I think it's time I start taking better control over my narrative.
I was getting an echocardiogram today with a less than friendly tech today, and as I laid in the dark room, on the hard table listening to my own heart I started to reflect a bit more of my life choices. What brought me to this point where I'm only 31 years old, alone, and faced with so much uncertainty?
I was always a bit of a romantic. I suppose that's the Libra in me. Sure there's the Disney aspect of it all, but it's more than that. First there was all the Jane Austen film and literature and sweeping prose with chemistry that just leaped off the page. Then the usual rom coms with moments that make you swoon. I could watch Billy Crystal declare his love to Meg Ryan on New Years Eve hundreds of times and still tear up every time. I was your typical dreamer in love with the idea of love. I would watch these films and know with certainty that I'd have my own story one day.
Fast forward through high school, college and a couple heartbreaks later and I was ready to maybe embrace the single life better. I had a lot of self-doubt and fell victim to the classic - how can anyone love me if I don't love myself? And sure, it was sad to think about. Though I was always happy to see my friends find their stories, deep down there was the constant nagging that I would never find my own. I convinced myself I found a new love - work. And I focused on my career and my personal aspirations. And I did well.
I didn't give up on my love stories just yet, but I did lean more towards movies with realistic endings. La La Land, Casablanca - I mean, who isn't agreeing with Rick that Ilse needs to get on that plane, that they can't be together for the greater good? I decided that this was the story I was ok with - better to have loved and lost, etc.
Anyway, eventually I gave up on the love stories. For the past year it's been comedies, nostalgia, true crime and reality competition shows. With the change in entertainment came more of a life change. I was confident on my own... and I was funny. Or at least I thought I was funny. And I plate dishes really well - can't promise they taste good - but they sure looks delicious! I feel like I accepted my fate and that, for the most part, life didn't suck.
And then quarantine. And then health issues. And then I find myself on that cold echocardiogram table with a less than friendly tech listening to the sound of my heart and wondering why I gave up. Why did I give up? Why did I accept that I was unworthy of my own story? Why did I allow myself to be ok with a life less than I had dreamed?
And I started thinking again of the romantic in me. The one who used to belt out duets in cars on the way home, who would watch the Disney fireworks knowing that the feelings I had were proof of the magic in this world. Or the girl who saw it was raining outside and wanted to go dancing? What happened to the girl who play acted scenes from Pride and Prejudice when no one was home to see, and looked up at moon with certainty that her crush was looking at the same moon?
The truth is - I don't know that she can come back. But when quarantine is over, I'm sure as hell going to try. Because no matter how low I think of myself at times - no one deserves to be alone in a dark room listening to their own heart and wondering what went wrong.
