When I Grow Up, I Don't Want to Be an Idiot

The heart is a tricky thing. I wonder what it was that originally caused mankind to associate love and emotion with a bodily organ that simply moves blood. Perhaps it was the life force mentality that ultimately led man to believe that his heart was the center of his feelings while the brain reasoned in logic. Unfortunately, the reality is much less romantic and in order to love one must successfully break the wild stallion that is his mind and bridle his feelings to move him in a healthy and positive direction.

My personal embarrassment is that I let myself fall for someone whose maturity level is that of a petulant child. Repeatedly stomping on my feelings and breaking my heart, he seems to show no semblance of concern for my dignity. Curiously, I am perpetually surprised by his actions or lack thereof, yet I know he is incapable of communicating with me. Frustrated for too long with his juvenile antics, I have to move on and stop caring about someone who could give a shit about me. It hurts and my disposition is one that can’t help but care—BUT, it is over and I need to get over it.

Part of moving on requires a reorganization of one’s life. In my situation, it means that I can’t go on looking for love in all the wrong places. Shopping for projects that need fixing is a bad habit, and I deserve a whole hell of a lot more. The source of my intrinsic lack of self respect remains a mystery, but I know how to change my actions. Life is too short to acquiesce to a miserable existence simply to be in the company of another. I want love. I want the love of another. I want commitment and lifelong partnership. So I must look upward to find my match. Instead of plucking from the mediocre, I want someone who aspires to live! Someone thoughtful, kind, understanding, caring, charming, doting, and above all, loving. In the same way he must have a sense of humor, be strong and smart and persevering. Those are the qualities I desire, and one who possesses even a few of them is more suitable than my recently ended relationship.

So I move forward. For real this time, I promise. Or at least that’s what I keep telling myself (as I’m thinking that I keep writing about this and discussing my frustrations with friends). But I have to keep saying it, believing it, and one day perhaps I’ll be living it without effort. For now I can cling to my anger as a crutch, hold my frustration as a constant reminder of why I need to make better decisions. Tomorrow, though, I hope my motivation for treating myself better will come from self respect.