probably do a hot girl walk over to Starbucks for something soon. 

I got a blowout on Tuesday, and can I tell you something? It makes such a difference when you wake up to smooth, bouncy curls. One day I will be one of those women who go for a weekly blow out, but until that day comes - we will save our $60 for special occasions.

This week, I had a moment. I, unexpectedly, received an invite to speak on a panel about love, vulnerability, and creating healthy relationships with ourselves and with others. I have to tell you, I’ve been in this mood all week. And the only two words I can use to describe it are: present + proud. 

When I started my newsletter in February, I honestly I had no concrete plan for it. I wanted a space where I could just be myself, and not have to conform my writing to another publication’s voice or opinions. I wanted a space where I could write poetry if I wanted to, fill everyone in on my latest self-induced problems, or reflect on love and those that I miss most.

I had no numbers or metrics that I wanted to reach, it was purely for me and for you.

And I am reminded of a certain someone from the summer, who told me:

“You can’t plan life, Emily.”

Ever since I came back to Toronto last week, something inside me just stopped. The need to always be doing something more and more and more, even if I couldn’t figure out what that thing was. 

I will tell you what I love in this moment. I love writing, I love being with my friends, I love my morning coffee, I love blowouts and Zara outfits and long walks to nowhere. I love dimly lit bars and red wine in the fall and Gucci mascara. I love the freedom to create and I love eating spicy rigatoni and watching Buying Beverly Hills with tea on a Wednesday evening. 

And there is something that I do not love in this moment. This narrative around dating. Last night, while I was on my evening TikTok/Reel scroll - I came across a Reel that listed “Alternatives to Ghosting” - and you know what one of those alternatives was? Telling someone “I wish you the best of luck on your dating journey”. (Also, I’ve already written a newsletter on my thoughts of the psychological form of torture which is ghosting. You can read it here.)

There are so many things that bothered me about wishing someone the best of luck on their dating “journey”. And this is why.

First of all, I find the statement itself to be patronizing. It reminds me of when you get that rejection email from a job interview - and they thank you for your time, tell you that they’re going with another candidate (most likely the boss’ kid), and then wish you the “best of luck on your job hunt”. 

So, the statement: “best of luck on your dating journey”, to me, almost signifies that we’re lost. That we’re looking for something and on the hunt for something we need in order to live a complete or full life. And does the journey end when we start dating someone? Does it end with a reward or prize? A certificate that says - Congratulations, You Are Now Complete.

No, and as we’re lucky enough to learn with every other aspect of the life we’re given: the journey always continues. 

When I was in high school and university, I thought that winning at life meant dating the most popular guy in school. The most sought after, the star of the football team, the one everyone wanted. If I could get him, then that meant I was worthy. That I was cool. That I was that girl everyone wanted to be. That I didn’t need to continuously keep searching or hoping for the next thing. 

I’m going to be honest, in my 29 years of life (or however long I’ve learned to understand the concept of romance) - I believe that love finds you. I believe love, and I mean, like, true love, is one of those concepts that can’t be controlled or created by lists or science or planning a timeline or memorizing a rule book or listening to one sentence from TikTok life coaches. 

We can’t plan who we fall for, and we certainly cannot control our feelings once we do. I think that’s the beauty of it. The unexpectedness, the uncertainty, and the lack of control of it all. 

I really believe that love is meant to be magical. I do. I don’t want to make a list to see if they check off all the right boxes. I don’t even want to make a list, to be honest. Because the ones that I’ve fallen for have added something to my life that no conjured up list at 25 would even be able to put into words. 

Is this delusion? Maybe. But I’ll tell you something. There is something that is so, so, beautifully unexplainable, about looking at someone and thinking:

How did we end up here?

Maybe it’s not love at first sight. It’s the accidental party drop in, bar stumble, or friend introduction where you’re forced to be polite. And then, after a certain period of time (who knows how long it takes - it’s in destiny’s hands now), something clicks. 

Home. 

And you know what? I’m very proud of the woman I’ve become since I was 16. He doesn’t need to be over 6 ft 2 and play football and have blonde hair and blue eyes.

He just has to be himself. 

And when divine timing is right - when I am out somewhere and my hybrid Jess Mariano / Ryan Atwood almost spills his drink on me (key word: almost) - or, if you’ve been paying attention - asks me what I want to drink - I’ll know. 

And you’ll know, because I’ll keep you updated.

If it’s right, it’ll happen. 

I love you,

Emily