Lost and found.

Normally, my weeknights are spent comfortably and predictably in the confines of my house.

You can usually find me cozied up with a cocktail, journal splayed on my lap awaiting my dancing pen. I’ve got Netflix in the background and though I’m in bed early, I typically fall asleep just past eleven.

I cherish this time to myself. I relish the feeling of flinging my bra to the floor in reckless abandon. I enjoy the pleasures of practicing self-care (in all of its shapes and forms), and I love the fact that it's done in a space where the only occupants are me and the cat.

Last week, however, my nights played out a little different.

I spent quite a few of them at another’s abode.

And on many of those nights, I drove home just past the midnight hour, long road ahead of me lit by moonlight and the stars.

By the end of the week, after all the late nights and early mornings and company well spent with someone I quite enjoy, I realized that this precious time of mine was becoming hard to find.

To which I then asked myself: is this what dating looks like?

I mean, this was just one week. One. Week.

We all know relationships and dating go beyond one mere week. They go months, years, decades even.

*eyes widen

And here I was, after one short seven day period, stepping out of my comfort zone and allotting these precious late-night hours to someone else.

Having been single nearly all my life, this new concept of sharing my time feels both unfamiliar and strange, especially because for once, the other person actually reciprocates my feelings and also enjoys spending time with me.

Sure, I’ve spent my late nights with friends and family, but this? This was different.

This was me consciously taking time out of my evening and splitting it with someone else. Willingly. Like, I chose this. I wasn’t committed previously, I hadn’t planned it for months, I just felt like spending that time with them.

At first, I felt panic at having lost this valuable “me time.” Looking back on the week, and all the opportunities I normally would’ve had to do all my chores and self-care routines, I felt that I had messed up, made some sort of mistake by stepping into this unknown world without the safety net of all my evenings spent alone.

It was the sensation of having lost some sort of selfish freedom to do what I wanted when I wanted, and I didn’t want to give it up that easily.

I mean, for the most part, I like being single. I enjoy living alone, I love working around my own schedule, and I relish the acts of self-care I mentioned above. The idea of giving up some of that special “me time” to someone else? It frightens me a bit.

(okay, it frightens me a lot)

And then I wondered if there was such a thing as becoming too comfortable being alone. Because while I appreciate my own company, and can totally handle anything that comes my way (#girlboss), I also like being with people, and sharing that special time with someone I actually… really like.

Maybe I have to look at this from a different perspective, that instead of looking at this new person as having stole my freedom, I should maybe appreciate the fact that someone is willing to give up their freedom of singledom to also be with me.

Cause that’s what relationships are (or so I’m told).

It’s about commitment and compromise, and experiencing life with the other.

And who knows, maybe this person will appreciate, respect, and accommodate my nights in.

So yes, while I’ve “lost” some of my free time, I’ve also “found” someone to share some of this new time with.

And I’m really learning to love it.