Tonight, I’m feeling a wee bit drained. While fumbling around for a blog post topic, the gracious MTM suggested that I write a post extolling his numerous virtues. Since largely all I ever do on this blog is make fun of his architectural proclivities – his assertion; I’m not sure whether I agree – I thought I’d give it a go.
I spent some time tonight reading an old journal. Yes, I actually used to record my thoughts longhand, in a private book that I never shared with anyone, instead of vomiting them onto the internet for a fraction of the world to read.
What I reconnected with was how lonely, how hopelessly lost, I was before I met MTM. Pages of searching, of trying, of pretending, of ranting – all melodramatic scribblings about the unfairness of being alone.
People didn’t help me much with dating back then. It was always something I was doing (“You’re trying too hard.”) Or not doing (“You’re not trying hard enough.”) Or communicating (“Men read that you’re desperate.”) Or not saying (“You don’t need anybody, and men need to feel needed.”) Or just plain falling short (“Just stop looking, and he will find you.”)
All of these unwanted pieces of advice had one common theme. I was to blame for my single state. I was flawed. I was not good enough to be part of a whole.
That’s all I ever heard, anyway. For years.
My dear friend Joanna summed it up this way instead. There was a man out there, and he just wasn’t ready for me. When he was perfectly deserving of all I had to offer – when he was truly ready – I would meet him. She’s the only person I’ve ever met – before or since – who parsed my being alone as a condition that wasn’t my fault.
Every day, I know that she was right. If I had settled for anyone save MTM, I would be incomplete, someone inexplicably connected to him yet not with him, still yearning for him in the daylight or in the dark.