Nobody Knows What They're Doing (Especially Me)
I'm a late bloomer. I have always been a late bloomer (more on this another time). I was also an English major. That means I spent most of my teenage years expecting things in my romantic life to unfold in some kind of perfect, teen movie, Austen-esque fashion. It worked in all the books I read, so it would also happen to me, obviously. I wish someone had warned me how dangerous it is to read Keats and be perpetually single at the same time.
I spent high school harboring an unrequited crush on a soccer player. The only person who expressed an interest in me during that time was a kid who anonymously left me a rose and "happened" to appear wherever I was on campus, but hardly spoke to me. I was apathetic to my options in college, save for two drunken and dead-end make out sessions. I buried my head in classes and internships instead. But I still read Keats and Neruda and cummings. I watched Love, Actually and The Holiday religiously every year. Around me, friends began to fall in love for the first time. I was watching the elusive fairytale come true. I just figured mine would come later.
Obviously I understand that love and dating are no fairytale--at least as far as someone who's never been in love can understand that--but there is something fairytale-like in coincidences coming together to present you with someone who makes you smile, who laughs at your dorkiest jokes, who wants to hold your hand and watch Space Jam with you.
And a few months ago, it seemed to me like I might finally get my turn at that. What I've actually encountered though, is the reality that people are complicated and difficult, and it's a terrifying thing to want someone and lack the ability to read their mind at the same time. (FIX IT, SCIENCE.)
I have, in three months, been the person on the street who can't stop smiling, that annoying friend who won't stop talking about a guy, and the person holding back tears on the subway. In the space of a week, I've practiced a "Where do you see this going?" and a "I'm not sure I can do this anymore" conversation. I've gotten nervous butterflies and cried in the shower. I really need to stop buying dresses and burritos to make myself feel better (I will never stop doing this).
I'm still learning. As of now I have no idea what's happening next. Maybe things will work themselves out. Maybe I'll have to go looking for someone new. But maybe, on here, we can figure it out together. Or at least have some kind of weird, digital Alanis-and-Fiona-listening/Pizza and ice cream commiseration party together. You are invited, I promise. I will even text you back after.
Yours in half agony and half hope,
A