I’ve recently started making a list.

Not a grocery list. Not a to-do list. And definitely not another list of responsibilities I need to tackle.

Trust me, I have enough of those.

This list is different.

It’s a list of things I want to do. Things I want to experience. Things I’ve thought about doing over the years but never actually got around to.

Some are big. Some are small. And some are so ridiculously simple that I’m almost embarrassed to admit I’ve never done them.

But that’s kind of the point.

I’ve spent most of my adult life being part of a couple. Making decisions with someone else in mind. Planning around schedules, responsibilities, expectations, and all the other things that come with sharing your life with another person.

And somewhere along the way, I realized there are things I’ve never experienced simply because I’ve never really thought about doing them by myself.

So I started making a list.

And let me tell you, making the list was the easy part.

Actually looking at it and realizing I have to start doing these things?

Well, that’s where things get interesting.

Because apparently, I’m perfectly capable of handling complicated situations in everyday life, but the thought of walking into a movie theater and buying one ticket makes me nervous.

Seriously. One ticket.

Not skydiving. Not climbing a mountain. Not traveling across the world.

Going to the movies.

By myself.

I have never done that.

And for some reason, the idea of sitting in a theater alone feels a little intimidating.

Will I feel awkward? Will I spend the entire time wondering if people are looking at me? Will I suddenly decide I need the world’s largest popcorn just to give my hands something to do?

Who knows?

But I’ve decided that’s going to be my first adventure.

Not because it’s the most exciting thing on my list, but because it’s something I’ve never done, and there’s absolutely no reason I shouldn’t.

The rest of the list is a mixture of experiences.

Taking myself out for coffee or a meal. Going on inexpensive little adventures simply because something catches my attention. Trying something completely outside my comfort zone.

Some of these things won’t cost much more than a few dollars. Others might require some planning and saving.

And some won’t cost a single penny.

Like learning to be comfortable with myself.

Or choosing to stay single for a season.

Now, before anyone starts trying to figure out whether I mean fall, winter, spring, summer, or an entire year, let me explain.

A season isn’t a specific amount of time.

It’s not three months. It’s not six months. It’s not a year.

And it’s definitely not a countdown to when I can start dating again.

For me, staying single for a season means giving myself room.

Room to heal.

Room to grow.

Room to learn who I am outside of a relationship.

And, maybe most importantly, room to love myself.

Not the version of myself I think someone else wants.

Not the version of myself who feels responsible for making everyone else happy.

Just me.

The woman who is still figuring things out, who makes mistakes, who laughs at inappropriate moments, who sometimes has absolutely no idea what she’s doing, and who is finally learning that she deserves to enjoy her own life.

I don’t see this season as putting my life on hold until someone comes along.

Actually, it’s the opposite.

I want to live.

I want to try new things. Go new places. Make memories. Laugh until my stomach hurts. Discover things I love that I didn’t even know I loved.

And I want to learn that I don’t need someone sitting beside me to make those experiences worthwhile.

That doesn’t mean I don’t want companionship someday.

It doesn’t mean I won’t have moments when I wish I had someone to share an experience with.

And it certainly doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly become someone who doesn’t need affection, connection, or a really good hug.

It just means I’m giving myself permission not to rush.

Because I’ve spent a lot of time learning how to stand up for myself, how to use my voice, and how to recognize what I want out of life.

Now I want to learn how to enjoy that life.

Even when it’s just me.

Especially when it’s just me.

I have no idea how long it’ll take me to work through this list.

I might add things. I might change my mind about others. I might discover something I thought I’d love and realize I absolutely hate it.

And that’s okay.

For once, this isn’t a list of things I need to accomplish for someone else.

There are no deadlines. No expectations. No gold stars for checking things off.

This one is mine.

And I’m genuinely excited to see where it takes me.

But first?

Apparently, I need to get brave enough to walk up to a ticket counter and say two very intimidating words.

“Just one.”

Wish me luck.

And maybe a little extra butter on that popcorn.