Do you sometimes wonder how and why you got where you are and when will it happen for you? And by it, I mean all. I mean life. Life as we learned it in movies and in novels and in operas. The stage you were promised with, or promised yourself for that matter. I would gracefully step down and get over mourir sur scene but never thought of not being sur scene to begin with. Does it feel to you that the constant elephant in any room full of adults is that lingering question, what the hell happened to my dreams? Does it get down to a point where any food for our lost confused souls has to fall under the ugly self-help and self-assertion and affirmation bullshit we try to convince ourselves with? Somewhere between the who we were and the who we hope to be, do we even know who we are? I still am waiting for my life to take off. Are you? When was the last time you had a day at work that was, in your eyes, as exciting or stimulating or hopeful as the last big ‘life-changing’ exam you passed? When was the last time you went away on a vacation that felt as dreamy or adventurous as a ski trip in school or a weekend away with your buddies in college? When was the last night out on the town or the last party or wedding you’ve been to that felt like that first big birthday party you threw or that club you ran to with your underage friends behind your parents’ backs.
Maybe it’s me but in order for me not to settle in life I had to bet on love. Maybe that’s why whenever I start writing about life; I end up writing about love. Love would be my walk in Jardin de Tuillerie in Paris or even my weekend in Vegas, a sidetrack in life full of flowers and dreams and maybe neon lights. I remember a vacation in Cyprus when I was 14 and I remember sneaking out with my sister riding down the bike track to the bar district where we sat far away and watched the beautiful couples dancing. I also remember our neighbors next door, a young attractive couple. Dad would buy us ice cream at the place next door as we sat down and watched them having dinner at the terrace from across the street. We dreamt of love. The thought that this awaited us in life was so exciting and we secretly hoped for it. I wonder how long that cute couple stayed together. I wonder if she was sick and tired of him not listening to her when she talked and if he eventually couldn’t commit and started dating another woman on the other side of the island. I’ll always wonder about love. I don’t know anymore. I loved once before. The crazy love. The can’t live without him kind of love and I’m afraid nothing will ever live up to that. It is a fact we have to acknowledge that, as we get more practical in life (older), the surprise flowers, the secret admirers, the outrageous feelings and the possibilities just might get more realistic.
Some of my more mature friends tell me they can’t remember the last time they had a fuzzy stomach and they tell me to get real and embrace the idea that loves like that just won’t happen anymore. The dreamers, like me, refuse to settle for any less and still are hoping for fireworks. Should love be for companionship? Someone who would hold your hand to get through your other disappointments in life or is that in itself disappointing? Should love be your only hope for that life of excitement and dreams and hopes and adventure?
Would you wait for a man who would inspire your poems of passion or would you settle with the man you would dedicate them to?
I know I’ll have my coup de foudre with an umbrella for one for now...