I am reminded of Icarus, who flew too close to the sun…
You’ll have to forgive me and indulge me in my emotional mood if you are reading this post. It’s not every day that I fall for someone, but I suppose the outcome shouldn’t feel so unexpected by now. I really thought I had a chance; my delusion, I guess, runs deep (something about hope springing eternal?). I truly think she’s one in a million. Luck, or fate, or whatever it is, never seems to be on my side on the matter of love. In everything else, I feel like I’ve won in life.
For the greater portion of my life, I’ve been grappling with the question of whether it’s possible to have a fulfilling life without love (the romantic kind, not the familial, etc.). Much of my super-introverted self wishes to say yes, to justify the status quo of my existence. What I do — how I live — must mean something, right? A self-reliant person should be able to be content and full. But in the realest sense, our lives are frighteningly finite, and it is only through connections that meaning is imbued. Living some “noble” life seems to have little effect: what does the weight of humanity care about our small, staunch resistances? How much can a single individual alter the relentless flow of time? Perhaps all we can do is impress upon another’s mind all that we believe is beautiful and special in our tiny slice of space and time.
My life since puberty has shown me that I’m interested in some girl about once every 4 or 5 years. It sounds strange to say, but I am beginning to think that it’s not just my utter lack of self confidence, but also the fact that I aim too high. At some point long ago (I think in high school or earlier), I decided that I would only date someone if I though she were smarter, prettier, and a better person than me. That she is prettier is a gimme, but the union of the other two is really hard to find. And really, what would a girl like that want anything to do with me? I guess the two problems are related.
We’ll see who shows up in the coming 5 years. It’s also possible that it won’t matter by then.
On the plus side, since I did get rejected by her, I do intend to make good on my promise and get a kitten (or kittens?). Should I get a scottish fold? That seems to be the favorite among those surveyed in this apartment. I should probably start reading up on cat care, or something. It’s also kind of brain-explodingly strange how sad I am about the acquisition of a kitten.
Yes, I am sad, but I don’t really feel all that depressed. I haven’t even cried (much, yet). Maybe I think she’ll eventually turn around. Maybe I still hold on to the belief that life keeps flowing, and things will turn out how they should. As one who rejects the pleasure principle, I’ve never expected life to make me happy. There are still many profound things to discover, large and small, alone, and miles to go before I sleep.
I had this poem in my head this morning, but I suppose I now have to change the tense:
Roses are red,
Violets are blue,
The trivial and trite
Became splendid with you.