Personally, I am a fan of the block button. I used to hold such shame around the fact that I’m not someone who can follow my ex-lover on social media. Simply putting them on mute is not sufficient. Not if I want any chance of fully moving on from them.
Just seeing a pink or green halo wrap around whatever selfie they’ve deemed cute enough to highlight to the world is interruptive. It is a roadblock in my otherwise perfectly tumultuous day of attempting to pack all my love for them back into the box it never seemed to neatly arrive in. But rather, just became. The way your purse has all those receipts, your junk drawer with its mountains of Chinese takeout menus. There are shows and books and podcasts discussing the benefits of tidying up your life. But there is a comfort in knowing they never seem to know how to disappear.
Currently, I am starring at a map of the southeast side of my country, wondering how just two states can hold such miles. Pools and pools of highway points that scream, “no!” That whisper, “who do you think you are?” as I try to fall asleep. As I try to trust the truth that nothing meant for me will pass me by.
So here I am. A purse floor of pharmacy and coffee break receipts. In a brand-new apartment with an already growing hill of foldable food pamphlets, wondering if this is it. If this time, this phone number, this pulled straight out of a Taylor Swift lyric with their bleach blonde hair will stay.
I believe in signs
I believe in signs. In tells and hints and, “how on earth did I miss that?” as you go back and re-read the book now that you know the ending. And we all do it. We reflect on the red flags we turned into pretty bouquets of possibilities and think, “my logic went right out the window and let hope rule that whole situation.”
And they might leave. And they might stay. That’s the whole seesaw gambit we’ve marketed as love. I truly want to know what everyone was doing right before they met the person(s) they’d never want to live without. But I don’t think we always get to hold on to that.
I’m realizing more and more how rather than see this phase as the waiting period, the approach towards the starting line eagerly preparing for the green light, it’s more a route in itself. It’s the time before the time when they showed up. And we have no idea when it will shift into something else. And the logical assumption is to enjoy it.
But what if you can’t? I’ve unpacked the truth that no one from my past worked out long-term because they weren’t supposed to. I’m not arguing that we didn’t have the right people for different phases in our lives. It was incredibly imperative for me to jump between a set of two best friends in high school. And I say that with full sincerity. Also, yes, I am high fiving myself for this level of crushing it. Thank you for noticing.
But just last week I cried in bed while watching the final movie in a book series turned Netflix contract. A fictional teen love produced more commitment and certainty than I’ve ever known, and I fear I’ll never get it. I am a hopeless romantic, a poet, a giver, and I have so much love to be gifted.
I want a sure thing
The difference now is I am the most selective I’ve ever been. I’ve stopped accepting those on the sole basis of them wanting me. I am no longer attracted to their attraction to me. I want a sure thing. A fight sleep to get ten more minutes of their time. A level of, “holy shit I am lucky.”
And yes, I am perfectly aware of the ways I can flood my interpersonal relationships, as well as the one I hold between me, myself, and I, with all the love my moon sign heart has. It is incredible to know this fact. It is invigorating and freeing, and I still want a partner. And that may very well happen. Or it won’t.
This brings us to a question. How do you know if the person in front of you is the right person? We all seem to hear the statement, “you’ll just know.” At least, this is what I’ve been spoon-fed by those in and out of successful partnerships. And I’ve thought, more than once now, that I’d found it. And I’ve felt crazy and like an idiot.
I’ve never felt as though I have this dating thing down. I’ve been rather shit at it for a long time now. And I’m not sure I’ll ever get any better. I fall hard and fast, I give all of myself miles before the starting line. I cling. I’m everything the stereotypes were based on.
And I’m an independent bean who’s lived alone for years. I am a killer of the bugs too big to save and a bearer of power tools. I, to quote Buddy Wakefield, am my own whole answer.
There are those of us too exceptional for a small, traditional, expected love
All of these things can be true. There is a human three states above my own who chose fear. Who chose the road paved and lamp lit and marked on every map. And they have that right. As disappointing and hope-shattering as it is for someone to pass on you, it means you are one rung on the ladder closer to finding what is in fact meant for you.
I have to believe this. Or else, it’s all too disappointing. That, or there truly are those of us too exceptional for a small, traditional, expected love. Maybe our journey looks nothing like that of our friends who are married under 30 or living with a partner they are unsure about but too scared to go it alone.
Maybe they are just as jealous of us and our freedom as we are of the idea of a ride or die romance.
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Written by Tori Muzyk
Illustrated by Francesca Mariama
