Jenna Birch - The Love Gap: A Radical Plan to Win in Life and Love

The year: 1998. The film: Youve Got Mail. So began my personal journey toward understanding what it means to find love as a modern woman.

It was almost Christmas, and I was still in grade school. My aunt was in town for the day, and my mom decided the three of us girls would go to the local theater and check out the newest rom-commy very first rom-com. I was less than enthused. Maybe it was the title, and I just didnt get it, but I distinctly remember tears were shed. I dont want to see a stupid movie about a stupid mailbox, I said. (Id seen the movie poster; there was a mailboxthat I was sure of.) My mom told me to suck it up.

I did indeed watch Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks fall in love on-screen that day, and thus skyrocketed into the ranks of die-hard romantics everywhere. Falling in love looked utterly magicalset against the backdrop of New York City, with someone who was so wrong yet so rightand I decided then and there that relationships represented an ideal worth pursuing.

At the time, I had this adorably naive idea of what my trajectory toward love would look like. I would grow up and meet my first and only boyfriend at age 16. In my dreamy, vivid inner world, he was going to be a modern-day Prince Charming type. He would be my safe place, the person to dry all my tears, someone with whom Id do life. (I also imagined he would be incredibly witty, much like Tom Hankss Joe Fox in Mail, a coveted quality that refuses to die in my mind to this day.)

But then something really interesting happened. When I finally tallied 16 candles on my birthday cake, I had never had an intriguing dating prospect. Instead, I had gained an ambitious set of goals for my life that didnt include a hero sweeping me off my feet. Friends, college, career, and my future felt far more pressing and real than any teenage relationship I might muster. Id begun planning a path forward on my own terms, one where a magical prom date was secondary to finding a mentor or scoring a journalism internship.

I didnt go to my prom, actually. But that same year, I did land my first freelance writing assignments, completely bypassing my internship plans.

See, somewhere around age 10, Id brought home my first straight-A report card. When I surveyed those perfect scores, and my parents proceeded to sing my praises at home, that sucker was like a dopamine hit. I wanted more. Instead of ambling through life following whatever new whim was on my radar, I was suddenly serious. I studied, learned the meaning of delayed gratification, and made real goals for myself every few monthsjust in time for each new report card. I never got a B again.

Throughout school, I was like a Teenage Life Ninja, setting benchmarks for myself and reaching them with elite-level precision. I thrived on overachievementsomething characteristic of many women in my generation, where every door seemed open to us. When I finally looked up at the end of high school, I was studious and well-respected by my peers and teachers but not exactly hot stuff. I hadnt forgotten Tom and Meg and love and witty romance. It had just fallen off the radar for a while. Id built key life skills. I had great friends and a great rsum. But I hadnt let myself get lost in a crush, stumbled through an awkward date, or even had my heart broken yet. As some of my friends flirted with guys and I remained completely inept, I was alarmed by the possibility that I was missing something formativesomething our parents went through, and their parents before themlike dating, relationships, love. But that alarm was, like, tiny, because I had college plans. I just needed a romance plan, too.

I started editing my academic and athletic goals to include silent relationship onesgoals Id figured out on my own, of course, because it was very uncool to admit you were clueless in the boy department. I spent months trying different approaches, yet my plan (pay attention; oscillate between receptive and aloof) wasnt working. The Rules had lied. I was checking off personal goals left and righta 4.0+ GPA, the National Honor Society, editor in chief of the school newspaper, all-state softball player and captain of the team, about to earn my acceptance to the University of Michigan (the only school Id ever wanted to attend)but I couldnt seem to make any headway in the relationship department.

On the cusp of college, I finally just decided to make like Elizabeth Bennet and be as badass as possible until Mr. Darcy showed up. I had to admit: Lifelong, I could count my crushes on one hand. And most of them turned out to be lackluster, the more I got to know them. But I kept love as a goal. I did want to meet someone, someday. Maybe I was just too mature, I thought, and it would all even out eventually. Little did I know, my journey toward the book you hold was about to get a key flourish.

In 2009, I was leafing through an issue of Harpers Bazaar when I started to read a profile about a Hollywood producer. SUSAN DOWNEY: IRON WOMAN was the headline of the story, written by journalist Kimberly Cutter. I had never heard of Susan Downey but was vaguely familiar with her husband, Robert Downey Jr., who was rising to success (again) as superhero Iron Man and legendary detective Sherlock Holmes.