This is a sappy, emo entry, so if you’re not in the mood to join me with eye-liner and side-swept flat bangs, this is your opportunity to leave the theater. TY.
That said, I’ve been feeling forlorn lately (to be fair, this is how I’ve started nearly 87% of my journal entries since 4th grade). I’ve been thinking about love. How are you supposed to know if someone is “the one”? Are you supposed to just know?
I listen to a lot of Dan Savage, the sex advice columnist and podcaster, and he always says, “There is no ‘one.’ You have to take your .6 and round them up to a one.” I think this advice is super smart, because honestly, no one’s perfect. We should all love regardless of flaws and differences. Love is an ability, etc.
But then I hear some people’s love stories – first sight stories about those almost out of body experiences where people feel like they instantly know each other; like their souls are the same; like they never doubt for a second that they are meant for each other – and I think, “No, that is what I believe. I believe in magic. I believe in knowing.”
And then I find myself in New York City, living with a man I’ve loved for over 4 years, a man I’ve built a life with, a man I have a dog with, a man who takes care of me and makes me laugh, and I find myself full of doubt.
When I was in college, I met someone who I thought was my soulmate. It was exactly like the stories people tell. I just “knew,” and he said he did too. I immediately dreamt of his as my future husband. When we sat by each other, it was like we were our own species. No, our own energy matter.
That story ended horribly, though. All I have left is the occasional drunk text from him.
When I met the man I’m with now, it was different. We got to know each other, like normal people do. He was sexy, sweet, attentive, and generous, and I liked him very much right away, but it felt like we were actively building a relationship, not falling into one dizzyingly.
The man I’m with now is honestly the best person I’ve ever met, and I love our life together, but sometimes I still can’t help but think of that other feeling – was it even real? Even if it was, surely it isn’t sustainable…right?
People my age are starting to settle down. Friends I went to high school with are posting engagement, wedding, baby pictures, all with people they’ve been with for less time than I’ve been with my dude. And when I think about marriage, I still just don’t know. It feels so far away. Shouldn’t we be itching to get married by now?
He wants to stay in the city until he’s on his feet in the comedy world (who knows what that means). I’ll probably be ready to head upstate when I’m around 30 or so.
Even when he’s on his comedy feet, he wants to be a touring comedian, and he’s still not sure if he’ll ever want kids.
I know I want children, at least one anyway, and while I’m not itching to have one immediately, I’d rather not wait till I’m 40 if I have a say in the matter. Also, could I ever deal with a constantly touring husband? Is that the type of life that would make me happy, or would I constantly feel bitter?
But it also might be a beautiful life. He might do amazing comedy things; change the world. We might have beautiful children he’d end up loving the shit out of, and I might actually love having the space that his touring allows. We could end up somewhere new and quiet, and we could grow old together, loving each other.
I really don’t know. Am I supposed to?