I’ve had this sort of weird realization lately. You see, when I’m sitting on an airplane and I’ve completed all of the tasks at hand, there’s a phase of flight where I’ve taken my jumpseat and we’re descending into landing and I have some time to think. Sometimes I worry I think too much. I internalize a lot. I wait to speak until I’ve formed it perfectly in my mind. (Which is what makes me so entertaining when I drink – that filter gets turned off. And I royally put my foot in my mouth. A lot. But that’s another story for another day.)
Recently, I was on a trip, and texting with a friend of mine throughout the day as I flew, and we were talking about our dating lives. (which I always appreciate because I miss my friends a lot when I’m gone, and I feel like miss out on these little day to day things, so sporadic as it is, it’s like an ongoing conversation we have all day and I love it.)
She was updating me on her feelings about her most recent experiences. I was trying to think of something encouraging and positive to say about love. I couldn’t.
You should know, if you don’t by now, I am a total sucker for love. I read all the love stories. Watch all the lovey-dovey movies. Gaze at the moon at night and wish that I was leaning into the arms of someone I love as they gaze at it too. I realize that I’m a hopeless romantic because I love all of these IDEAS of love. The ideas of finding your soul mate, twin flame, true love – whatever the phrase/intention is – it’s a beautiful thought that something like that could actually be a reality. You should also know, I’ve taken a break from my dating life since I started this whole flying adventure. I just didn’t have the capacity to focus on it, and also I felt like a fuck-up, on a colossal scale. I really wanted to get to the bottom of it, emotionally. I’ve had points where I’ve had unexpected moments that make me re-think that break, but still I pull back because I want to make sure I’m going towards something healthy and positive for myself.
Upon this reflection whilst seated in the jumpseat of an ERJ175, now I see I’m the Fox Mulder of love. I want to believe. I see the evidence all around me. People who’ve met their soul mate on the internet. People who met their true love in a pub on a rainy night in Ireland. Pen pals that finally meet after years of writing each other and it’s destiny. People who met while on work assignments or in the grocery story and find “The One”. But personally, I’ve become convinced it’s a smokescreen created by Hollywood and the Brontes, Austins and Gabaldons of the world.
Which leads me to the hard truth about myself. I crave love. I’m paralyzed by rejection. Is that why I’m not a believer of true love? I don’t believe that it actually exists? Too much rejection? Is that what makes me certain it’s a fairy tale? THAT’S why I’m so drawn to the stories. Because I WANT to believe it exists, that all of these stories are truth and possibility. But deep down, right now, I don’t really have faith that they do. At this juncture, I suppose this is where I also point how that I am a true believer of energy begets energy. You get what you put out there.
With that energy, I’ve gone into situations and I’ve proven to myself over and over again that it always ends, one way or another. I’m always put on the back burner. Possessed and abandoned. Randomly picked up to be left behind. Misjudged for being unfeeling or feeling more than I was supposed to. Overlooked and undervalued. Saved for a rainy day. And I let it happen because I went into it “knowing” somewhere in my psyche that it would always end that way anyway, because that’s all I’ve ever seen love end with. Never the happily ever after. Never opening myself up and being truly connected and vulnerable in many circumstances. Not being bold enough to say something when I should have. Leaving way too much unsaid, instead reading into subtext when I should have been blunt.
Nobody left to fall in love with me, except me, myself and I, while we make our way through the wilds of life. And that’s ok – I suppose I’ve become very self-sufficient. I’ve become an adventurer of sorts. I live a life full of family and friends. Make no mistake, I’m very happy, grateful and content with many things in my life.
So if I’m going to be completely honest here in my hypocrisy of loving love, after having finally admitted to myself that I actually don’t believe it’s a real life thing to be happy and in love with someone, I’ve taken on sort of a melancholic indifference. Now I’m just giving up on the whole idea. I’m okay with it but at the same time, I don’t like it. I’ve had a number of people try to talk me out of it, including a recently broken-hearted Captain that I was flying with and also a vintner in Scotts Valley, both of who didn’t know me from Eve. A group of us would all be sitting around, drinks in hand, talking politics and philosophies of life and inevitably the question pops up….”Are you married/do you have a boyfriend?” and then “Why not?”. Where do I begin in answering that?
I don’t know how to fix this broken record that’s spinning in my head. The only thing I can do is let go of the whole damned mess and let the chips fall where they may.
So I’ll just be over here in my corner, living as full of a life as I can muster, and saving up my pennies to buy my beach front Victorian that I’ll spend way too much money on fixing up, keeping up on the love stories written in myths and stories that come to life on the silver screen, and hope that maybe someday, just someday, that some innocuous phrase similar to “As You Wish” might take on a whole new meaning for me too.
After I figure out if true love really even exists, of course.