First Loves. Last Loves. True Love. *Abridged*


Oh hey, it’s been a moment hasn’t it? And by a moment I mean almost 5 years, or is it 4? I don’t math good. To be honest there was a part of me that was content to light a match on this blog and walk away, but apparently there are 5 or 6 people out there who really enjoyed what I was doing.  I imagine these are the same sort of people who enjoy watching NASCAR.  Come for the hotdogs, stay for the carnage. So here I am. Older for sure, wiser…meh.

So much has happened during these last years that I find myself at a loss for where to start.  I hesitate to jump right back into the gore that is my life, so perhaps we will try more of an “old man easing into a hot bath” approach.  I am going to go back to some of my original posts and interject new thoughts, revelations, or whatever else seems appropriate.  For those who have never read my blog, this will give you a chance to catch up.  For those who have been faithful followers, this will give you a first row seat to my hindsight.  Is it weird that part of me is looking forward to mocking my own work? Nevertheless…here we go…

New text will appear in the bolded font.


Do you remember your first love? I’ll bet you do. When did you first lay eyes on them? What were the thoughts that were going through you head? Were you immediately taken by then, like you see in the movies? Or was it a slow burn that ultimately consumed your entire being? And I’m not talking about your first crush; I’m talking about your first over-the-moon-cant-see-straight-when-they-are-near-my-mouth-suddenly-has-forgotten-how-to-form-intelligent-sentence-structure love. How old were you when it happened? Was your loved returned, or unrequited like Quasimoto’s love for the gypsy Esmeralda?

That is a liberal amount of dashes.  I am still obsessed with The Hunchback of Notre Dame.  You wanna see something sexy as hell? Watch this  …It’s not porn. Unless French men in makeup is your idea of porn. Then it’s porn.

I don’t know about you, but I certainly felt like Quasimodo in high school, for all the male attention I was getting, or rather, Not getting. I guess you could say I was a “late bloomer”. But worry not, I feel as though I have more than made up for all the nights I sat alone in my room writing or singing along to Phantom of the Opera, while other girls were attending homecoming, and any other boys choice dance for that matter. It stung, no doubt, and I cried my fair share of tears and speculated on what I must have been lacking that all these other girls seemed to have in spades.  Not surprisingly, I figured that it was due to some physical defect that I was undesirable to the opposite sex. But the thing was, I could have cared less about the male population as a whole. The only boy I cared about played a set of drums and fancied himself a rock star in the making. My first love.

You COULDN’T have cared less…COULDN’T. Talk about angst. True though. Nobody wanted to date me in grade school, or middle school, or high school. I was bullied pretty much the entire time. I think jerk kids can smell the weak ones in the pack.

Oh how I adored that boy. From the moment I first laid eyes on him…till the day we laid him to rest… I thought that he was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen in real life.

I don’t know why I didn’t use his name. I think at the time I was embarrassed by apparent obsession. I was 15 for hell sake. Dustin. His name was Dustin. And he died, suddenly and tragically, and it messed me up pretty good.

And though my affections were probably painfully obvious to everyone, including him, I never actually told him how I felt about him. Even though I am fairly confident that our situation would have been that of love unrequited, I still regret to this day not being honest with him about my adorations. But I was so scared of what it would mean if he said he didn’t feel the same way, even though I already sort of knew that that was the case. In all of my teenaged longing, I wanted to believe that somehow, someday, he would realize that he did in fact feel the way I felt about him. It was easier to live in the fantasy of what could be, then in the reality of what was.

The reason I chose to share this story is not an attempt to gain sympathy, or even to illustrate what a well-meaning but highly deluded dweeb I was back then. The reason I chose to share this very personal story in a very public forum, is in hope that there are those of you out there who know what I am mean when I say that I believe to some extent, there are those of us still choosing to live the life of fantasy because we are afraid of what it means to live in reality.

Heh…Dweeb. OK, so not telling people how we really feel until it’s too late. I have become a little obsessed with this over the years.  I’ve lost too many people too tragically, and too quickly to believe that any of us are safe from fate.  If you love someone, tell them. As far as living in fantasy…

There are many aspects of our lives in which we may do this, but the one I want to specifically focus on is, in our romantic dealings. In a world where we have been raised on a steady diet of Disney on one hand, and divorce on the other, it is understandable that many of us may feel a bit, hesitant and perhaps also a bit unrealistic concerning our views of love. If you are at all like me, you might have found yourself a little duel-minded at times, regarding the subject. On one hand I long for the fairy tale romance and that same tingling feeling I got the first time I saw my first love. I want the white knight to ride up on his trusty steed and together we will ride off into suburban bliss. But when I sit and think about the actual implications of such a relationship, I find myself wondering if maybe a life of spinsterhood doesn’t sound that bad. I’m not a cat person however, so I would be the crazy dog lady, or maybe even the crazy chinchilla lady, that sounds like fun.

I have mentioned before that I have had the opportunity of dating many great guys, several of which I believe would have made amazing husbands and fathers. There were even a couple who were ready to take that next step if only I had been willing. And to be fair, even though the moment I learned that my first loved had died, I was convinced that I would never love again, I did in fact meet another man who I felt like I could indeed love in the way I had before. But like it goes so often in dating, that relationship ultimately ended at his request, and I was once again faced with the task of picking up the broken pieces of my heart and finding a way to heal.

I see where I am going with this, or at least, where I went with it. I think what I missed was the reason WHY we would choose fantasy over reality.  It might be that we are afraid of rejection, but when you are a person like me whom fate seems to really like to mess with, then you can actually become afraid of getting what you want.  Sometimes the anticipation of the pain that you imagine will come when you lose the thing you want is so daunting that you convince yourself that it’s better to not want it. Which works super well. Don’t want what you want. Simple.

It’s interesting though to sit in the seat of perspective and look back on things. I think what I am coming to realize that so much of what we call love, or rather being “in” love, has less to do with reality and more to do with the stories we tell ourselves about that person. I’m not saying that this is a bad thing by any means. In fact, I think that in order for a relationship to progress, both parties need to have a slightly idealized conception of their beloved. After all, if you find them just as charming, engaging, alluring, as any other guy or gal on the street, then how are you ever going to come to a decision about which to spend the rest of your days with? To an extent, there does need to be that little extra undefinable something that draws you to that person. And I don’t believe that we need waste time trying to dissect and figure out exactly what that “something” is. You can drive yourself crazy with such endeavors. And if the relationship ends, you can drive yourself equally as mad trying to figure out what happened to that “something” that seemed to be there when you first started dating but now seems to have mysteriously vanished like the other sock in the dryer.

I’m giving perspective on my perspective. Mind blown.  This paragraph is SO interesting to me for a number of reasons that I can’t go into right now. I will say that Narrative continues to play a huge part in my world view.  In fact, I used the concept of Narrative throughout my grad school application essay. We are the stories we tell ourselves about ourselves, about each other, and about reality. Who is writing that story? We are. But is it a conscious thing?…..Meep?

So if we can agree that not all fairy tale-ish feelings are a total crock, then can we also concede that perhaps the stock we place in such things may be a bit…over zealous?

Fairytales are snapshots of the best and worst parts of humanity.  I recently had to argue with a certain someone about why it isn’t harmful to let your child believe in Santa Claus. The underlying question being…Is fantastical thinking detrimental?

The truth is, we all have expectations for ourselves and for the person we hope to someday marry. What I am proposing (See what I did there?), is that maybe juuuuuuust maybe those expectations are better served as plot fodder for a poorly written vampire series, than they are for an actual relationship. To put it bluntly, ain’t nobody perfect, and if that is what you are looking for then you are going to end up alone or extremely disappointed. Many people will say that they are not looking for someone who is perfect, but just someone who is perfect for them. That’s cute, but I feel, still perhaps a bit too Disney. This is not to say that we should throw our lists out the window entirely, but it does mean that maybe we take a second and third look at that list and then be reeeeaaally honest with ourselves about which realm of existence we are inhabiting; romantically speaking.

Who hurt you?!?! Oh yeah, his name was Scott. I think this was the Scott fallout timeline. Scott is a musician. Never date musicians. I think Scott and I dated in 2010…But he broke my heart, or as he would put it, “I broke my heart up against him”…Musicians.

We all want love. We all want that feeling we felt with our first loves, who at the time, we all probably thought would be our lasts loves. But may I be so bold as to say that there may indeed be a love out there that surpasses both of these, but that ironically, and in reality, are as different in nature from these other loves as the night is from the day. There are aspects of all in all, but the kind of love I think we are really wanting, is that of true love. And not true love as it has been come to be known in pop culture and fairy tales, but rather love in truth, with all of it’s accompanying flaws and challenges. It may not be a fantasy, but it’s real. And when something becomes real, it takes on an authenticity that is so much more satisfying than any fantasy could ever provide. We can touch it, and hold it, and trust it, and rest in the knowledge that we have indeed found something true in this world of smoke and mirrors.

Let us all be brave enough to live in reality, so that we may enjoy the endless possibilities it holds.

Man I was cryptic. I am a Master of the vagueblogging. Also I kinda wonder what my ultimate point was.  So fairytales are bad? Lower your expectations? Don’t settle? Invest in bitcoin?

Narrative is a Bitch.  I don’t think I have the desire to get into all of this right now, so I will just leave it at this…

Everything is true until it is not.  Everything is impossible until it isn’t.  You are never going to find someone until you do. And never date Musicians.

Until next time!


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