The Family Myth I Grew Up Believing

There’s a story my grandmother used to tell at every family gathering. You know the type—usually after a couple of glasses of sweetened sun tea, her voice rich with nostalgia, as if she were weaving threads of gold into the tapestry of our lives. It was the myth of “The One Who Waits.” In short, it went something like this: True love is like a hidden spring in the desert—elusive, sacred, and only revealed to those patient enough to wait.

It sounded poetic, sure. Profound, even. But growing up? I was all in. The One Who Waits would be my north star. Sit still, play your cards right, and one day a luminous person would just appear, tailored for me by fate itself. A perfect match. One. Single. Human. No pressure, right?

Spoiler alert: This myth unraveled the moment I stepped foot into the real world of love and romantic entanglements, where waiting isn’t nearly as romantic as it sounds.

The Myth in Action

For years—years—I thought my task as a romantic prospect was to perfect the art of waiting. I dodged dates with perfectly nice people because they didn’t radiate “hidden spring in the desert” vibes. I backed out of potentially great opportunities because I suspected The One might be waiting just around the corner, ready to sweep me off my feet in a moment of destiny-worthy magic.

I started turning everyday moments into high-stakes auditions for fate. A quick glance with a stranger in the produce aisle? Are you The One? Nope, guess not. A second date with someone amazing, who always made me laugh? Mm, but what if The One is reading this rejection letter I just sent? Oof. Better wait. At one point, I genuinely thought to myself: Maybe The One doesn’t live in my city… maybe they’re in rural somewhere, tending goats in outer Mongolia.

Rom-coms make waiting look sexy. You’re Meg Ryan, and somehow—even after pestering Tom Hanks across state lines—it turns out he was The One all along. But the truth? Waiting often just looks like standing in line at the DMV, wondering if maybe the real love story is that guy at window #4 handing out forms.

Soon, I realized my “waiting” strategy wasn’t a superpower. It was just an excuse to avoid taking chances, making mistakes, and—dare I say—learning.

The Reality Check

Here’s what I’ve learned since tossing the family myth aside with all the righteous abandon of someone Marie Kondo-ing their emotional baggage: love doesn’t work like that. There’s no universal GPS pointing you to some spring in the desert.

Instead, real love—the kind that builds roots, grows lush over time, and surprises you by thriving under both sun and storm—is found in the middle of everyday life. It’s built moment-by-moment, trial by trial, awkward pause by awkward pause. And sometimes? You have to make the damn first move. (Grandma would be scandalized to hear it, but here we are.)

Flipping the Script

Let’s be real: deep down, we’ve all been sold some version of “The One.” Whether your family myth involved knights, mermaids, or courtship rituals plucked directly from Disney classics, it’s easy to get stuck in the idea that love is about stumbling into perfection. But if your family handed down their own love-life folklore, here’s how you can start untangling the myth from the truth:

  • Reframe Waiting as Trusting: Waiting isn’t the villain here—it’s stagnation that's the issue. Waiting can mean trusting the right relationship will grow without forcing it. But it doesn’t mean you play passive observer in your own love life. Raise your hand. Give people a chance. Swipe right. Show up.

  • Stop Idolizing Perfection: We think we’re searching for some cosmic “other half,” when what we’re really looking for is someone to build something better with—a whole that’s greater than the sum of its parts. Perfection is boring, anyway. Imperfections make better love stories.

  • Replace “The One” Language with “The Right Fit”: This mental shift was huge for me. Years ago, I started thinking about relationships less like finding a unicorn and more like buying the right hiking boots: If you’re pinched, blistered, or slipping in the wrong direction, it doesn’t matter how pretty they are. They’re not your fit. (Pro tip: emotional compatibility beats sparkly veneers every time.)

  • Do Stuff in the Meantime: Don’t spend your single life sitting on the proverbial couch waiting for a knock on the door. Live your passion, take that pottery class, eat tacos alone at your favorite spot. The best relationships bloom when you’re already investing in yourself.

Finding Clarity

Looking back, I think the “hidden spring in the desert” was never meant to be taken literally. Grandma, of course, never intended to set me up for existential dread every time I skipped coffee with someone who liked pineapple on pizza. (Although I still maintain it’s blasphemous on a pie.) Instead, she was trying to say something deeper: the right connection nourishes you in a way that refreshes your soul.

But she wasn’t wrong about one thing: springs don’t pop up everywhere. They take time. They’re surprises you stumble upon when you’re out in the world, seeking with an open heart and curious eyes. Turns out, love’s less about crossing desert paths with a stranger than it is about finding your oasis together, drink by drink, day by day.

Call It Serendipity

Do I still believe in those rare moments of magic, when the universe opens its arms and brings two people together in ways that feel perfect? Absolutely. That kind of alchemy is beautiful, and I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t experienced it once or twice.

But serendipity isn’t just about waiting—it’s about recognizing. It’s the kind of luck you can lean into only once you’ve let go of the myth, strapped on your boots, and started exploring the wilderness of connection for yourself.

So here’s my takeaway: The love story you’ve been waiting for? It starts now. Feet in motion, hands messy, meeting imperfection head-on. As for me, I’ll be somewhere out there unapologetically making eye contact, saying yes to unlikely conversations, and probably dodging one more pineapple-pizza date for good measure.

Turns out, the adventure is a spring worth finding.