I've had a series of interesting conversations recently: about men, about women, about ambition and accomplishment, about Sex and the City, about failure, and, of course, about relationships. I saw a picture recently that said "Someone should sue Disney for all the false hopes and dreams they gave little girls [and boys]." I want to say I disagree, but... I guess the more I'm bouncing along, the sadder and more cynical I'm becoming. Maybe twenty-three is characterized by all time high cynicism or maybe I'm prone to being twisted and unhappy because I want to be a writer? Maybe everyone around me is crazy, or maybe this is just life. (In which case, F#$&.) Yesterday, my very cynical and jaded friend Z spoke the best philosophical bullsh$% I've heard from him in years (paraphrased to the best of my ability):
"Even I know that all the work and ambition and crap that we go through doesn't mean anything if you don't have love. Because love is awesome, and love is worth living for and it's what makes everything worthwhile."
Good old golden glibbed Z. (Take that alliteration.) He stuck it to me good. The little idealistic part of See that stays safe and hidden beneath piles of drive and goals, but wants to believe every last word of it. I, in fact, do believe every last word. Especially due to the greater than handful of married friends and acquaintances. If they're not married, they will be married in the next year. Or, my fair share of single friends wending their way through pseudo-relationship and one night stand bliss. Or, even better, the unlucky few (or many) friends in the throes of mucky breakups. None of these people are under-accomplished or ambition-less. They're actually people I hold in high regard, and whom I admire. By textbook standards, they're the people who make the world go round, and are so busy making it happen they should have no time for matters of the heart. Yet, somehow, across the board I hear the same lament: Whaddafux up with Love? Lament, lament, rant, rant, boo, hiss, anger. All the smart people in the world, put together in a room, couldn't figure out the answer to that question. I know enough disgruntled, jaded, twenty and thirty (eek) somethings to start a small civilization based solely on irritation and unhappiness.
Except, that's why it's so strange. I've never felt more alive in my life. I've never felt more stimulated, and excited, and ready to face a new challenge. I'm terrified, but I'm open to anything. Somehow all the craziness of this age -- the mayhem I've attempted to quietly mask as organization, stability and ambition -- is making me believe in and appreciate love more whenever I find it. With my family, with my friends, and with all the little transient moments between people who have found a way to connect and understand each other. So maybe, in all of my attempts to understand "everlasting" and "enduring" love, I'm just realizing that it might not feel as pervasive and overwhelming as it did in uh, High School. But, it's perhaps even preferable in this form. The little nugget of happiness that nudges its way into my heart between breaths, when I take a moment to stop and remember all the fabulous people and relationships in my life. Plus, I figure, one day I'll be lying on a beach somewhere sipping a gin and tonic thinking, "all the turmoil was worth it."
HAHA, what a lie. Anyways, enough melodrama. Something to lighten the mood for a day of silly ruminations and writings:
This picture is amazing! So much for professionialism. This blog has made it into full-blown hilarity and inappropriateness.
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