I also learned to embrace looking uncool and began to relish failure. By the time many of us reach our late 20s, we’re in a groove. We have an established routine; we’ve been trained to do a particular job. We’ve cultivated hobbies and become knowledgeable about our specific interests. As adults, it’s so rare to be in a place where we’re starting from zero.

Yet I discovered that there’s nothing more joyful and rewarding than allowing yourself to look like a complete and utter fool. When you start at zero, you have everything to gain. Somewhere around my fifth hard-driving set at my first RowHouse class, I shed my defenses of irony, indifference, and skepticism, and I began leaning hard into my own ignorance. As a result, I began to feel, not exactly happy about, but less debilitated by my newfound singlehood.

The most powerful insight was presented to me during the first class I ever attended through ClassPass. It was Kung Fu — an experience as humbling as it was fortifying. I’m sure I looked as utterly out of place as I felt, since I was the tallest person in the group and the only one not wearing a plain, black uniform. As we assumed positions, I bobbed along, red-faced and half a step behind.

Toward the end of class, the instructor interrupted our roundhouse kicks with a question: "What must you let go of if you wish to succeed?" After being met with silence, he prodded, "It starts with an 'E.'"

I knew the answer. It was the thing that had been screaming at me throughout this experience. It was the thing that I could never quite let go of in my relationship, and it had followed me like a shadow, baring its nasty teeth.

"Ego," I said, relieved to name it aloud.

The instructor glanced over. "Exactly."

I’ll probably never be able to fully let go of my ego, and it may be years before I make enough peace with it to try and inflict it upon someone new. For now, I’m learning. And if nothing else, at least I have a curriculum.