Sunday, January 10, 2016


I'm trying to recapture a feeling.

A few minutes ago I was having a conversation with my mother while my brain was working out a comparison between "When in Rome" and "I Hate Valentine's Day" (cute stories, but not terribly high production quality) when I felt like I got slapped up the backside of the head.  A quiet voice inside me said, "I stopped believing," and I realized it was true.

I stopped believing I'm ever going to find a guy who will ever want me.

Maybe you're saying, So, Fate takes care of these things.  He'll come. Or maybe, You're right, you'll be single forever with that attitude. Or the classic, Just enjoying being single.  You just need to be patient.  He'll show up.

Blah blah blah.

No.  What I'm saying is, I stopped believing in my ability to be anything any man will ever want.  I'm not saying this so anyone will feel sorry for me.  I'm saying this because it suddenly hit me that I really don't believe, and now I'm angry at myself.  Angry enough to consider rewatching every romantic comedy I've ever loved (and have just realized I've been avoiding for the past few years now), read oodles of romantic poetry, reinvest in trash novels and dating books...and reread all my late friend Zuni's emails yelling at me about love.

How the heck did I let myself get to here?  Oh yeah, letting bitterness eat away at my heart for the past few years.  That may have something to do with it.  Gah.  I'm an idiot.  I think that after my last true heartbreak, I shut off my heart.  I worked hard not to care too deeply or get too attached because I knew that at any time any guy I chose to care for could walk away or, like the guy I was in love with, they could chose to completely erase me from their life and marry some other girl.  It hurt so much.  So much.  So much.  It still does some nights when the wind blows just right and whips its way through the tattered bits, but this is a worthless excuse.

I use to be fearless.  I use to be so crazy about love and so passionate about finding the guy I was going to marry.  I knew he was out there.  I knew.  He was real and solid, and I use to have dreams about him.  I didn't doubt that someday in the future I would settle down with someone who I could love like crazy who would love me the same way back.  I'd fall in love with my best friend just like my folks, and I would have a great life.

But now I am just a coward.  I'm so scared of getting torn up again, and so sure that it will happen every time that I'm struggling to keep going. I keep shoring up other peoples' broken hearts and cheering on everybody's relationships and convincing them to take the risks I'm too scared to take.

This isn't me.

I am the girl who will move across the country because I believe in something.  I'm the girl who has moved on her own to a variety of states to keep starting over.  I've left jobs to pursue dreams.  I've been someone's secret admirer.  I've asked guys out on dates.  I've admitted to guys that I'm crazy about them.

I am not this shell of human being that I'm hiding behind.  I am not content to work in a kitchen the rest of my life with a group of women (who, don't get me wrong, are incredible) where I'm never going to grow or make any kind of real money or meet anyone.  I am not content to be alone forever or be every guy's back up plan.

It's time I get back to being passionate and brave.  I'm going to be fearless.

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