The weather’s been gorgeous as of late, maybe a bit too gorgeous. By now, my breath should freeze on my morning walk, gloves should be covering my hands and a nice warm knit cap to keep me cosy. Instead, I had on a thin jacket over a T-shirt. It was early, and the sun only just began to peek over the mountains. On the lake, the swans were awakening as the blue heron glided above.

I love going to the lake shortly after I rise. It’s about three-quarters into my walk, affording me a break. I stared out at the calmness of the scene. The rippled metallic surface of the lake reflected the colors of the leaves, the sky, the mountains. I breathed in the clean air, slow, to calm my heart. Maybe even lift it.

You see, for some reason I’ve been repeatedly confronted about my singleness in a coupled world. Well-meaning friends remark that I’m the lone one in the batch. How can I stand it? Why haven’t you met anyone after being on two dating apps for, what, six months? And so on….

It started at poker. I’m in a summer league that tends to run into October, if there are enough people around to play. Some members head straight to Florida at the first sign of September. Others are local and, like me, continue to play until the holidays take over. I’m not that great at it, since I’m still learning all the tricks, but it’s a fun group of people and I’m slowly becoming more adept.

One night, as I studied the cards in my hand and on the table, calculating my chances of winning, another player casually mentioned that she and her boyfriend only had sex a couple of times that week. She looked at me and said, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that out loud in front of you. It must be rough.”

I glanced over my cards. “What do you mean?” I asked, knowing full well what she meant.

“I don’t know,” she said through a crooked grin. “You’re…well…single…”

I folded my hand. “Yes. And I guess that makes me less of a person, doesn’t it. Especially at my age. I mean, who’d want me? Certainly no one, it seems.”

The whole table went silent. A few players dropped chips on the table, betting their hand.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said. “I don’t know what I meant. I’m sorry.”

Somebody won, but I didn’t pay attention. I kept my poker face intact as the next hand was dealt.

Later, I made it to the final table. It’s a big deal for me. That means out of 21 players, five were left and I was one of them. If I could stick around until two other people lost, that means I’d get at least third prize, around $10 (hey, it’s something!). A male player who lost sat on the sides and casually remarked, “Hey, how does it feel to be the only single crashing a couples party?”

The remaining people in the room or at the table were all couples…except me.

My cards sucked and I folded. I threw them down on the table. The adult in me should’ve ignored such a cruel remark, but I couldn’t help it. I burst out. “What is it with you all? Yeah, I’m single. I can’t help it. I’ve been trying to find a date but no one wants me. Guess I scare ’em all off. Guess I’m less of a person. Or whatever. So have at it, since you think it’s funny.”

The man clearly wasn’t expecting this reaction, nor was anyone else. Quickly, everyone came to my defense. Everyone here likes you. Everyone wants you here. You’re a kind, generous, wonderful person. We’re your friends. And so on. While I was grateful for the support, the original remark burned deep. The man apologized. It felt hollow. I lost on purpose and drove home, a rejection tape playing over and again in my brain.

So on this morning, as I stared out over the lake, my poker evening came back to haunt me. My heart sank and I began to cry. I don’t want to be alone the rest of my life. It hurts. It’s not like I haven’t tried. For all the men I like on the apps, only two dates came of it. Chats evaporate. I don’t take it personally, because I pass over a lot of men that I don’t find suitable. I’m not particularly fussy, but I do want someone whose interests align with mine.

I lift my glance up to the sky and hold my palms out. I ask my deceased parents, the universe, God, please, please end this. There has to be someone who’ll be kind to me, who’ll enjoy my company and laugh along with me. Who’ll hang out on a stormy day as we cook a comfort meal together. Who’ll let me vent when work gets crazy and dry my tears when I’m sad. And yes, be romantic. Please find this man for me, and bring him to me. Or put me in a place where he can find me.

Everyone places a value on themselves. I know my worth. I am a good woman. I work hard for what I have, and my life has been filled with many rewards. But I long to be held, flirted with, loved. Is that so awful? Is that too much to expect?

Or is loneliness a serious epidemic that has taken over our society? Trouble is, I don’t want to succumb to it.