DAY THREE HUNDRED AND NINETEEN: The Pauper Falls Madly In Love
I have no idea how it happened. Truly and honestly. All these years I have been searching. And it's true what they say, it happens when you least expect it. But suddenly, I'm in love.
It's not quite the euphoric feeling I imagined after years of digesting Disney princess films. And it wasn't quite as obvious as listening to a musical cue play while two strangers reach for the same book and looking longingly up at each other. But it happened.
I remember the early days of our relationship. I was in an utterly lonely place in life. Having just moved to a new city, I had zero friends aside from my own personal alienation. And then one day, we took a walk together. Around the area. It was late, the sound of summer cicadas echoed through the streets. We listened to music. And we walked. And we discussed our insecurities. Our pleasures, our pains. Our fears and dreams. We bonded in a way few people ever do.
And to think, I was only 12.
I spent the majority of my teenaged years hating my new companion. She was embarrassing. In school, she had difficulties adjusting to the changes around her. Oftentimes she was teased for being herself. Put down while trying to make new friends. And she got smaller and smaller because of it.
But no matter how much I distanced myself from her, we still had our walks. We'd still stroll around Ballenger Crossing, peeping into Kingsbrook. We'd pass the tennis courts, walkman in hand. Some times a dog would pass. Some times we'd pet it. Some times he'd bark. But after the excitement of interaction settled, we'd return to our conversations. Wondering why the boys weren't chasing after us. Wondering why we had such difficulty connecting. Wondering what the future would hold.
We attended college in the same city. Far away from home. As the city proved an even lonelier abyss than the suburbs, we found solace in each other. So we'd pack up the Creative Zen Micro, shove an earbud in each ear, and go for a walk to the lake. This time, armed with pepper spray.
Two years into college, we traveled to Rome together. The first weekend we were there, we left the orientation grounds to be alone together. Our desire to travel clashed monumentally with our disdain of small talk. Of forced social interaction to meet new people. It's so much easier when it's just the two of us. No judgement. No ridicule. No disappointment. And besides, we were two pretty rad people. Enough company as is.
We left college and were forced to forge our paths in adulthood. We watched our friends fall in love. We watched our loves fall away. We watched our dreams age and petrify. We watched our ages tick away, feeling more and more like Cinderella as we waited for midnight when everything withered away.
But every now and then, we'd still find time to take some walks. Perhaps even a bike ride. And perhaps even with a flask tucked into my pocket. We'd venture to the lake, sit on the rocks, take a swig, listen to music, and stare out into the vast aquatic darkness. Straining to see the other side.
Until talking no longer felt adequate enough. And that's when I started to write.
Days before my 27th birthday, I am no longer afraid of being alone. Some of the most wonderful things that have happened to me have happened because I allowed myself to be alone. I allowed myself to move to Chicago for college. I allowed myself to travel to Rome. But most importantly, I allowed myself to go for walks. Bike rides. Movies. Concerts. Dinner. Flights. Road trips. Back porch wine nights. I've done it all by myself. And without this kind of quality time spent with an individual I spent so much time and energy hating, I don't think I could have fallen so madly in love.
I love my flaws. I love the emotional intricacies I weave in my brain. I love my pain. My pleasure. I love my failures because they keep life interesting. I love my successes because I'm not some kind of depressive and ironic douche bag. I love watching my journey. There's a glorious satisfaction in fully realizing that everyone is fucked. Not in the schadenfreude sense (although everyone can relate). But because once you realize that no one has it figured out, you can sit back and enjoy watching yourself try.
So now I'm going to go out on my back porch, pour a glass of wine, pop my ipod into each one of my years, and have a good long chat with the love of my life.
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