“I Love You; I Just Haven’t Met You Yet.”
…A classic line uttered internally, if not out loud, by nearly every woman I’ve come to know.
And Michael Buble, but that’s beside the point.
The point is that we all, at some time or another, go through a period I like to call obsessing over nothing.
I don’t mean overreacting when your mom notices you may have put on a few pounds since last year.
And I don’t mean over embellishing just how uneven your botch eyebrows look following a doomed-from-the-start bargain Groupon at an unknown salon.
This is the ultimate obsessing over nothing—the sentiment that often times resides deep within our psyches without the slightest knowledge and then out of nowhere goes into full gear.
And to top it all off, it sits in the driver’s seat. It has the ability to control each and every thought, action, plan of attack in this little thing called life.
Because let’s face it, most of us hate the idea of walking through it alone.
Here enters the obsession.
The obsession over something that isn’t there, over blank space, over absolutely nothing.
Women, we are highly predictable creatures.
We work day in and day out for the perfect figure, the perfect career, the perfect friends…and most importantly, the perfect man.
I’ve seen it first hand—friends with promising corporate careers, with enviable bodies and those surrounded by constant support, love and affection.
In my experience, most of these women all too often are depressed, downtrodden and defeated.
What is the common complaint?
The lack of a boyfriend, fiancé, husband or even a prospective date that doesn’t urge them even further to the edge of insanity.
They are in love with the idea of love. Deeply, heart-achingly in love. And it’s an unrequited love.
I hate to admit it, but I too have been the victim, the hopeless romantic, the fool.
The girl who focuses on the fact that she is alone, that this is the end-all-be-all of happiness.
And I don’t know the cure.
Somehow, I’ve found that eventually I always wake from my funk, give myself a good hard look in the mirror and a little tough love.
Sure, a man would be nice, but relationships are messy enough—how can we let one that doesn’t even exist yet cause so much agony, so much frustration and so much pain?
We should channel that time and energy into something productive, something positive that might in the end lead us where it is that we want to be with someone we want to be with—a living, breathing man with a whole bunch of problems of his own for us to worry about.
Love should be all-consuming.
It should be passionate, always on your mind and one of the most impactful things in your life.
But the lack of it? In my opinion, not worthy of this overwhelming power.
I’d save that place of sadness for the real deal—trust me; at some point in the rush of love you may need it.
An aspiring journalist, fashion enthusiast and lover of all things yoga, dance and green, Jamie packed up her life nine months ago and made the big move to Madrid, Spain from little old Ohio. Spending her days as an English teacher and soul-searcher, she is completely fascinated by international languages and cultures and won’t be satisfied until she’s seen it all. And so it begins.
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