I realized something the other day: I sell myself short on a daily basis, and I have a fear of finding Mr. Right because I assume that once he gets to know me, he’ll pull a, “Oh, this is the real you? Just kidding. Bye.”
I’m tired of goodbye. In my 20s, it was never something that got me down; moving on wasn’t an issue. Around 30, goodbyes began to head in the direction of heartbreaking; I took them personally, even though I knew I shouldn’t. Now, the concept of “goodbye” is just one of those things that makes me not want to go there at all. I’m tired of them because they’re draining, and because they make me think too much.
I’m a fairly quiet person. I like to sit, think, listen, think some more, wonder things about the stuff I’m thinking, and take everything in. When I’m in a social setting, however, the other me comes out to play. No, there isn’t anything split-personality-ish going on here, it’s just a different side of me — the side that realizes that people are uncomfortable around other people who don’t really talk a whole lot. I’ve been perceived as bitchy, stuck-up, better than — you name it. People who don’t know me think these things, and they couldn’t be more false.
Anyway, I’ve never reconciled the those two people in me — the quiet one, and the more social one. At home, I don’t have to — and since that’s where I am a lot of the time, I probably could use more practice at this. I think I’m short-changing myself to the point of it being detrimental to personal and emotional growth in the meantime. Why?
Because I think I’m good enough for things, but not people.
I think I’m good enough for experiences, but not relationships.
I tend to think someone’s flaws can often be the best, most colorfully rich parts about them, but I have a hard time thinking that anyone would feel that way towards me.
I’ll gladly talk to anyone and everyone, but when it comes time to consider the possibility that someone might be interested in me, my reaction is generally, “Really? Nope, not likely at all.”
Oddly, if you told me I don’t have much to offer, I’d argue that point passionately. But when it comes to a guy, I immediately think, “Why would he want me? There isn’t anything special about me at all.” Case in point: a friend at work recently told me that I’m a catch; I laughed at him, then I wondered why I was laughing.
It’s a ridiculous, interesting — yet terrible — cycle. Some might call it simply “terribly interesting” but, no, there really is an element of pure “terrible” to it all. I don’t get it, and until I do, I’ll probably think there’s no Mr. Right to my Ms. Wrong, and I’ll assume that “every pot has a lid” applies to everyone else except me.
None of this, by the way, means that I’m not happy. I’m content with the way things are, and I’m fairly at peace with them. It’s just that I wonder if he’s out there, and — assuming he is — I go back to what I do best again: I think. I wonder in how many ways I’ll grow before we’re meant to meet, how long it will take for that feeling of “I’m ready” to take shape, and I wonder whether he feels the same as I do.
I wonder, but I am thankful for being content in the meantime.