I’ve loved and been broken, dated again and been disappointed, and started the process all over again. Putting your heart on the line is exasperating, terrifying, and exciting and sometimes we feed off that exhilaration and put ourselves out there and other times we can think of nothing worse than going on a date. I wish I could say that taking the chance on love is always worth it. I’ve had several experiences where the heartache outweighed the benefit of telling someone that you like them. I just hold on to the hope that one of these days I’ll find that person that is as stoked to take the chance on me as I am for them. In the meantime, I write.
I’m more scared of being trapped inside all day than getting a little wet in the rain. Take the chance, always.
I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately. One of my best friends just got engaged and we’ve been talking about how she knew that he was her partner for life. Her answer, simple and honestly vague, is that something deep inside her just knew.
There’s no common factor that can explain why sometimes we feel romantic chemistry and sometimes we don’t. There’s no trick to lining up that connection. I’ve always been someone that feels it right away and in my experience, no matter how much time I spend with a person doesn’t change whether or not that spark is there. I do believe that love is a decision, ultimately, but it’s foundation is built upon that invisible force that draws you to each other. It’s frustrating when chemistry just misses or when bad timing prevents the heart from sensing it. There are no set paths to falling in love and that exploration, that heartbreak, that discovery, that journey is why we write.
I just moved into a new apartment. I feel like I’m starting a new life, starting over, taking ownership of the aspects of my life I didn’t own before. I asked my roommate tonight what her advice to you all would be if she could impart one piece of wisdom. By happenstance, she said “take a chance.”
…hidden in the recesses of my notebook.