These days, when I date, a whole different set of rules comes into play. I’ve worked my ass off for all that I have, and if I open my world to a man, first and foremost, I have to make sure he means me no harm. Once I’ve deemed him safe, I have to deem whether the potential mate standing in front of me is bringing something more to the table. By “more,” I don’t mean material things. I don’t care what car he’s driving or how much he’s got in his bank account, or how many homes he owns. I have property. I have art. I have my own money. Instead, I’m checking for whether he’ll feed me spiritually—if he’ll take care of my mind and heart. I want a man who is consistent, who will respect me, who will honor me by giving me his quality time, who is fun and funny and willing to be goofy with me, but who can get serious when it’s time to work out our issues, without running away. I need my man to make me feel like he wants to be with me and that he’ll be incapable of seeing any other girl in the world, because he will be focused solely on me and what we’re building together. I need a man who will call me on my bullshit and not let me get away with it because I’m Taraji P. Henson, the star—a dude who will challenge me to be my better self. I need that guy. Because I value love. I cherish it. I want it. Even with that missing piece, nothing can stop me from being so glad for this journey—this long road. I prefer slow and steady.
Let’s keep it real, though: I’m still hustling and grinding. I’m not trying to do that part forever. I want to get to that sweet spot where I work when I want to work, engage when I feel like engaging, and live life on my own terms. But first I have to tick off a few items on my list. I have to build an estate on my property in Maryland, a beautiful hunk of land that’s been in my family for decades. I bought it with my first big check. Acres of it had been sold piecemeal over the years and a mounting tax debt left it in jeopardy of being seized, but my dad had said on his dying bed, “Taraji, go buy that land. Don’t let nobody take it from the family. Do something with it.” And so I will. I’ll purchase, too, a piece of property on the beach somewhere, in another country. Nothing big and fancy—a bungalow or something cute, where I can really breathe and let it all hang out. Nobody will be checking for me. I’ll be surrounded by the things that make me the happiest: my son, my mom, my dog, Uncle Willie, maybe a grandbaby or two to spoil, perhaps a husband by my side (if the fates allow), some fresh air, the light of the sun on my face, and my truth—firm, strong, real. I am open to its possibilities.