Another Valentine’s Day is upon us, and I don’t know how I feel about it this year, to be honest.
My attention isn’t focused on anyone or daydreaming about what I would be doing if I had my life partner. I’m scarily content, and I think part of it is knowing I’m going to get tattooed and ice cream on the actual day.
Whenever this day comes around, I think about how it’s easy for me to give up on love. Well, how I should give up on love.
Being the child of two adults who have a couple of divorces under their belts, I should have given up on love a long time ago.
**Before you click away, this isn’t just about romantic love. It’s about love in all areas, but most people hear “love” and instantly think romance.
I should have given up on love a long time ago. As I’ve stated many times before, disappointment and loneliness have always been my close friends; witnessing several divorces has also made it difficult to make actual friends, ones I can wholly trust. With each year I get a little bit wiser–at least that’s what I tell myself–and I’ve recently learned my preference for my own company has caused comparison and the fear of getting close to people.
More than anything, being raised in the environment I was raised in and born in the families I was born in, I fear love instead of give up on it. I don’t think I could ever give up on love because I believe there’s someone for everyone; I’m just scared to experience it.
There is an ally. There is someone who shares the same thought patterns, beliefs, and morals. They experience the same struggles and adversity you experience. The connection is so intense that they quickly qualify as a soulmate. Your souls are connected. You were meant to find each other, to help each other survive this dumpster fire of a world.
When my mind wanders, it places me at a Black Lives Matter rally clutching the hand of a Black queen who does phenomenal makeup. She eliminates the ideology that there isn’t a foundation or concealer that works with her beautiful melanin skin–skin that’s half a shade darker than mine. Though most of our conversations are about changing the world, I would down the line trust her to be one of my close friends and eventually screen my boyfriend. Speaking of him…
There is a life partner. The hopeless romantic in me believes there is a great, romantic, true love for everyone. The kind of true love bell hooks writes about and all the YA romance writers try to capture with their words. For some people, there are multiple partners, but there’s just one for me. The honeymoon phase will feel like it lasts forever because this person will know and understand me like no one else. Yeah, I know I talk/write about this a lot.
When my mind wanders, he’s a man who understands women. He’s vulnerable. He’s inquisitive. He’s ambitious. He’s big and soft and firm enough to create a feeling of safety when I am wrapped in his arms. We choose each other every day, and the butterflies are present, even in the most heated of disagreements, which are inevitable (as I’ve witnessed firsthand, marriage is hard). You know what else is a hard?
There is a friend. Making friends as an adult is hard. I mean, I’ve only been in my new environment for a couple of months, so I’m not completely discouraged. It’s just anxiety-inducing, but in my overhwelmed mind, I know there are friends. Friends come and go, but each friend serves their purpose. With each year I am blessed to be alive, I know I will meet new people and have a potential diverse version of the Golden Girls in my future.
When my mind wanders, I think about my current friends. I think about all the wedding ceremonies and baby showers I will go to because I fought to keep the best people I know in my life. Then, sometimes I think about me as a soccer mom and becoming friends with the parents on my daughter’s team. Sometimes those daydreams turn into awkward conversations of introducing my new soccer mom friends to my forever friends.
In all aspects of life, when you feel your loneliest, it’s important to remember there’s someone for everyone.
