indivisible [ November 13, 2009, 12:29 am ]

When I was little, my 20s seemed so far off. When I was little I thought that adults played all day after they were done with high school. When I was little I thought I'd be married by the time I was 27. I was so innocent back them.

I learned the value in higher education long before I set foot on Northern's campus, mainly because it was college or bust, according to my mom. (And thank GOD it was that way.) So that whole playing post-high school dream? Never realized.

And my 20s came roaring in at an alarming rate. And the years seem to be slipping by all stealthy-like. There's not a lot I can do about that, but acknowlege that it's been a good decade for me thus far.

The married thing, on the other hand. A large part of me laughs and wants to pat child-Krissy on the head because that's such a cute and charming idea. Who doesn't think they'll be married by the time they're 25 or so? That's lightyears away when you're in kindergarten. You can't even think about learning the next letter in the alphabet, let alone worry about how you're going to find a prince to marry so you can live in a unicorn castle.

The other part of me, though, is a little frozen, a bit scared. I'm 27 and by no means an old maid by any modern definition of the phrase. But upon some reflection, I found that I was still holding onto my kindergarten belief that I would be permanently coupled up by now. Despite all of my feminist beliefs and the healing journey I am still very much in the middle of, a part of me thinks I should be betrothed. And this annoys me.

More than that, though, it's a bit upsetting. And why wouldn't it be? It seems like every week on Facebook another friend is announcing an engagement or a baby on the way or a new house to move into. There's no denying it: I am officially an adult. And I have adult friends doing very adult things like planning weddings and buying houses and parenting babies. When these things are increasingly becoming the norm for my generation, it's only natural that I would start wanting a piece of the normalcy myself. (Except for the baby piece. Good GOD, no babies, please.)

It's frustrating on a couple of levels, the first being that I truly enjoy being single and cultivating a relationship with me. I've recently discovered that I'm not bad at throwing paint on canvas and that I can actually whip up a semi-decent dinner using random ingredients in my fridge. These things might seem ordinary and mundane, but to me they're exciting. And I like the idea of knowing that I have first kisses left to be nervous about and bad dates left to experience (and write about). In a way, it's kind of an adventure...though I'm not sure how much of one I'll be having living on the plains of mid-Minnesota. (Though a man twice my age invited me to go snowmobiling with him this winter just a few short hours ago. A lucky gal I am.)

Which leads to level 2 of my frustration: the waiting, the wondering, the sheer panic that sets in from time to time. I barely dated in college. I've had one serious relationship that blew up in my face. And there aren't a lot of quality guys scrambling to get my attention in the college village where I live. And that's just it. There's a reason there's a pattern of erratic dating behavior. I'm not a drop-dead gorgeous supermodel who makes all men drool. I'm a short, loud, plus-size woman who attracts gay men. While that makes for some fabulous experiences and stories, it hasn't exactly helped my case in the romance department.

Innately, I know that I'm an amazing catch: intelligent, creative, fun-loving, driven, optimistic, a big open heart. Yet, I notice that I'm not hit on at the bars when I'm with a group of friends. I realize that I'm not a lot of guys' type. And for the most part, I'm ok with that. But every once in a while (ie: tonight) I get into a funk and then a panic that I'll never meet the person I'm meant to be with. It's a consuming panic that leaves me breathless and teary-eyed and luckily it doesn't last for long, but it's very real. And just a little frightening. And unnerving.

And I don't know how to cure it. Is there a cure, really? Probably not. I have no solutions for this, no words of inspiration to carry me through this tiny tragedy in my life. All I can think to do is crawl into bed, where maybe dreams of unicorn castles and living happily ever after will trick me into thinking that life is magical and fabulous. Here's hoping that works.

last - next

navigate
current
archives
profile
twitter
notes
host
design