Where’s My Love?

The rain mocks me.

Wallows with me.

Reflects my image as big fat wet droplets of my own fall rhythmically to that of the sky.

It’s Sunday, and while I relish the downpour on most days; today, it heightens my sadness, mirroring dull, weeping, miserable me.

What could possibly be wrong?

I’ve got a new home. A happy cuddly kitty. A beautiful closet. Friends offering chicken soup and a hearty fire when I’m feeling low, a family bursting in kindness and insistent on Sunday dinners, and a stable and rewarding place to work in.

So what is it?

*cue Lauv’s f*** I’m lonely

I like to blame my desire for a significant other on my biological clock, which happens to be stopped at the “settling down and starting a family” hour. Deep down though, I know that’s a weak and futile attempt at making an excuse.

In reality, I’m lonely.

After growing up believing in “happily ever afters” and waiting patiently for some Prince Charming to call me his princess, after too many evenings spent imagining someone there with me under the sheets, I know that it’s just the helpless romantic in me… hoping to be romantic.

It’s exhausting me to be brave, to be strong, and accepting of my single status when all I want is to know if I will ever be loved that way.

And I wonder if that will ever be. It’s a story that has an uncertain ending I cannot control.

There are times when this thought causes me to break down out of nowhere and slowly sink into tears. It’s a sadness that painfully spreads throughout my body like a virus that not even my purring cat can cure.

Part of why this feels so hurtful to me is that as of late, I’ve noticed a spike in people trying to set me up.

Whether it’s a friend, Mom, or a random stranger who “knows a guy”, there is this ever-present pressure to get myself a mate; which, combined with the hopeless romantic in me, is a terrible match.

After this new potential set up is introduced, I find myself obsessing over not even them, but the idea of him. Matching myself as compatible with this guy because oh, we both like coffee. We both like basketball. We’re both tall. He likes cocktails, I like cocktails. He likes spending time with me, he must want to be in relationship with me!

And then it starts seeping into my real life.

Did he like my picture on Facebook? Is he going to come in for brunch? Will he ask for my number? Is he interested? Does he like me? Does anyone like me?

And it escalates. Because when I meet someone already with the knowledge that it’s an intentional set up, I start automatically romanticizing a future, which is the simple storyteller in me trying to write her own fairy tale ending. And inevitably, it lets me down because with this topic, it’s not up to me how it gets written.

I know everyone has good intentions with me, but it’s distracting me from focusing on things I can control, things I can write my own story about. I’m weak when it comes to men, lonely when it comes to intimate companionship, and hesitant about ever finding love, which is what happens when I’m not working on things that do bring me certain and absolute glee, like writing and pursuing my magazine. When I’m not fully invested in those full joys, my mind wanders down the trail of romance, which is currently devoid of life and which makes me feel awful, but I cannot control my love life.

So I gotta focus on the things I can control, and right now, that’s my happiness.

The question “where’s my love?” isn’t aimed at a significant other, it’s a question aimed at me.

Where’s my love? The love for myself and the love I have for my passions and dreams?

And why am I letting go of that love and trying to find it in someone else?

CAPE-able Of Anything.

I had the sweetest encounter at Starbucks the other afternoon.

Mom and I were grocery shopping and as is tradition, I dressed to the nines because when a stylish young woman lives in a town where the dresscode is that of Xtra Tuff boots and Carharrt jackets, any occasion to dress up is an occasion to dress up.

Now that working at a family owned coffee shop has spoiled me, my visits to Starbucks have become few and far between.

But it was right there in the grocery store. It was fall, and that heavenly scent of that all too familiar autumn classic was whispering to me: “PSLease drink me!”

And so I did.

I’m one of those suckers for this sweet bevvie and I couldn’t resist a “sip” down memory lane.

Anyhoo, apparently my dutch braids, black boots and red plaid Pendleton caught the attention of the barista when we walked up to place our orders, and conversation ensued.

Receiving comments about my appearance is nothing new to me, but this particular tete-a-tete was a special one.

It began with: “I LOVE your coat. Where did you get your coat?”

And then it went down this lane…

“Are you from here? You don’t look like you’re from here.”

“Have you traveled? You look like you’ve been places.”

“Just moved back? Where do you live? You just bought your own house? UGH. Goals!”

“I want to be YOU! You emanate everything I want to be as an adult. How old are you?”

“ONLY 24? I’m so behind in life!”

Blushing as red as my coat, I answered her inquisitive questions as kindly, honestly, and humbly as I could. Out loud, what I’ve accomplished as a twenty-four year old sounded a lot more impressive than I’d ever thought about.

Even though she was full of admiration, I didn’t want her to think that her path had to look the same as mine in order for her to live the life she imagined for herself.

In a position to offer insight and fresh perspective on what her journey into her twenties could look like (she was 19), I jumped at the opportunity to offer inspiration to a young gal who so sweetly looked up to me (figuratively and literally because HI I’m taller than most).

My twenties, while not over yet, have been full of one thing that stands out above all others: growth.

And I’m still growing. Heck, I probably grew from yesterday afternoon to this evening!

I told her to embrace change, to know that the one thing all young people suffer through is the fact that they’ll go through periods of extreme growth, sometimes painful, but oftentimes incredibly rewarding.

I told her to be wise and save money (and that my greatest secret was getting other people to pay which doesn’t mean I’m cheap, it just means I’m smart).

I shared with her that while roommates sometimes feel like the worst, they’re a learning experience that will make you value your alone time.

I asked her not to be jealous of successful people, but to admire and aspire, and adjust as needed to accommodate her own journey, which will look different than everyone else, myself included.

As far as my clothing, which SO does not look like it belongs in this small town? That is me expressing myself to the world that with the right outfit, a young gal in her twenties is CAPE-able of anyting.

And she really is.