There’s a distinct lack of optimism and positive things about this blog these days. I’m sorry. I do think of funny things sometimes, and I do have entertaining moments, but somehow they seem more and more fleeting, despite the steadily-improving level of background stability in my life. Somehow, no matter what is going on in my life, I can’t seem to move very far from the psychedelic elephant in my head.
I have a few other friends who are my age and older, and single. One is a dear friend from college, who, like me, did have a great relationship, but simply could not see the future and broke up with him. Granted, she was 24 at the time, if not younger, but since she is also 29, single and apparently without hope on the horizon, we feel like we are in a similar place.
The one thread that seems to be common to all of us is the disappearance of optimism. Perhaps it is cliché to think of youth as a time of optimism – heck I was so depressed when I was 24 – but I cannot deny that when I was younger, it was easier to believe and believe in people. One made an effort to meet new people, and it didn’t matter too much how they responded. These days I am so reluctant to make the effort, because I simply do not want to waste it unless I can be sure of a positive outcome, that the friendship will be worth it. One friend says he doesn’t even try to meet new people, never mind date them, anymore.
My friend from college says, and I agree, that the problem with trying to date at this point is somehow there have been enough bad experiences to outweigh the good ones, and I don’t even want to flirt anymore because I know, I KNOW, that the guy will not call, or play games, or just be a jerk. (Not saying women don’t so this too.)
KaraokeBoy, at the ripe old age of 23 and a bit, tells me I’m stupid, because everything works out. I’m beginning to think that 23 is the right age to get married, because at 23 you do, actually, in the face of all evidence to the contrary, believe that everything works out. You do believe that you can surmount anything with love. You do believe that people genuinely aren’t just fuckers, and its circumstances that make things turn out the way they do. You do believe in third, fourth, fifth and seven-hundredth chances.
Somehow, I can’t bring myself to believe even I will have a second chance, not just at love, but at a career, or opportunities to do things that excite and fulfill me.