I’m reading Dear Sugar for the hundredth time. It’s at a point where I have it memorized so I can skip around to my favorite parts. But I’ve come to a different epiphany this time.
You see, I’m 25 and biologically my ovaries are in overdrive. I want babies the way my friends want puppies. (On the flip side, if you give me a dog, I’m going to snuggle it and there’s 87% chance I’ll Instagram it, but I’m totally stoked to give it back).
The thing is, despite biology’s tickin’ clock, I absolutely do not want to go out and obtain a babe or two (right now). I don’t even have a small desire to join Tinder/Bumble/Hinge to start the process of obtaining a babe. I’d rather go and see Deadpool alone – it’s cheaper, let me tell ya. No need to buy extra snacks that cost the equivalent of my 401k.
My sweet friends. I can always feel when I’ve sent someone too many epiphany texts in a row and they’re thinking “Damn this girl needs a Hunny.” Which explains why everyone always wants to set me up. They see how much time I have on my hands and it causes dear friends, like Jack, to try and hook me up with the same photographer twice in one year.
But that extra time – that’s kind of the point. I like being bored. I like when my brain roams and comes up with new ideas and thoughts and projects. Remember when we were kids and had long stretches of summer to do absolutely nothing but dream?
What the heck did we do in those chlorinated pools with our eyes open for so long? How did it entertain me so fully to watch my little sister beat every level of Mario Brothers? How did I maintain the patience to create those detailed paper dolls with individual strands of hair and fingers? How was a razor scooter so appealing and bike riding in the cul de sac such a treat? We fearlessly climbed trees, fell out of them, and then climbed down into the canyon looking for Hobos.
We spent the days using up every ounce of energy we had in our tiny bods. How wonderful to have your head hit the pillow at night and pass out instantaneously because you’ve used up all that you had in you for that day.
1. desperately seeking love
2. desperately afraid to love
3. desperately stuck in loveless relationship.
And isn’t this exactly what all of today’s media is depicting? Our lives are defined by a lack of commitment, a hole filled with fear instead. But where is the in between? The moments of content? Who’s writing that part down?
As a result, the answer is always (no matter the question) to move on to the next person the same way we move on to a new Netflix original television series to binge on. We feel entitled to honor our emotions as though they’re facts.
Part of why I love Cheryl Strayed so much is her brutal, optimistic honesty. She was once in a love so deep and full, but it was not quite right. So she got a divorce. Did a little heroin. Lived life. Suffered. Went for a long hike. Created. Found another mate – The Mate. Made some babes.
As a result, she admits that not all relationships are right; in which case, Get Out. But also she believes in trying. She believes in persevering. Maintaining. Loving as unconditionally as your human self will let you.
Seeking family? It will come. Seeking solitude? Take it. Loveless marriage? Try. Her answer always seems to be to open your heart even further than you thought was possible.
Oh you thought that was your love capacity? Keep stretching that heart muscle. Do a few lunges, maybe a back bend, hands in prayer position.
(I stole that from Iris ^^)
There’s three parts I see to this.
One: We so desperately want control of our lives. I myself have a 1 year, 3 year, 5 year, and 10 year plan. Yolo. And I have to remind myself that they’re only rough outlines (Thank goodness because at one time my plan was to get on The Real World and simultaneously become a doctor.)
I have a girl friend whom always reminds me to drop my Plan B. That’s never occurred to me before she said it. I usually have a plan A through M. But she firmly believes that while we can have direction and ambition, inevitably if we have faith, then it will all be good. She encourages me to go after what I want, but also surrender to the current of the universe and enjoy the ride
Two: Remember how in high school (and middle school and elementary school really), all anyone talked about was college? It was such an exciting and stressful thing. So much preparation and testing and money. (And more money on my parents’ part when I decided I wasn’t going to college and they had to pay someone to help force me to fill out applications. I still wrote my own essays, I just dragged my feet through the process.)
Now.. after ALL THAT…it’s over. How bittersweet. I graduated cum laude, have a couple degrees. I did well. I’m thinking about pursuing more. But that chapter of life is over. And I just know that despite all the worrying we do, all the fear that things will never happen, it will. In its own time. Even if God has to pay someone to fill out my wifey applications one day. Jk. But also potentially true, considering I’m still figuring out how to cook meals that aren’t tacos.
There’s a meme going around right now:
“Some nights I wish I could go back in life. Not to change shit.
Just to feel a couple things twice.”
In my humble opinion, I believe that if you slow down enough, you might be able to enjoy what is, then maybe you won’t feel this way. I think Buddha would back me up on this.
Third: We are all so broken. It’s nuts that we expect this perfect person to come along and complete us. Instead of acknowledging one another’s flaws, we overlook them. And then when corresponding problems arise, the rose colored glasses are swept away in the flood, and we gasp that we can’t do it anymore.
We don’t do this to our friends – why do we do this to our lovers?
It’s why I struggle with the concept of dating. I have some phenomenal friends whom I wish I could marry (alas, I am not so attracted to the same sex, nor they to me); but these friendships were built up over years. Often with months of not talking. Yet, when our Bumble match goes 3 days without texting us back, we panic and move on to the next. There’s no sincerity or strength in that.
I have yet to discover an alternative, being that I’m a millennial living in the heart of L.A., but I refuse to enter into a marriage built upon a foundation of constant need for affirmation.
I dunno. Maybe it’s naive. I hope it happens as I’ve (roughly) planned and I don’t turn out to be another Dear Sugar letter proclaiming lost time, lost soul, lost love.
But while I am in a period where I do life solo, it’s important to acknowledge that it’s still so good. So many adventures. I no longer spend my days pretending to be a mermaid in a pool, climbing trees, or drawing faces. But there’s still swimming in the ocean after long hikes, training hard for half marathons, and creating things for work. I have moments of boredom, but each night I still get to enjoy having my head hit the pillow, dead exhausted, all used up.
I hope to hit the ultimate pillow hard at the end of my life, all used up. The ambition parts, and the love parts too.
As a bonus, even when my Lovies wish relentlessly that I had a significant other so I’m not the third/fifth/seventh wheel once again, how lucky I am that they let me tag along, regardless, and build memories with them. They make my life to be as full and rich as it is. And even though I can’t find a book or movie that depicts a cool relationship without massive issues, I have some really cool friends who’ve seemed to have figured it out. Their plot line doesn’t revolve around a lack of commitment, but rather adventures, goals, traveling, and baby raising. And im so lucky they let me be apart of their story, as they set an example Hollywood fails to do.
Aight. And now some Easter pictures!
I gave Momma a gnome pen and El Step Dado a cigar for Easter, which he let me try. Totes didn’t cough. Baller status.
Celiac Lyfe means tequila is good for me and perfect for breakfast. Forrealz though. It has enzymes my small intestine needs.
Poor Hud in his cone