A few months ago, I ran into a former Pilates’ client of mine. We share a mutual friend in a guy I used to date, “Adam.”

Illustration by Lou Brooks

Adam is and was, for all intents and purposes, “the one who got away,” for me. I have thought about him, secretly, about 12 trillion times over the past few years and kicked myself. Why was I once so young and fickle? I recounted all the aspects of his personality and character that made him perfect and remembered how I had flippantly and carelessly blown him off, chosen some other douchebag to put all my energy into and never looked back until…it was too late.

Casually, my/our friend asked me, “Isn’t it sweet? Do you know? He and blah blah blah new girlfriend are engaged?”

In fact, I did know. Sort of. Adam and I had gotten in touch via facebook, about a year earlier. I had, painfully, watched his relationship status update from, “In a relationship with…” to “Engaged to…” Hell yes, I was disappointed, dejected and bummed. But I didn’t let on. I’d posted on his wall with twittering-eyed glee, “Congratulations, Adam! I’m so happy for you both! Woohoo!”

It wasn’t until I’d actually heard the words spoken that I began to feel something like a ship, maybe my ship, slowly sinking. My one that got away was actually… Gone.

In March 2008, Lori Gottlieb wrote a feisty and controversial article for The Atlantic, titled “Marry Him!” The article, directed primarily toward the more singular 20- or 30-something, makes “the case for settling for Mr. Good Enough.” Her advice? “Settle! That’s right. Don’t worry about passion or intense connection.” Why? Because time can be a motherfucker, and, as Ms. Gottlieb would like to personally attest, age brings with it a whole hell of a lot more than wisdom. The mundane acceptance of all things, from career to gravity-affected bodies to love to relationships and to (gasp) sex, are all a part of the upcoming, fun ride to 20 years from this moment. She begs us, her readers, to “overlook,” be “realistic” and “compromise.”

Frankly, it’s unsettling. She says the thing that women of my generation are shunned from ever speaking, at the risk of sounding desperate, depressing and weak: I want to be married. I don’t want to be alone. And guess what, sister? Neither do you.

I admit to having had my own fair share of Seinfeld-ian tendencies when it comes to dating and, ultimately, settling. I’ve refused to date men with yellow teeth, smokers and one guy who told me, “I don’t really eat vegetables.” One recent suitor in particular was sweet, charming, successful, from a fun family and, sometimes, even funny-ish. Not bad. Someone to, maybe, settle for. But he was a sweater. He’d get sweating and he couldn’t stop. And I couldn’t help it. It broke the deal for me.

I admit, I have this way of running into something “mundane” and quickly morphing into the Paris Hilton version of myself, all disinterested, fussy and bored. The result? Many of my relationships have been more about passion, intensity and roller-coaster like spasms. I haven’t always chosen men with whom to share my intimate life that were “marriage material,” and I can’t say I’ve overlooked too much. Those kinds of choices seemed like things I shouldn’t or wouldn’t have to do, since I’d learned from the women before me, right? Post-women’s lib, I can have the dream, yea?

Did someone say Adam? Sigh.

There I was, creepily smiling back at my/our friend while she mused on about how great Adam looked and did I know he was about to do another triathalon? Apparently, Mrs. Someday Adam is adorable, sweet, cute and kind. They’re frequently found at the gym and The Fresh Market. They’re healthy. Gag me.

Surrounded by Gottlieb and her gaggle of wannabe-wedded women, all I could think about were me and the things I’d turned away from because I’d had a grave misunderstanding of words like “settle,” “compromise” and, dare I say it, “marriage?” The loss of Adam to his Mrs. Adam-to-be was painful for me because it signaled a shift in me and hit me with what Lori Gottlieb calls “the cold, hard benefits” of a more mature understanding of marriage, commitment and partnership. Yes, Adam is the kind of man I’d like to be with now. He’s down-to-earth, practical, caring and stable. He’s respectful and reasonable. Ms. Gottlieb says, “More important than love is marriage,” and, while I don’t completely agree with that on face value, I know what she’s saying. It’s more important, for me at least, to be with someone who knows how to be careful with my/his/our emotions and is considerate. While he may not show up with his boombox pumping Peter Gabriel at my windowsill, he will show up, on time, when he says he’ll be there.

Ultimately, I don’t believe that love vs. marriage is an either/or. I think that kind of dualistic view is limiting, reductionistic and antiquated. For me, a great lover is more than a man who knows how to take my breath away, and a great partner is more than just some dude in a suit with a good job who can take care of my basic needs and survival. I think it’s fair to say that we’ve all got our crustier sides competing with our glamorous sides. I don’t know that I’m ready to sign over the next 40 years of my life with some dude named Harry who spends most of his time reading books about extinct bird species, but if I meet him, and there’s some chemistry, I might give him a try. I can handle that. Now. Not because I’m giving up on finding what’s right, but because I’m not going to assume that I can always recognize that, right away, and who knows? Maybe my gum-chewing, cussing and occasionally homeless-looking wardrobe is somebody else’s version of “compromise.”

For the record, I do want to be in a relationship and, someday, I might like to be married. I’m alone right now, and that’s fine for me. But I don’t wish to be that way forever. Mr. Almost Adam might show up, soon. I have no problem admitting, I might take him.