Have you noticed how once you cross that threshold of twenty-five you suddenly find yourself surrounded by couples? Whether they’re married, engaged or dating, for some reason you begin to hear constantly that one can’t be truly happy unless they are in a relationship.
Never mind if the relationship is toxic as all hell and doomed to failure, as long as you’re stuck to each other morphing into one big couple-y blob, everyone is happy enough to include you in their plans and not judge. But God forbid you’re single in your mid/late twenties! You have a sudden swarm of couples desperately trying to set you up with a poor somebody just so you can participate in social norms like double dates, brunches and wine tasting expeditions.
Worse off, is when you’ve broken up and are still trying to be normal, the sympathetic nods and the I’m-here-whenever-you’re-ready-to-talk hand squeezes just becomes depressing.
I agree, some people are extremely lucky to find perfectly compatible partners early on in life. It’s like their lives are beautifully orchestrated, where everything falls into a timeline, making you just a blip on the radar of your own grey existence. And then there are some others, they hold on even when the fire dies to make it work, because they convince themselves that old-school values mean fixing things that are broken and not throwing it away.
I am different. I want nothing less than incredibly mad love.
I want ridiculous love. The kind that you’ve only read about, or seen as a visual representation somewhere. Where declarations are written in invisible ink, carried by the wind! Hearts drawn on walls and books and body parts. Love that makes you feel so alive, you want to scream out names and donate blinding smiles! The kind that drives me into a frenzy of inspiration, every single day, to live life with irrevocable and unapologetic passion. Metaphorical fires and ice cold shivers.
And I refuse, kindly, to settle for anything less.
I don’t want “This is the best you’ll get, Neal” love.
I don’t want “Your life isn’t a movie, this is real life” love.
I don’t want “No woman is perfect, you have to make her perfect” love.
I don’t want leftovers.
I don’t want “Let’s not tell anyone we’re dating or they’ll judge us” love.
I don’t want “We’ve dated for 4 years, what else is left for us to do but get married” love.
I don’t want compromise.
So, don’t feel sorry for me, darlings.
I am single by choice. I’m a stubborn wretch like that.
After being in a decade long relationship spiral, I have decided to date the person I’ve been mad about all along. Me.
For my sanity and happiness, I will hold out for the madness that another wants to contribute. Until I’m ready to share myself with someone who is absolutely worthy. For now, I want me all to myself. Call me selfish.
I say to you… Define your own happiness. Find your spectacularly spectacular happy place and be selective when sharing it. If people judge you based on your age, relationship status or decide to lecture you on “age appropriate decisions”, disagree with them politely and walk away, smiling.
Always know that if you need saving, turn to your brave self.
I needed a hero, so I became one. 😉