walking alone

I sometimes think I will never find that true love business people are always talking up.

First of all, I’m okay with that. I mean, the idea of running into someone I click with and connect to in ways I don’t with other people and the idea of committing to being a team with that person even when it’s hard…that sounds pretty sweet. But none of my actual dreams hinge on whether or not I get married.

I want to work with kids in some sort of youth center. Or work with refugees. Or something like that. You can do all sorts of stuff in the social work field and so much of it appeals to me. But none of those callings require me being married.

I want to adopt kids, maybe being a foster parent beforehand. I know financially and emotionally, having two parents is easier. But I also know that if you have a supportive family/community, that helps too. I’m not scared to have a kid by myself.

I want to always seek the truth and ask questions and find answers. I want to read and take walks when it’s beautiful outside and learn how to do new things. I want to meet people and build friendships. I want to help people help themselves. I want to do what I can to make the lonely people I encounter un-lonely. I want to laugh and listen to others tell stories about their lives. I want to be a positive influences on the kids in my life. I want to be in touch with the community I live in. I want to do things that scare me. I want to always be growing in my understanding of life and faith and love and whoever this Jesus guy was or I guess still is. AndΒ I don’t need a husband to do any of those things.

Why do I think there’s a decent chance I’ll end up alone?

Because I’m either too much or not enough for everyone.

I don’t say that to put myself down. It’s just the truth.

I’m too spiritual for my atheist friends but I’m not churchy enough for my Christian friends. I’m too liberal for my conservative friends and too conservative for my liberal friends. I’m too nerdy to be cool but not nerdy enough to fit in with real nerds.

I’m too athletic for my anti-sports friends but I don’t care enough about sports for my athletic friends. I’m too small-town girl for my city friends and too much of a city slicker for my aggie friends. I don’t care enough about possessions or fashion enough to fit in with most people my age, but I care too much about those things to fit in with the people who actually sacrifice for worthy causes. I care too much about the poor and oppressed for my friends who don’t give a flying fuck about anything except having fun or their own personal piety, but I don’t do enough about the poor and oppressed for the people who really do care.

It goes on but I’m getting on my own nerves now.

Being too much and not enough makes it easy for me to have a lot of circles of friends. I can find common ground with almost anyone and I love that. But I feel like besides with my family–and as you grow up, you have to leave the house and make your own life–there isn’t a place I justΒ fit. That’s why I feel like I’ll end up alone. Because no one will have a place for me. I feel like in order for me to actually fit somewhere, I have to change who I am or just be quiet about certain parts of me.

And I can’t do that. I can’t live a lie. IF ONLY. But I’d never be able to sleep and would make myself physically sick if I tried. I would grow resentful of the person I changed for. And then all of a sudden I would drop the facade and with the stubbornness of my mother, I would never pick it back up again. And that’s not fair to that theoretical person who placed me in their life. They thought I was somebody I wasn’t and I wouldn’t have corrected them until it was too late.

I don’t say all that to be whiny. I mean, it can be lonely sometimes, but I’ve pretty much come to terms with it. Especially since I finally outgrew the lie that my life is supposed to revolve around finding the one, and found a ridiculous amount of joy in pursuing all those things I talked about wanting to do earlier.

I guess it was John Mayer or someone, who said, “Don’t be scared to walk alone. Don’t be scared to like it.” I’m not sure of the context of those words, but I know they sum up the last year of my life. I’ve learned to like walking alone. Not alone as in without other people, but I’ve learned to walk without romance. And to while I do, to not feel like I’m missing the most important adventure of my life.

I’m learning that there is so much out there. I’m already on the most important adventure: my life.

I’m scared of being too busy figuring out how life is supposed to be that I don’t enjoy how it is. I’m scared of not seizing the adventure in front of me, because I’m too busy preparing for something that may or may not happen. I’m scared of not being Β myself in order to make someone else happy. But I’m not scared of walking alone.

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