My friend, Lissa, and I were talking about finding our people. After a few hits and misses, she told me that she was ready to find her person, settle into being an adult, and having children… the whole nine. I don’t know if I’m in the same place that she is, but I have suddenly have this feeling that I should be searching for my person. I’ve been unable to shake the feeling, so maybe it is time for me to get serious about finding my person. I always believed that you know when you find your person. Not quite the fairytale we are all fed as children, but I believed that you meet someone, and you and that person just fit together. I don’t know who my person is, and I don’t know if there is just one… but “my person?” He’s going to be the person that gets my shit, makes me laugh, and never tires of me.
While Lissa and I were talking, she asked me if I had anyone in my life. And I don’t… not the kind that are a story you want. I have forgone conclusions. I have these relationships with men where I already know the ending.
You know, those people who, if timing had been on your side, you would be together for the rest of time… except in some sick twist of fate, it fell apart. But… you and that person are still friends… still talk… and still remember that beautiful spark that you had once-upon-a-time. So, you are stuck in this little bubble where you and that person support each other, and are for all intents and purposes “with” that person… but you aren’t. You already know that the world threw you apart from each other, and that it simply won’t happy anymore. It’s these relationships that I manage to cultivate… even though I know they are forgone conclusions. I don’t love them anymore. They don’t love me anymore… but we are still here. In that gray area, where you aren’t with each other, but you aren’t not with each other either.