I've always been a hopeless romantic. There's no need for further explanation even, it's just who I am. I have always daydreamed that the boy I had a crush on would come sweep me off my feet and every time I decide I like someone, I desperately look for the best in them, trying so hard to trust in that part that says they like me.
I think that's what keeps me from staying at home on a Friday night, afraid to put myself out there. Because if anyone can say that they put themselves out there, again and again, I can say that. I do it again and again and again. And I get my heart -- or my ego -- bruised a lot. They may turn out to be married and just looking for an ego boost or they might be sincere but disappear with the whim of a job at the last minute or they might just not be right and not move past a second or third date.
Every time, for at least twenty-four hours, I declare that it's the last time I can do that. I say that I won't put myself out there again, just to be hurt. But then I wake up one morning, and the slightest glimmer of hope for romance, of finding someone new to start with, inspires me to try again.
I can't help myself, I guess.
I've been wondering lately, as I wonder why I got hurt again this time, if this is a flaw. If I'd be a stronger person if I could just be content to stay home on a Friday night, unfazed by the absence of flirtation, not needing that rush of hopeful romance. If I didn't need love from someone else to make my life feel complete.
And I don't have the answers. I think, despite all the heartbreak that comes with being open to love everywhere and at the same time sensitive to disappointment, that I am better off this way. That I am happier being the girl who puts herself out there, the girl who is honest and not afraid of her emotions, than the girl who sits alone on a Friday night and complains that she will always be alone. I do have moments where I am proud of myself for trying. I do think I would rather look back on my life and know that I tried, even if I failed, rather than feared even putting myself in the game.
And maybe because I am sensitive, because I can be honest with my emotions, I am better equipped for the disappointment. I am better able to feel the hurt, work through it and move on to the next possibility.
Or maybe I just am trying to convince myself that this is for the best, because I am so hurt and heartbroken again that I can't even picture how to open up the next time.
I feel lost tonight. But I still hope that my Jane Austen romanticism will rear it's ugly head tomorrow morning.