Has to be a J. J-.... something. Jack or Jonathan or Jim. Maybe a Jordan or a Jude. Julian? Jeff? I mean, how many J's are out there? It certainly does limit my prospects. My soulmate needs to be a J because I have three sisters who all have Js that complete them. It's my destiny and our legacy. Everyone thinks so.
Like when my aunt brought three loaves braided butter bread home to bake for each of the Js. On Christmas Eve, while each sister and her J shared their loaf, Aunt came and said to me, "And when you have a J, you'll get some butter bread too." Or when, on Christmas Day, each sister and her J got a stocking full of candy to share and my stepmom came and said to me, "Well you don't have to share your's, do you?" and proceeded to hand me my very own stocking full of my very own candy that was completely and utterly mine. It's like I've become a character in one of those comedies where the one thing wrong in her life becomes so ironically shoved in her face that it becomes hilarious, even to her.
I've never had an issue being single. Well, actually that's a lie. Everyone has an issue with being single at some point. And then you get over it and you're fine with it and, if you're me, you end up not being single a year later for a few months until things end and you get to learn to be okay with being single all over again. So how is it that, in the brief week that I have been home from college, after being okay with being single for almost a year, I've been made to feel so completely not okay with being single? Look, even this paragraph contains the word so many times that it's hackneyed and kind of funny. The word has dug its way into my mental life too and is seeping out and staining my words with its ridiculous ubiquity.
But it's fine, right? I can sit all day and drink coffee and read Anna Karenina or the entirety of the Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings series and not have to worry about telling my other half where I am or why I'm not answering my phone or why I haven't gotten out of bed all day. While my sisters are off being in love and starting families and lives, I can go study at Oxford or travel the world or write a novel or something. Hell, I can pack up and move my life to a completely different state and not worry about the soulmate I am leaving behind.
A few years ago, all of those things made me so completely and irrevocably happy. But now, when I think back to sitting at the dining room table at our family Christmas dinner, surrounded by little tiny families blooming within my family, I can't help but feel like I'm missing out on something bigger than studying or traveling or the reading and writing or books. All of the things through which my dreams have been defined seem to dull in the light of each of my sisters' lives.
At the same time, there's that part of me that's fighting the feeling of being alone, because it shouldn't matter to me. I've never wanted to be one of those girls who is lost without a relationship and I'm pretty certain I can still say I am not. Maybe I'm close or in danger of such a crutch, but I haven't yet leaned on it and I don't intend to. Even if the idea of sharing butter bread and a stocking and a seat on a couch in my dad's living room makes me feel both sad and hopeful, sort of bittersweet, I still want to be okay with a single chair and a single cup of coffee and a single book to have all by myself while everyone around me is sharing every little piece of life with someone else.
It's not like I'm running out of time. I still have a couple years to live with Just me, who I've become so comfortable with that I can spend all day with her and not want to strangle her by the end. But sometimes, those Js or Ks or Ls or As or Es (seriously, screw destiny and legacy both) look so much better than a life with Just me.
Like when my aunt brought three loaves braided butter bread home to bake for each of the Js. On Christmas Eve, while each sister and her J shared their loaf, Aunt came and said to me, "And when you have a J, you'll get some butter bread too." Or when, on Christmas Day, each sister and her J got a stocking full of candy to share and my stepmom came and said to me, "Well you don't have to share your's, do you?" and proceeded to hand me my very own stocking full of my very own candy that was completely and utterly mine. It's like I've become a character in one of those comedies where the one thing wrong in her life becomes so ironically shoved in her face that it becomes hilarious, even to her.
I've never had an issue being single. Well, actually that's a lie. Everyone has an issue with being single at some point. And then you get over it and you're fine with it and, if you're me, you end up not being single a year later for a few months until things end and you get to learn to be okay with being single all over again. So how is it that, in the brief week that I have been home from college, after being okay with being single for almost a year, I've been made to feel so completely not okay with being single? Look, even this paragraph contains the word so many times that it's hackneyed and kind of funny. The word has dug its way into my mental life too and is seeping out and staining my words with its ridiculous ubiquity.
But it's fine, right? I can sit all day and drink coffee and read Anna Karenina or the entirety of the Harry Potter or Lord of the Rings series and not have to worry about telling my other half where I am or why I'm not answering my phone or why I haven't gotten out of bed all day. While my sisters are off being in love and starting families and lives, I can go study at Oxford or travel the world or write a novel or something. Hell, I can pack up and move my life to a completely different state and not worry about the soulmate I am leaving behind.
A few years ago, all of those things made me so completely and irrevocably happy. But now, when I think back to sitting at the dining room table at our family Christmas dinner, surrounded by little tiny families blooming within my family, I can't help but feel like I'm missing out on something bigger than studying or traveling or the reading and writing or books. All of the things through which my dreams have been defined seem to dull in the light of each of my sisters' lives.
At the same time, there's that part of me that's fighting the feeling of being alone, because it shouldn't matter to me. I've never wanted to be one of those girls who is lost without a relationship and I'm pretty certain I can still say I am not. Maybe I'm close or in danger of such a crutch, but I haven't yet leaned on it and I don't intend to. Even if the idea of sharing butter bread and a stocking and a seat on a couch in my dad's living room makes me feel both sad and hopeful, sort of bittersweet, I still want to be okay with a single chair and a single cup of coffee and a single book to have all by myself while everyone around me is sharing every little piece of life with someone else.
It's not like I'm running out of time. I still have a couple years to live with Just me, who I've become so comfortable with that I can spend all day with her and not want to strangle her by the end. But sometimes, those Js or Ks or Ls or As or Es (seriously, screw destiny and legacy both) look so much better than a life with Just me.