I learned first-hand about longing through decades of celibacy – but why do we do it, and how can we stop?
I was a 35-year-old virgin when I realized I was addicted to longing. I got off on the high of anticipating sex I knew I wasn’t going to have, and then masochistically wallowed when letdown inevitably followed.
My crushes were the popular guys in high school, the elusive seat-mate on an airplane ride, and the soldiers shipped overseas. I binge-watched When Harry Met Sally and planned weekend trips to far-flung destinations hoping to rekindle an old flame or attract the eye of a romantic interest I’d spent hours stalking on Facebook.
