I’m at the point in my life where I get more butterflies in my stomach from walking through the wine isle at my local grocery store than I do when I see a hot guy.
I don’t believe in Soulmates. In fact, I find myself wanting to throat punch my friends when ever one of them suddenly “finds” their soulmate. Believing that someone is your soulmate is absolutely an indicator of that relationship blowing up in your fucking face, usually within a three month period.
Expectations are the birthplace of heartache. And hanging soulmate expectations on anyone is a quick road to disappointment. I believe that the belief in soulmates is the number one cause of divorce.
And every little girl who has watched a princess movie, along with every grown-assed woman who disappears into romantic comedies can tell you that at one point or another, they truly believed in soulmates. I never have. I am thirty-six years old and I have yet to know any.
But I do believe in love. That belief left me for a while, but is starting to come back into focus for me now. I believe that love is as simple as caring about someone and accepting them for everything that they are, exactly where they are at, in any given moment. I have given this type of love to many. I have received it from few. But I have hope that one day this will change. I also have the confidence to know that I will be perfectly okay if it doesn’t.
Love is not the same as commitment. I love my ex-husband, but I don’t want to be married to him. I really, truly enjoy spending time with him, but only in small doses. I understand that my love for him is non possessive and true.
I still love the guy who broke my heart and moved to Georgia when I was nineteen. He is now married with two adorable boys. I slept with him a couple years ago. He cheated on his wife. I cheated on my boyfriend at the time. It wasn’t about hurting anyone or being selfish. I ran into him, and I loved him. It was as simple and as complicated as that. I would never dream of breaking up his marriage, but I am thankful for the opportunity to know his heart.
People intertwine these two ideas, love and commitment. I think most people would agree that when you love someone, it is natural to want to share your life with that person, exclusively. But I believe that love lives longer when it’s allowed to roam free. My feelings in my past relationships have fallen like the dorsal fin of a whale in captivity. When I myself am in captivity, I feel doomed. I feel like my story is over and the adventure has died. And when I finally break free from my commitments, I am catapulted into happiness and contentment. Love comes easy for me. Commitment is a tall mountain that I am too tired to climb.
I am an expert on breakups. I know exactly how to nurture myself into the sweet space of healing and self love. I have even taught others how to thrive on solitude. I think that is what scares me the most. I am too comfortable being alone. I feel like a freak. Like I don’t fit in with society because I have no interest in sharing my life with another person. I also feel like a coward. Underneath all these opinions is a girl who has had her heart ripped out, several times. I am absolutely terrified to try it again.
I have always lived better on my own. When I do wander off into relationships, I have the uncanny ability to give myself away in pieces until I have no pieces left. And when I’m on my own, I take those pieces back and take care of them like no one else can. And yet, there’s a part of me who truly wants to believe that someone out there is capable of loving and accepting the many versions of me that I have worked so vigorously to love and accept myself. I want to believe that someone out there is capable of giving me the type of love that I give out. I want to believe, but at this moment, I don’t.
So I sit back in my pajamas with a good book, a glass of wine, and a bowl of fine greens. I have nothing but gratitude for the relationship I have with myself. And then I think maybe a little attention wouldn’t kill me.