Dating in your thirties is weirdly liberating

First published on Substack.

‍

It’s been half a year since I re-entered the dating market. For the first time in my thirties. For the first time as a mom. And for the first time in Amsterdam.

‍

When I downloaded the apps again, I wasn’t expecting much. I figured I’d go on a few dates, collect some good stories, and hopefully confirm that I was, in fact, ready to date again.

‍

I wasn’t expecting to enjoy it.

‍

But six months later, I’m wondering why no one told me dating in your thirties could actually be a lot of fun?!

‍

So, if you’re about to (or just did) re-enter the dating world and wondering what you’ve gotten yourself into, let me give you a different version. Because apparently, dating isn’t just red flags, ghosting, and awkward first dates. There’s actually a weirdly liberating side to it too.

‍

What I love about dating in my thirties is that it’s become less about finding a life partner and more about being curious about the people I meet.

‍

I used to think dating was mostly about meeting someone else. Now I think it’s also a way of meeting yourself in ways that can only happen through another person.

‍

Some people bring out your funniest side. Some bring out your softness. Some inspire your ambition. Some make you realize you’ve been telling yourself you’re low-maintenance when, actually, you have very specific needs, opinions, and preferences about almost everything.

‍

Dating has a funny way of being both flattering and humbling. It’s a mirror, showing you parts of yourself you love, the parts that still need a little healing and acceptance, and occasionally catching you from an angle you didn’t expect. And honestly? I appreciate that!

‍

Not because every date leads somewhere. Most don’t. But because even the ones that go nowhere are rarely completely pointless. You usually leave with something: a funny story, a new perspective, a small realization, or a better understanding of yourself.

‍

When I was younger, dating felt much more connected to the outcome.
Where is this going? Could this be something? Is this person the person?

‍

Now I find myself paying attention to different things.

How do I feel around them? Do I feel more alive? Do I feel like I can be more myself? I’ve realized that the answer to that last question tells me almost everything I need to know.

‍

What I love about dating in my thirties is noticing how much my perspective has shifted, too.

‍

The phrase “someone who calms your nervous system” is everywhere now, and I get why. After some life experience, you stop confusing intensity with connection. You start valuing peace, safety, and steadiness.

‍

But you also learn to create that sense of calm within yourself. A partner isn’t meant to fix your nervous system. They’re meant to meet you there and add to the life you’ve already built.

‍

I’m looking for more than just calm. I’m looking for someone who expands my world, brings out the most authentic parts of me, and makes me fall even more in love with the life I’m creating.

‍

I think there’s something special about meeting people from this stage of life.

‍

Not from a place of trying to figure out who you are, but from already having built a life, a rhythm, and a sense of yourself.

‍

You already have friendships, the people you’ve loved and the lessons those relationships taught you, stories, places you love, a favorite coffee order, and opinions you didn’t have ten years ago. You know what drains you. You know what excites you. You know that chemistry can be intoxicating, but it doesn’t always mean compatibility.

‍

You know that wanting someone, or being wanted by someone, doesn’t automatically mean you’re good for each other.

‍

And this changes the game.

‍

Being single in my thirties has also made me question something I’d never really stopped to examine: why have we made finding a romantic partner such a central life project?

‍

Many of us, especially women, learned to think about romantic love as the place where life finally begins. The moment where everything settles.

‍

And I understand why that idea is so powerful. Being deeply loved by another person is one of the most beautiful human experiences there is. Having someone who knows your stories, your weird habits, and the tiny details nobody else notices is incredibly special.

‍

But I wonder if we sometimes put romantic love under such a bright spotlight that we forget about all the other relationships and experiences that create a fulfilling life.

‍

The friendships that carry us. The communities we build. The work that makes us feel alive. The mornings where we wake up and genuinely like the person we’re becoming.

‍

Somewhere along the way, we made romantic status one of the easiest ways to categorize a person.

‍

Are they single? Are they dating someone? Are they married?

‍

It’s kind of weird how much meaning we’ve attached to the answer.

‍

It keeps alive the quiet fantasy many of us have been taught to believe: that one day the right person will arrive and everything will finally fall into place.

‍

Most of us would probably say we know that isn’t how it works. But somewhere deep down, there’s still this idea that once we meet someone, things will finally settle. That this relationship will take away our doubts and somehow make life feel whole. It’s a story we’ve been fed since we were kids.

‍

Romantic love is also the kind of love our culture gives the clearest storyline to. We know the milestones: first dates, moving in together, engagements, weddings, anniversaries.

‍

We know how to celebrate relationships. We know how to create art about it: movies, music, poetry…

‍

Singlehood rarely receives the same cultural celebration.

‍

That’s not to say we shouldn’t celebrate relationships, btw. We absolutely should!

‍

But singlehood deserves a better reputation. It deserves to be seen as something meaningful, fulfilling, and worthy of celebration too.

‍

Often there are friendships you nurture more intentionally. There are parts of yourself you rediscover when you’re no longer constantly adjusting your life around another person. There are choices you make simply because they feel right for you, not because they need to fit into a shared plan.

‍

Singlehood doesn’t just teach you how to be alone. It teaches you how to not wait. And that’s something you carry with you, whether you stay single or start dating again.

‍

And honestly, coming from that mindset, where you’re not waiting for someone to arrive and change your life, dating becomes way more fun.

‍

There are evenings where I walk through Amsterdam after a date and feel like I’m in my own version of Sex and the City.

‍

Not (always) because of some wild romantic moment. Sometimes it’s simply a beautiful evening, a good conversation, a glass of wine, a stranger who made you laugh, feeling good in your own skin, and the feeling that the world is still full of possibilities.

‍

Dating without all these expectations has brought me back to parts of myself I didn’t realize I had missed, and introduced me to parts of myself I never really knew were there.

‍

There’s something almost addictive about feeling open to life, to other people, and to yourself.

‍

And I think we (singles 🙃) should let ourselves savor that feeling more.

‍

There’s something magical about the unknown. About not knowing who you might meet, what might happen next, or what parts of yourself might come alive along the way.

‍

Even people in happy relationships probably miss that little spark of possibility sometimes.

‍

Modern dating, of course, is its own strange little universe. I feel like I’d be leaving something out if I didn’t acknowledge that.

‍

We live in a time where meeting people has never been easier in some ways. Dating apps have completely transformed how people connect, and many beautiful love stories now begin with a swipe. (Although, something I heard on a podcast this morning was both interesting and disheartening: despite how popular they are, only about 2.5% of matches actually turn into meaningful, long-term relationships.)

‍

But they’ve also created a very unusual romantic landscape.

‍

We have access to more people than ever, and somehow finding genuine connection can still feel surprisingly rare.

‍

There’s something very absurd about reducing humans into a few photos and a sentence about loving travel, good food, and “not taking life too seriously.”

‍

Apparently, we’re all adventurous food lovers. A very specific species.

‍

But behind every profile is someone much more complicated (duh). Someone with a whole life, their own stories, insecurities, dreams, and contradictions.

‍

The technology is new. The human need is not.

‍

Everyone is still hoping to be seen.

‍

And maybe that’s why I refuse to become cynical about dating.

‍

Yes, it can be exhausting.

Yes, there are conversations that make you question whether humans have collectively forgotten how to communicate.

‍

But there’s also so much beauty in meeting people.

‍

A stranger who grew up completely differently from you. Someone who challenges an assumption you didn’t know you had. Someone who introduces you to a new perspective, a new version of yourself, or maybe even just a cute new restaurant.

‍

Not every connection has to become forever to matter. Some people simply arrive and leave something behind: a memory, a lesson, a little more understanding of who you are.

‍

And maybe that’s the biggest thing I’ve learned over the past few months: love can be something I want without being something I’m waiting around for.

‍

I love romance.

I love the idea of meeting someone who adds another layer to my life.

‍

But I’m also really grateful that I no longer see singlehood as a waiting room or a chapter before the “real” story begins.

‍

Because this isn’t the part where I’m waiting for life to start. This is life. And honestly, it’s pretty good!