I feel like I've had a lot of conversations with people lately regarding romance, loneliness, estrangement; from those who pine after what they believe they can't have to those who question if what they have is really that life-changing, meant-to-be, passionate love they've always dreamed of, I've heard it all. I think tonight, as I sit alone in the quiet house, the melancholy mood has struck--not the kind you frantically try to escape, but the kind you embrace. Sometimes, a person just needs to be sad. That being said, I settled into my pensive state with music playing.
One of the first songs was "Slow Show" by the National. It isn't a song for everyone, but it is one that has intrigued me since the first time I heard it play. My favorite part says: "You know I dreamed about you for twenty-nine years before I saw you, you know I dreamed about you--I missed you for these twenty-nine years." I would probably instantly fall in love with a man who spoke such words to me, as I am wont to give in to romanticism. I am enamored with the idea of a lover being so vital in a person's life that the absence can be felt as a deep ache, before a tangible connection is even established. I don't mean, of course, those whiny, codependent people who will fill that space with any convenient person who comes along. I mean that it is a beautiful thought that perhaps one day, a man could walk into my life who shows me just what was so empty about all of my previous relationships. I like the idea of us ruining each other for all other men and women--that we could see to the very heart of one another and be so besotted with every quality that no other person will do.
Of course, part of me wonders if such a thing will ever come. I really am okay with the idea of never being married. I would rather die alone than settle into a life that isn't meant for me, with someone who could undoubtedly find someone "just as good" to wed. Maybe it's vanity, but I want to be vital, understood, and truly admired. I really have no lack of patience in this arena. I think between the ages of 27-35 are the ideal years for marriage, when a sense of self is reached, mistakes have been made, real-life disappointment or tragedy has been faced and conquered, and a person has had the opportunity to see what he or she cannot accept in a relationship. I am about to make a seriously nerdy analogy, but in most cases I think marrying young is the equivalent of choosing the Fellowship of the Ring in Tolkien's trilogy. They all seemed ideal companions initially, but it soon became clear that they were only meant to stay by Frodo's side for a season. They began with an entire team, but in the end only Sam remained.
Anyway, I like to imagine my future self--having waded through the seasonal confidantes and transient paramours; having seen the giving, the taking, the wounding, the healing, the fear of impolitic affairs; and having moved a few steps closer to who she wants to be. I like to imagine that person being wooed, suddenly struck with an ardent and unyielding need to allow another human being into her world forever. I know I sound so dramatic. I get swept up in imaginings. And yet, like I said, I also really enjoy the idea of never marrying. I hate when I'm musing on the subject of romance and some (admittedly well-meaning) person butts in and 'encourages' me that I will find someone. I very well may not, and it honestly makes me angry that people think my life won't be complete until I do.
What is it about us that craves romance? Why do we long and pine and torture ourselves with what-ifs? Why do we get lonely? I once read that people in relationships (married or other live-in versions) tend to sleep better than single people. I absolutely believe it. As cliche as it may sound, no man is an island. We need each other. We need warmth. We need to share burdens. We need to be held, touched, and comforted.
I think that being in love is the easiest and most exciting way to allow ourselves to be vulnerable. It's why so many people subconsciously work so hard to make themselves believe that their relationships have more depth than they actually do. It's why my theatrical side falls prey so easily to scenes of impassioned music, dark rooms, and a hand on my face; pretending for a moment in my mind that a kiss means more than a mutual desire to escape loneliness. It's why we allow emotions to soar. We all want to feel like we're involved in something as epic as love because it makes us free. In love, we can lay aside insecurity, pressure, fear, and self-doubt. In real love, we can rest assured that we are cherished. As a society, we counterfeit it constantly, usually in the form of half-hearted trysts--because then we can at least imagine that the other person, for just a little while, doesn't want to escape our company as badly as we sometimes want to flee from ourselves. Am I making any sense? I don't know. I've seen enough of desperation to believe the logic is sound. I've been the stand-in, the second choice, and the convenient option--and I used to let that knowledge fuel my fury. These days, I still recognize that those boys (for boys is what they are) were wrong to treat any person that way, but I can't help but be compassionate toward them. They were just trying to survive. We've all grabbed hold of questionable lifelines whilst wallowing in wretchedness, and spurious affection is the most soothing mistake at the time for many of the aforementioned reasons.
I believe I've rambled enough. I've got a date with a soundtrack full of exquisitely sad songs.
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