Just as quickly as I had updated my Pinterest board featuring my dream wedding with no budget, I was dumped. The friends and favorite restaurants that I had made “ours” evaporated so quickly I almost convinced myself I had made the whole thing up. Then it sunk in that I was so alone, as in: table-for-one, spinsterhood-is-in-sight alone. Months into grieving the devastating loss that was our genetically gifted, hypothetical children I had imagined, I had the epiphany that the freedom I had in my 20s was a one-time shot. I had no mortgage, no kids and nobody to answer to besides my boss and the IRS. So why on earth was I spending that precious time, while my backside still defied gravity and wine on Sundays was a common practice, making my life all about a man? Or even worse, why was I defining my college-educated, family-oriented, career-driven self in a negative light because of one failed relationship?