Tinder Was the Best Self-Help Book I Ever Read

I signed up for Tinder 10 months ago. I more or less knew what I wanted. Nothing crazy. Just a simple girl.

Fit. 28–35. Active. Ambitious, into self-growth. Shorter than me (the heels thing is real). Lives nearby. Smart, but not exhausting (I don't need a debate club in my kitchen, I just like a good conversation). Reads a book or two. Curious. Fine that I've got a kid. Attractive. And please, no esoterica.

You know. A simple girl...

Truth is, I'd gone a bit soft by then. Comfortable. The kind of guy who writes a wishlist like that and doesn't notice he's failing half of it himself.

So here's where I'm at, 10 months in:

Quit smoking. Started running, still training for my first ultra. Smashed 100km weeks. First half-marathon, done. Full one's just around the corner. Cut the drinking right down. Quit the job, found a better one. Back to at least a book every two weeks. More time with my kid, we hit the gym together now. He's four. And mostly, just enjoying life more.

My whole life I've believed one thing: you can't expect from others what you're not willing to be yourself.

Want a fit girl? Better be fit yourself. Not a hard rule, but it moves the odds.

Want someone who reads? Tough sell when your last "book" was a magazine.

Someone active - padel, wakeboard, golf? Be active too.

Want a good sex life? Better get that cardio right (especially if you're after a younger girl...)

Turns out I didn't write that list for her. I wrote it for me.

So stop looking for the perfect one.

Become one.

Still looking, by the way. But I like who's doing the looking now.