I heard that the other day and it resonated with me. I never liked cleaning.
The times I did buckle down and commit I found myself unable, or perhaps unwilling, to contain the spill. I eventually walked away leaving behind aspirations I could no longer support.
I see other women and men in relationships and I know their partnerships are just as difficult as any I have been in. I’m not special. I watch these people, who appear happy, and wonder if there will ever be a mess I like enough to stick it out for.
I continue to be attracted to men who are unavailable to me. And those who chase after me, who pamper me can’t hold my attention. All part of my brain’s mechanisms for keeping me from taking the easy way, or settling out of pure loneliness.
A friend recently told me “there are plenty of fish in the sea.” Yea, so it was not the most creative pep talk, but he was making the point there are more out there, don’t give up. But isn’t the point of fishing really about the tales of big fish on the high seas? Who wants the fish that jumps into the boat?
There must be people who prefer the road most traveled who would rather read a good story, not participate in one. I just don’t think I am one of those.
I want, NO, I’m in need of someone who tickles my creativity, who is inspired by my sense of adventure and who needs, not wants, to be part of an evolving story.
I’ve been single, apart from some dates here or there, for more than three years now. A couple months back I asked a male friend of mine if he could identify why? He, maybe out of kindness, could not give me a hard-fast answer.
But I know why. I suppose I knew then. It is not them it is me. It’s not that I am unattractive and it is not my career or my being a single mother. And it’s really not that I’m afraid of getting stuck with someone’s mess.
It’s because I’m secure in my idea that in the end all we have are our stories, and I am looking for someone to help me write a good, messy story, and I will settle for no less.