Yep… it’s happening again. Come this time tomorrow evening, there’ll be cheap wine and overpriced flowers drooping in nearly every person’s humble (or not-so-humble) abode. Sidebar: If you hope for longevity in your relationship, SKIP the prematurely dead flowers and give your guy or gal a potted plant instead! I mean SERIOUSLY — what is up with these poor bouquets of DEATH? Are they supposed to symbolize that your relationship has already peaked and is now slowly wilting away? #thinkitthrough
“And I hope everyone’s Valentine’s Day is without explosive fires,” my professor joked with us yesterday evening as he was dismissing class. The joke was in reference to the creepy ending of my recent short story, When Things Got Out of Hand, which classmates had workshopped just moments before.
“You’ve really found your voice,” some of them said. And it was a cool thing to hear — that the cadence of my words had rung true to them.
“But this kinda felt like three different stories,” others pointed out. “Like… you’ve got three threads dangling here and none of them are tied together.”
And that made total sense… there were three stories within the story: divorce, the origins of an eating disorder, and jealousy. Any way of tying those loose strings together?
Absolutely — my classmates presented several really good and intriguing ideas for doing so… but in this blog post, I don’t really want to keep on talking about the story. I’d rather talk about love, and specifically, about how we sometimes chase after and then revolve around it instead of simply letting it come to and envelope us.
For most of us, love is revered as the ultimate thing to have — whether you stumble your way into it or specifically seek it out, it’s like unknowingly building a house atop a secret river of oil: Once you’ve realized what it is, you know that you’ve really lucked out.
And then – in addition to obsessing over this newfound wealth – we begin to define ourselves by this love… complimenting ourselves on the strengths, talents, and good looks of our companion — and having a companion, or lover, makes us feel other nice things, too, like being whole, and having worth, and – sometimes most importantly – not being alone.
But here’s the thing: You’re already whole on your own, you’re worth just as much as the person you hate and the person you love and the person you admire and the person you think little of (no more, no less), and you are always actually going to be alone. Always.
Because 1. when you die, you will die alone… nobody can feel that pain, experience that weirdness, or see that shit for you, and 2. until the very second that you die, no one will quite understand your mind, your desires, your motivations or your fears to the extent that you do… and while realizing this usually makes people feel deeply lonely, truly, isn’t it wonderful? Knowing that — although the whole world will sometimes stares right through you without feeling anything and that, often, it doesn’t really care about or understand you at all — that YOU get you, and you love you, and you’ve got you?
And there’s this, too: The amazingness or lousiness of the person you’re with doesn’t add to or detract from your own inherent worth. Want to be a super great and remarkable and respectable person? Cool… be one! Don’t date one. Or do date one, but don’t think that doing so makes you awesome (or vice versa).
I was just talking with a friend about love (#hottopic) earlier today… she’s in her early forties now and I’m in my mid-twenties, and we were both laughing over our predicaments: We go to work, shop for groceries, and fill our cars up with gas… and in the secret background of these mundane activities, we’re both often awkwardly hoping that, one of these days, Mr. Perfecto will just magically be there on aisle 9 or at pump 4 with enough guts to ask us out.
“And you see, that’s just it,” I said. “It has to happen like that — organically… in real life. I’m sure that, after several dating app-based dates with various people, I could find someone that I got along with, but that’s not going to be enough for me. I don’t want to date someone who is simply agreeable, or stable, or nice… there’s gotta be chemistry between us. A spark. And I’ll know when it’s there, because I’ve felt it before. But the thing is, that spark is something that you just inexplicably feel — not something you can know about it… you know? It’s not like you can’t deduce a spark from the picture or text on somebody’s online profile,” I sighed. “You’ve just gotta feel it. Sense it. So the real question is, when is this going to happen, and where, and am I supposed to be the brave one who initiates or ignites the spark? And if so, how the hell do you do that?” I laughed.
So while I am admittedly passively waiting and half-assedly looking for love, I’m mostly actively living my life… learning a new language, traveling (to Ecuador! In FOUR months!), writing stories, making music and friends, developing myself personally and professionally, and planning a fulfilling and fun-filled future.
So yeah — I’m waiting, but I’ve grown to be good at waiting, and because I’m keeping so busy and having so much FUN, it doesn’t really feel that much like waiting.
I meannnnnnnnnnn check me OUT; bein’ all single and whole and creative and happy and stuff! 🙂
Still here and single af,