Choosing and Being Chosen

A Story from the Wandering & Wooing Series

Written by Joni Roberts

Traveler, storyteller, and public health advocate

One of the most interesting things about traveling the world is how often people assume they know what I want.

Usually, it doesn't take long.

A man compliments me.

The conversation flows.

Then, somewhere along the way, the assumptions begin.

"You would make a wonderful wife."

"I want to marry you."

"I want you to stay."

"I want to make you mine."

Every time I hear those words, I find myself smiling.

Not because they're offensive.

Because they're fascinating.

There seems to be an underlying assumption that marriage is the obvious prize.

That being chosen is the goal.

I understand where that assumption comes from.

In many parts of the world, marriage has historically been more than romance.

It has been economic security.

Social status.

Community.

Protection.

Opportunity.

For generations of women, being chosen wasn't simply about love.

It was about survival.

When those are the stakes, of course marriage matters.

Of course being chosen matters.

How could it not?

But I also know another story.

I know women who have built extraordinary lives on their own.

Women who have earned degrees.

Started businesses.

Raised children.

Bought homes.

Led organizations.

Created communities.

Loved deeply.

Laughed loudly.

Traveled the world.

Not because someone chose them.

Because they chose themselves.

I sometimes wonder whether that changes the way I move through the world.

When someone says,

"I want to make you mine,"

my first thought isn't,

"Finally."

It's...

"What exactly do you mean by that?"

Because I've already built a life.

One that I genuinely love.

I have work that fulfills me.

Students who challenge me.

Friends who nourish me.

A passport full of stories.

A career I worked hard to build.

Peace that took years to find.

If someone wants to enter that life, wonderful.

But they aren't rescuing me from the absence of one.

Perhaps that's why I'm so slow to respond to grand declarations.

Not because I'm cynical.

Because I'm content.

Contentment changes the questions you ask.

Instead of asking,

"Do they want me?"

You begin asking,

"Do we actually fit?"

"Do our values align?"

"Can we build something beautiful together?"

"Will my life be better with you in it than without you?"

Those are very different questions.

Travel has made those questions even more important.

I've met incredible people around the world.

People who were kind.

Funny.

Intelligent.

Generous.

People with whom I shared wonderful conversations.

Some of them probably wondered why I didn't pursue something more.

The answer is simple.

Connection is lovely.

Compatibility is something else entirely.

I think about Wycliffe sometimes.

Not because I was tempted.

I wasn't.

But because he was so convinced that if he just found the right words, I would eventually say yes.

What he couldn't understand was that he wasn't competing against other men.

He was competing against the life I'd already built.

And that's a competition no one wins simply by being charming.

For a long time, I thought independence meant not needing anyone.

Age has taught me something different.

Independence isn't the absence of desire.

It's the absence of desperation.

I absolutely believe in partnership.

I believe in companionship.

I believe in love.

I also believe that love should add to a life, not become the reason you finally begin

living one.

There was a time in my life when being chosen probably felt more important than it does now.

Not because I lacked worth.

Because I hadn't yet discovered just how much joy I could create on my own.

Travel has been part of that discovery.

Every country reminds me that my life is already full.

Not perfect.

But full.

That's an incredible place from which to love someone.

Not because you need them.

Because you genuinely want them.

I think that's one of the quiet gifts of wandering.

You spend so much time with yourself that eventually you become someone you enjoy keeping company.

You learn what delights you.

What exhausts you.

What you're willing to compromise on.

What you're not.

You stop confusing loneliness with solitude.

And somewhere along the way, you realize that choosing yourself isn't a consolation prize.

It's the foundation.

Maybe that's why the language of "making someone mine" has never resonated with me.

I don't want to belong to someone.

And I don't want someone to belong to me.

I want us to choose each other.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Not because we have to.

Because we keep discovering that life is richer together than apart.

To me, that's a far more beautiful love story.

When I think about all the men I've met while traveling, I realize most of them were asking the wrong question.

They were asking,

"How can I get her to choose me?"

The better question might have been,

"What kind of partner am I becoming?"

Truthfully...

It's the same question I ask myself.

Because partnership isn't only about finding the right person.

It's about becoming the kind of person someone else can freely choose, too.

What I'm Still Wandering...

What does it really mean to be chosen?

How has travel changed what I look for in a partner?

Can love flourish without possession?

What happens when two people who have already built meaningful lives choose to share them rather than complete one another?

And perhaps the question that feels most important to me now...

If no one else ever chose me again, would I still choose the life I've created?

For the first time in my life, I think I know the answer.

Yes.

Not because I no longer believe in love.

But because I've learned that the strongest relationships begin with someone who already knows they're enough.

I'm still collecting data.

And I'm still wandering.