“It seems so dreadful to stay a bachelor, to become an old man struggling to keep one’s dignity while begging for an invitation whenever one wants to spend an evening in company, to lie ill gazing for weeks into an empty room from the corner where one’s bed is, always having to say good night at the front door, never to run up a starway beside one’s wife, to have only side does in one’s room leading into other people’s living rooms, having to carry one’s supper home in one’s hand, having to admire other people’s children and not even being allowed to go on saying: ” I have none myself,” modeling oneself in appearance and behavior on one or two bachelors remembered from one’s youth.
That is how it will be, except that in reality, both today and later, one will stand there with a palpable body and a real head, a real forehead, that is , for smiting on with one’s hand.” Franz Kafka, The Bachelor’s Ill Luck
I hate to be one of those people that quotes modern classics to prove a point, and I’m not a big fan of Kafka, to be perfectly honest. In fact, I just picked up his works today, and am only half way through a compilation of his material, but I’m not a fan so far.
However, this piece of literature spoke to me. Well, a former fear of mine.
Everyone is scared that they’ll be forever alone, worried that no one will ever be the other piece of the puzzle that is themselves. People wake up, spend hours preening themselves, picking the perfect shades of green or blue, hoping to attract a mate for life, for the moment, for whatever; looking for fulfillment, justification, love and appreciation.
I am no longer scared of being forever alone. I have learned two very cliche things about love and happiness.
1) You will never be able to find love if you do not love yourself.
2) Love will find you while you are sitting outside of a coffee shop.
Thank you, Landon Pigg.
I have learned through trial and trial again that if I am not confident in myself, sure that I am competent and healthy and whole, then no one else will be sure of these things either.
There are days when I wake up feeling like a dragon. My breath smells rank, my hair is wild and untamed, my eyes are thick with sleep and my heart is heavy because my jeans no longer fit. I am cranky and tired and in desperate need of a cigarette and caffeine .
And while I’m stuffing myself into ill worn jeans, scratching my head in frustration and angst, searching for a lighter, cursing like a sailor, and not giving a damn about my smelly mouth, there is a man laying in bed, staring lazily at me, eyes full of wonder and love, smiling because he thinks I’m silly, because he loves me for my flaws.
This is a man that stands solid when life sweeps my feet out from under me, is fearless when I’m angry, tender when I’m a broken down, fragile, shattered mess, and does not get irritated when I change the channel to CSI every single time he sets the remote down.
This magnificent creature found me skipping class at Starbucks, asked me where I was from, and promptly stole my heart. Six months later, we are engaged to be married.
I am going to spend the rest of my life with this man. And I love him for his flaws.
I love that he makes stupid decisions on occasion, gets frustrated with life, pushes everything until it breaks, and sometimes lets things get to him. I love that he picks at me, and I at him. I love his scruffy hair, scruffy shorts, scruffy face. I love that he loves me.
Am I worried that I’ll ever be alone? No. Not a chance in a million years.
Because, honestly, if he loves me when I have smelly breath and am being bitchzilla, he will love me when I’m not.
