I’ve discovered my “ideal girl” about half a dozen times so far — and each experience has changed me.
In the second grade, there was Lisa Lane. By the fifth grade, Wendy Ford was the new standard. In the eighth grade, I met Gail James. Nothing immediately came of that, but by the time we were freshmen in college, we finally dated. For the next three years. I almost married her.
As an adult, there have been three other women, each one more perfect — in some way I couldn’t explain — than the previous one. Not a single one of the women has actually been perfect, of course, but I was changed in powerful ways by having loved each of them.
What I’ve slowly learned is that being in love brings out something like a superpower in me. I’m a different person when I’m in love. I can achieve more. I’m a better human being. I become a finer version of myself.
I’m coming to understand that this person is who I need to be all the time. Russian novelist Anton Chekhov understood this more than most.
“Perhaps the feelings that we experience when we are in love represent a normal state,” Chekhov wrote. “Being in love shows a person who he should be.”
Being in love has shown me who I need to be. It has shown me the best that I can become.

Wait, was she flirting with me? My history shows I’m clueless
Little girl’s happy ending reminds us not to be defined by tragedy
We’re trapped in our own heads, fearful of other folks’ judgment
Mundane expressions of love matter more than movie versions
Our methods of selling politicians seem designed for mental defectives
Creators must be wary of making propaganda or work for own ego
There’s a secret to contentment that selfish people never accept