And maybe a happy ending doesn't include a guy, maybe... it's you, on your own, picking up the pieces and starting over, freeing yourself up for something better in the future. Maybe the happy ending is... just... moving on. Or maybe the happy ending is this, knowing after all the unreturned phone calls, broken-hearts, through the blunders and misread signals, through all the pain and embarrassment you never gave up hope. He's Just Not That Into You (the movie)
I got sucked-into reading my journals from ten years ago today.
Actual journals...handwritten journals...in notebooks with thoughtful quotes on each page. I used to write in them like mad.
Once I started going through them, I couldn't stop.
I kept thinking, "Wow, you were so naive/young/innocent/unjaded."
(However, at the same time, I had also quite lived a lot. I honestly think that losing a parent during your teen years cancels out a lot of otherwise innocence and unjadeded-ness one might have. Even though I was really innocent and young, I was also old for my years, with a certain seriousness you get when you've gone through such a hardship. My teen years weren't as simple as most of my friends'.)
One thing I was most certainly naive about, however, was the idea of falling in love...in my mind, it was supposed to be just like it was in novels and movies and, in my own little world, also like it was back in 1942...now, I thought I fell in love for the first time when I was a freshman in college. I would later compare the moment when I first saw that person to the scene in Big Fish when he first sees his wife and popcorn freezes in the air. I still remember that exact moment, and that guy will always have a place in my heart.
I WAS Drew Barrymore/Meg Ryan after all, and everything would work out for me just like it always did for them.
I have always been idealistic, hopelessly romantic and, to an extreme fault...very very (very) sensitive. I was actually talking to the same friend from my previous Billy Joel entry recently and he asked me why I had this undeniable insecure streak. I reminded him of that time I wrote that letter pouring out my heart to a boy in the 9th grade. He laughed at me and told the entire school. (Or, what felt like the entire school.) I told him that left an imprint on me...I never quite got over it, and I'll still hear that kid's name and cringe.
My friend told me he didn't remember.
I guess that shows that you never attract as much attention as you think you do.
You would have thought that experience would have taught me a lesson...not to be so open with my emotions and to always assume the worst and be on guard, knowing that getting hurt is always a very strong possibility...but it really didn't...and hasn't...
Although this might counteract with my previous, "I joke around too much" entry...for the most part, I completely wear my heart on my sleeve.
I am really open with my feelings, and often break the cardinal rule my mother tried to drill into me when I was younger...("Never put anything in writing." I can't help it. I'm a writer. I put everything in writing. It has been and will always be the way I am most comfortable expressing myself.)
If I had to go back, I probably still WOULD have written that letter pouring-out my heart in the 9th grade...because how is pouring-out your heart ever a bad thing? I don't think it ever could be. It's always okay to just be 100% yourself and tell people how you feel...and when you are finally telling that stuff to the right person, well, then...everything else was just for practice.
"...and the beauty is when you realize someone could be looking for a someone like you..." -The Light in the Piazza