The Unexpected Power of Not Chasing and Letting Life Happen

“I’m not looking for anyone special to have in my life anymore.”
— Stephen Mitchell (#1: Late 1996 / #2: Mid 2025)

I remember saying that out loud, half to myself, half to the universe, as if trying to seal the deal.
Life was finally levelling out after a long, grey fog of loss and heartache.

I’d been drifting for a few years, still raw from losing the last good woman who truly meant something. It took time — too much time, probably — but I’d clawed my way back to something resembling stability.

A few days earlier, I’d landed a permanent job in State Government. It wasn’t glamorous, but it was solid. Predictable. A pathway I thought might just become a career.

The only thing truly lacking was where I laid my head at night. Let’s just say the accommodation wasn’t anything to write home about — temporary, cramped, and barely private.

Still, things were looking up. I had purpose again.

And then she appeared.
Not in a dramatic, cinematic way. No spotlight moment.

We were introduced by a mutual friend. But something clicked on that first meeting.
We learned to ballroom dance together — or rather, I went along with it because I loved seeing her, watching her, enjoying her smile and strong will.

Six months or so later, we were officially dating, though our mutual friends already knew.
A year after that, we were married. Simple as that. Natural.
Like we’d met a thousand times before, in a thousand different lifetimes.

She is sharp, grounded, kind to a fault, and strong in ways I didn’t realise I needed.
With her, life made sense.
Together, we bought and restored a home, enjoyed only each other’s company for 14 fun years before finally bringing two beautiful boys into the world and raising a family.
After living in the Adelaide Hills for almost 20 years, we navigated the rough waters and calm seas across to Kangaroo Island — and we finally settled in mid-2017.
Or so I thought.
For me — and to this day — I still believe she is, was, the best thing that ever happened to me.

But here I am now, all these years later, writing these words after she decided I was no longer what she needed or wanted. Maybe I hadn’t been for some time. I knew the signs were there, but we kept it afloat, at least for the boys. Now, we only speak to support them.

I try, but some days it hurts too much inside.
I want to be better, but my XXY brain doesn’t handle change easily.
It hurts in ways that don’t always have names.

Still, I’ll say this: I loved her fully. And I still do, in that quiet, unshakeable way that doesn’t go away just because she forced me to walk out the door.

I didn’t leave because I fell out of love or wanted to: I left to give our autistic son the familiarity he needed, and I knew it would be easier for me. I downsized all my stuff in less than two weeks — because when you have to, nothing matters as much as family.

I’ve lived outside the family home for over a month now. At least, it feels like it. I had to move out sooner than our sons wanted me to, because my heart broke every time I remembered I was no longer receiving love, attention, respect, trust, or belief from the one person who mattered most in my life: Sarah.

So now I find myself echoing that old phrase from 29 years ago:
“I’m no longer looking for anyone special to have in my life anymore”
Not because I’ve given up on love, but because I’ve learnt life tends to send you the unexpected the moment you stop searching for it.

Isn’t it amazing how letting go is not giving up ?
Yet it’s interesting how patience can open doors we didn’t know were there?
Maybe, just maybe, the best parts of our story begin when we stop trying so hard and start simply living.