Well, except for Tiger Woods, who I've pretty much decided is a pile of sleaze.

As a kid, I remember reading a line from a book--"Don't judge a man until you've walked a mile in his shoes"--and up until very recently, I did not fully understand what that really meant. Life was very black and white to me. I would observe people in certain situations and condemn them for acting the way they did, swearing that I would never have done the same. Then I began to see the gray areas we all operate in.

I don't like to admit that I more or less cheated on my ex-boyfriend, because I have always regarded cheating as cowardly and wrong. I'm not a saint, but I don't consider myself a bad person. It was never my intent to hurt him; it just happened that way, and that's what made me realize that our actions are not always consistent with how we'd imagine them to be in a certain situation.

We had been dating for almost two years. It was strange; we got along so well, I was so comfortable around him, yet I never felt that passionate spark I was used to knowing when I'd fallen for previous boys. I attributed that lack of chemistry to this being a real, live, mature relationship, unlike the silly high school romances I had encountered before. There were many things I liked about him: he was kind, gentle, trustworthy, a good cook, healthful, stable in his career, and patient. When I think about it, there were a lot of things I liked about him, and sometimes I wonder how we wound up the way we did. We always cooked dinner together and went for long walks in the afternoon. He'd pick me up and take me out to our favorite Indian restaurant. He even paid for us both to travel to Europe, which was a blast.

It was perfect, yet something felt off. I could never decide if I loved him. How could I not? He was everything I'd ever hoped for in a man. How could I not love someone who paid for me to go to Europe--twice? How could I not be hopelessly enamored with someone who cooked me dinner and kissed my cheek softly each time he left for work in the morning? Logically, we had something beautiful, but each time I asked myself if I was in love with him, I had a hard time saying yes. I cared about him, I enjoyed being with him, but for some reason I could not love him, even after we exchanged those three words.

I figured I'd come around. After all, this was my first real relationship, and it would take time for those feelings to develop. Of course I love him, I told myself. I just don't know it yet.

I began to think about our future. I was graduating college soon, and he had a well-paying job as an engineer. Where would our relationship head after that point? Well, we could get married. He already had a house. I'd live there, and I could take my time finding a job because he made good money. And when we had children, I could stay home and take care of them.

I'd run that scheme through my head over and over. When I got to the part about marrying him, I always felt stifled. I did not want to marry this person. Thinking about spending my life with him felt like being sentenced to prison, and I could never figure out why. Yes, I was young, only 20, but I could feel something just wasn't right. I didn't want a future with him. In fact, I was bored with him, and I was too afraid to admit it. I thought that all couples experienced rough patches, and we would simply forge on until it got better. Yet that didn't seem right either. Something was terribly awry. I was lying to myself. I was in so deep now, I had made him such a part of my life that when I finally realized that what I had mistaken for possible love was actually indifference, I didn't know what to do with myself. How could I end things with him? He had taken me to Europe. We spent our weekends together. My parents loved him. I had invested so much into this relationship and I was not about to see it all crumble to pieces. It had to get better, right? I'd come around soon. But the more I told myself that, the more I knew I was wrong.

Right around the time I started having serious doubts about our relationship, I started my internship at the TV station. My boyfriend and I had decided to spend less time together. We'd been together for a year and a half at that point, and the less time we spent together, the more I realized I didn't miss him all that much. This realization made me feel terrible guilty. I had wanted to take a break, have an epiphany and discover that I could not live without him, so that we could carry on with our perfect relationship that we never had in the first place. That didn't happen. I was doing well at my internship and I wasn't missing him much at all. But old habits got the best of us, and we decided to nix the break.

A few months later, I went out to dinner with some coworkers, one of whom is now my boyfriend. That night, he asked if I wanted to get a drink. I knew it was probably wrong to head to a bar with another guy without telling him I wasn't single, but I didn't care, even after all the times I condemned people for cheating. I just didn't care. It felt right, and I wanted it, so I did it. We went out for a drink. Then the texts began, and what I had never felt for my boyfriend I felt tenfold for this new guy. I couldn't explain it, I couldn't rationalize it; it just felt right, and I wanted to pursue things with him, except there was one minor detail: I was still dating someone else. And then I knew it had to end. I knew that if I was so enamored with someone else, I must not be in love with my boyfriend. I had known it all along, but had never been willing to admit it. I had to break up with him, even if it didn't work out with this new guy, because it wasn't fair for either of us to be in this relationship. I needed to be free, and I needed to let him be with someone who truly deserved him. This relationship had simply run its course, and it took a long time for me to accept that it's not always black and white. I always assumed that if a guy didn't cheat on me or treat me poorly, there would be no reason to break things off. I never realized that sometimes you realize things just aren't meant to be, even though they weren't all that bad in the first place.

I was realizing it now, though. I thought about my options. I could soldier on with this two-year relationship that I was no longer emotionally involved in, or I could take a chance and try something new.

I chose the latter. A few days later, I broke up with my boyfriend. It was hard. I cried. He looked at me and said he understood. When I left his house, I wondered if I'd made a terrible mistake, and sometimes I still have the same thought. I felt like a sham. I had been keeping him around until someone better came along because I was too afraid of being alone and starting over without him. I had used him. I hadn't meant to, but when I look back, I think about how unfair I was to him. Why couldn't I have been stronger and ended things earlier when I felt they weren't right? I didn't know. I just didn't know what I had gotten myself into and what it would take to get out. I truly never meant to hurt him, and because I did hurt him, I began to see the gray in life. I began to see that I had acted in ways I never thought I would have because it just felt right, and that I had no place to call anyone immoral or wrong for their behavior, because I was just as capable of acting the same way.

When I ended things, I realized I would not want to be treated the way I treated him. I would not want to be someone's backup until they found someone more interesting, yet I did it to him; and for that I am truly sorry.