This week has been bombarding me with images of couples, and thoughts of cuddling and kissing and happy endings. Magical moments and fairy tale stories have been thrust upon me for days. It’s been good for my mind, and maybe good for my heart, as well, despite what one might think.
I went through three stages, three ways of thinking.
First, I felt sad. I felt jealous of the heroines in the movies I was watching. I felt lonely and yearning. I felt little and insignificant and undesirable.
Then, I reassured myself. One day, my knight will come. One day, I will have the story and the man and the rings on my finger to prove it. One day I will have children to put to bed and meals to plan and homework to help with. I will be loved and known and wanted.
Finally, I realized.
I got into my car after a day at work. I felt a thrill at the thought that I would have the apartment all to myself for the rest of the night. My roommate was spending time with her family, flown in from Mexico, and wasn’t coming home. I walked into my home, where everything is where I want it to be. I went to my kitchen, where my tools and jars and pots are lined up precisely as I desire. I made a meal for a potluck tonight with my lovely friends. I played my music and danced my dances and sang my songs. I conversed with my paring knife and waged war with a fly.
I was content.
No, I wasn’t content. I am happy.
I am happy when I am alone.
Now, I don’t know if that means that, like Mr. Copeland over at Mad to Love, I am destined to celibacy. I don’t know if it means only that I am where I am supposed to be at this point in my life. I don’t know if those nights of conversation and compromise, of love and tenderness, of fights and making up are in my near future, my far future, or in my future at all.
All I know is that whatever the path my life takes, I can be happy in it. I can be successful in it. I can thrive in it.