Love. You are this tangible, real feeling that seems nearly impossible to attain. Love. You make it hard for me to fake a smile when I feel like I am falling apart inside. Love. Your presence forces me to look down when I really just want to stare. Love. You are the reason for the knots in my stomach that leave me gasping for air.
You are probably thinking, “An open invitation to love…really?” Yes. This seems like a cliché plot in some heinous romantic comedy starring Kate Hudson (or, really, the end of “Never Been Kissed”), but as corny as it is, love does make the world go round. Despite its fleeting presence in life, I want love. I need love. I hope for love. However, I do not expect love. I do not want second-rate love. I do not wish to settle.
How realistic is romance in college? Hasn’t all of the anonymity been taken away through scandalous Saturday nights at Toad’s and “walks of shame” practically every other morning? It is not like Facebook helps because there is a nice, friendly little reminder of your drunken evening the next day. I am no Sherlock Holmes, but shouldn’t there be a little bit of mystery left? I am not judging, either, because I am sure not all hook-ups happen this way. However, as an on-campus resident last year, I know that this occurs far more often than not.
Perhaps I am making excuses for not having found someone. It’s possible those excuses have closed me off to finding someone out there. There is an admitted tinge of jealousy when my friends talk to me about their amazing night out with the person they are seeing. I could not be happier, though, and anticipate hearing their stories. However, it would be nice if I could have that story for a change. I want to be the one that makes them red-faced. I want to bring their jaw to the floor in awe over a night I had in complete ecstasy. And I don’t even mean sex. It does not take a lot to put a smile on my face.
A few weeks ago, my Chinese fortune told me to not give up and that the beginning is always the hardest. I am not overly superstitious and always take my fortunes with a grain of salt, but I entertained this as possible kismet for the future. If the beginning is always the hardest,the middle should be a piece of cake, right? The perpetual stagnancy of the beginning isn’t fun anymore.
Clearly, I need to generate a new iTunes playlist that doesn’t make me want bury my head in a pillow and scream. I can only listen to Donna Lewis sing about someone with the most unbelievable blue eyes so many times. Or Edwin McCain whimper about being a person’s crying shoulder. Yes, I am stuck in the ’90s and the soundtrack of my life is ripped from an old episode of “Dawson’s Creek,” but that is irrelevant at this point in time. I should heed advice from Wilson Phillips and just hold on for one more day.
I do not think I was ever open or ready for love before. Maybe I was too timid. Maybe I was too shy. Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted. Maybe I should stop using “maybe” and start figuring out what I want because “maybe” is just another way to avoid the inevitable.
So what do I hope will happen after publicly venting about my absent love life? Well, nothing. I am not Drew Barrymore. I am not expecting to be swept off my feet in the middle of the baseball field. (Nor would I want to be, either. That is just awkward.) This is real life. Sometimes, there is no happy ending. And that is perfectly okay. I am prepared to hold my head up high (and continue to do so, presently).
Here is my invitation to you Love. I invite you to surprise me. I know you are there looking for someone. Surprise me and yourself by stepping out of your comfort zone. Nothing will move forward if you remain silent. I invite you to take a chance on me. It is difficult for you, Love, because you do not know how it will go. It is possible that you yourself do not know what you really want. Trust me. You will regret it if you do not make something happen. It is not too late. I invite you to speak up and fight for yourself. Because you know what, Love? I’m ready now. Come get me.