When I was younger, I remember dreaming about when I would fall in love. I know that most girls my age dream about such things, but I was sure my dreams were different.
The love story I dreamed about was going to be epic. Homer would have nothing on my story. Mine was going to be the tale that stories and poems and songs were written about. My story was going to be the one that other girls wished they were living. It was going to be absolutely fantastic.
I’ve gone through a couple of boyfriends… and several head cases, and yet my story is still untold. It’s a story still not experienced, even by me.
As I look back now, I know that a lot of my life has been lived vicariously. It’s never been me who was the popular girl getting the dates to prom. In fact, I was lucky to go to my prom, even without a date. (My boyfriend and I had just broken up.) I was never the girl who got to experience falling in love. Even with the boyfriends that I had, I don’t think I can say that I know what it means to be in love.
I’ve watched my mother go through a couple of marriages, and a couple of divorces. I can’t exactly say that she’s the role model for love either. (Though at times, she’ll insist she knows the “perfect” guy for me. Sorry if I don’t jump at those opportunities!)
I’ve seen the movies (and TV shows) where love seems so easy. Though I wonder, if it really were easy, would I still be alone? Would I still have not experienced my love story?
There are times when I’ll watch a movie or show and wish for what the couple on screen is experiencing, up until the point that they’re sleeping with each other after the first date. Really? Is that what love is all about? Well, it must be. They end up together and happy at the end of the movie. So, is it my standards that are off?
What about the couple that hates each other at the beginning of the story? Isn’t it a miracle when they end up being perfect for each other? What a croc!
I had a friend once commiserating on her single status tell me that she wondered if her perfect man had been aborted as a baby. It’s a gruesome thought, but there are times I wonder the same thing. Abortion was the birth control of choice several years ago. Maybe my perfect man really was killed at an early age.
Another friend has mentioned that the only way to get noticed is to get knocked up first. Believe me, sister. I’ve had the same thought. Babies really are like puppies. They attract the men who are looking for a family, which is exactly who we’re looking for. Hello, guys? There are a lot of women out there who are waiting to find you. Women who want the same things you want. Why are you only seeing the most drastic of cases? Why must we already have children for you to see us?
On the flipside of that coin, I’ve had thoughts about just starting my family now. Sure, I’m still single without any prospects. But since that doesn’t seem to be changing any time soon, why shouldn’t I go forward and adopt a baby? Well, with the exception of never being home because of working all the time; or of not being able to afford the things that a kid would require. When you take all of those little technicalities out of the equation, I must be ready, right? Millions of kids get pregnant every day, if they can do it, why can’t I? (Right. And millions more kids are put into the foster system because their parents are too young to handle taking care of them. I nearly forgot.)
But let’s be more realistic. I know that I’m not really in any position to start a family without my other half, so I let that dream die a little more every day. I know I’m not really that interesting or good looking to be noticed straight off. In fact, I like to joke that even if I were guilty, I’m the girl who wouldn’t get picked out of a police line-up. (It’s probably not that far from the truth.)
So, it looks like all I can do is continue to vicariously live through the made-up stories that make it to my TV screen. Every day the dream of my epic love story will die a little more, until one day, I won’t even remember that it was there. Every day the kids I was supposed to have already will become less of a painful memory. One day, my cats and I will wake up with the dawn, not dreading the thought of a new day to struggle through. Because one day, it really will be too late; Love itself will be a dead dream of the past.
The love story I dreamed about was going to be epic. Homer would have nothing on my story. Mine was going to be the tale that stories and poems and songs were written about. My story was going to be the one that other girls wished they were living. It was going to be absolutely fantastic.
I’ve gone through a couple of boyfriends… and several head cases, and yet my story is still untold. It’s a story still not experienced, even by me.
As I look back now, I know that a lot of my life has been lived vicariously. It’s never been me who was the popular girl getting the dates to prom. In fact, I was lucky to go to my prom, even without a date. (My boyfriend and I had just broken up.) I was never the girl who got to experience falling in love. Even with the boyfriends that I had, I don’t think I can say that I know what it means to be in love.
I’ve watched my mother go through a couple of marriages, and a couple of divorces. I can’t exactly say that she’s the role model for love either. (Though at times, she’ll insist she knows the “perfect” guy for me. Sorry if I don’t jump at those opportunities!)
I’ve seen the movies (and TV shows) where love seems so easy. Though I wonder, if it really were easy, would I still be alone? Would I still have not experienced my love story?
There are times when I’ll watch a movie or show and wish for what the couple on screen is experiencing, up until the point that they’re sleeping with each other after the first date. Really? Is that what love is all about? Well, it must be. They end up together and happy at the end of the movie. So, is it my standards that are off?
What about the couple that hates each other at the beginning of the story? Isn’t it a miracle when they end up being perfect for each other? What a croc!
I had a friend once commiserating on her single status tell me that she wondered if her perfect man had been aborted as a baby. It’s a gruesome thought, but there are times I wonder the same thing. Abortion was the birth control of choice several years ago. Maybe my perfect man really was killed at an early age.
Another friend has mentioned that the only way to get noticed is to get knocked up first. Believe me, sister. I’ve had the same thought. Babies really are like puppies. They attract the men who are looking for a family, which is exactly who we’re looking for. Hello, guys? There are a lot of women out there who are waiting to find you. Women who want the same things you want. Why are you only seeing the most drastic of cases? Why must we already have children for you to see us?
On the flipside of that coin, I’ve had thoughts about just starting my family now. Sure, I’m still single without any prospects. But since that doesn’t seem to be changing any time soon, why shouldn’t I go forward and adopt a baby? Well, with the exception of never being home because of working all the time; or of not being able to afford the things that a kid would require. When you take all of those little technicalities out of the equation, I must be ready, right? Millions of kids get pregnant every day, if they can do it, why can’t I? (Right. And millions more kids are put into the foster system because their parents are too young to handle taking care of them. I nearly forgot.)
But let’s be more realistic. I know that I’m not really in any position to start a family without my other half, so I let that dream die a little more every day. I know I’m not really that interesting or good looking to be noticed straight off. In fact, I like to joke that even if I were guilty, I’m the girl who wouldn’t get picked out of a police line-up. (It’s probably not that far from the truth.)
So, it looks like all I can do is continue to vicariously live through the made-up stories that make it to my TV screen. Every day the dream of my epic love story will die a little more, until one day, I won’t even remember that it was there. Every day the kids I was supposed to have already will become less of a painful memory. One day, my cats and I will wake up with the dawn, not dreading the thought of a new day to struggle through. Because one day, it really will be too late; Love itself will be a dead dream of the past.
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