It's been a long road to get here. My only hope is that somewhere out there, someone is searching for the same thing I am — not perfection, just the right fit. The person who makes your life feel whole instead of half-finished. I'm looking for a woman. She's looking for a man. Simple enough on paper. Impossible in practice.Because here's the truth: I'm not very good at this. But I can't stop now.How many coffee dates, lunch dates, dinner dates — how many awkward meet-ups disguised as casual conversation — do you put yourself through before something sticks? You sit across from a stranger, and for a brief, electric moment you think: This is the one. The stars align. The conversation flows. You let yourself believe.Then it falls apart. One more disappointment. You feel lucky to have met them and heartbroken that it didn't work — both at the same time.But everything is a learning experience. At least that's what you tell yourself.So what killed the last relationship?She didn't come with a warning label. None of them do. In the end, it was a communication breakdown — compounded by too many years of living alone, where you forget how to share space with another person. Her philosophy was simple: my house, my rules. And I was, admittedly, a rule breaker. I tried to be quiet. I really did. But I'm a morning person, and she was not. I made too much noise before sunrise. I existed too loudly in her carefully ordered world. But here's the thing — when she came to my house, I had no rules. None. Well, one rule: if you stink up the bathroom, spray the air freshener.   That's it. Just spray or light a match will work too. How many boxes does someone need to check before they earn a “maybe"? I tell myself my bar is low. Laughably low. But if I'm being honest — and this essay is nothing if not honest — the list is longer than I pretend. I need to find you attractive. I want an athletic body. Emotional intelligence. Sexual chemistry. Someone who gets the answers right without needing the questions repeated.Maybe my bar is higher than I thought. Maybe everyone's is. Maybe that's the problem? Then comes the moment you've been building toward — the first time you see them in person. They walk through the door and look nothing like their photos. You do a double take. Is that the same person from the profile? It can't be. That looks nothing like what you remembered. And sometimes, they can barely walk. Then you hear about the knee replacement. The hip replacement. The back surgery. The hardest one? She sat down and told me, quietly, that she had cancer. Almost done with radiation. Just trying to live her life in the meantime.I wanted to rescue her. She was so sweet it broke something open in me. But then I have to stop and look at myself. Think about it, Mike. You're twenty pounds overweight.                       

The hair on top is mostly a memory. You're no spring chicken. And let's not forget — you had your own cancer scare. A false-positive stage 4 diagnosis that aged you ten years in a single afternoon. So who are you to judge? You think, Well, at least they're not a Trumper — what more do I really need? Climb down from the high horse. Show some empathy. Practice the open-mindedness you claim to value.Because here's what you're forgetting: you hope they give you a chance. You — the guy who talks too much about himself, who might say the wrong thing, who's terrified of silence and fills it with noise.Look at them. They showed up. It took both of you long enough to get here.This might just be the one.You want to tell them everything about yourself and hear everything about them. But you have no idea if any of it is true. You don't know about their kids, their grandkids, their history. You don't even know their last name. You don't have their phone number. Because the trust is earned but that's okay.You can't ask for a mental health evaluation on a first date. You can't request a medical history report over appetizers. That's not how this works.We're here to have fun. To share a meal. To see another human being clearly — not as a checklist, not as a set of flaws, not as a project to fix — but as a person. At face value. Because we all have value. Hi. I'm Mike Johns. If you like me, ask for my phone number. If I text you back — well, then congratulations.You made it to the second round.