Let’s Talk about Love…
Love. It's a tricky thing, isn't it?
This week's journal was supposed to be about something else entirely. I had it all planned. The Fourth of July, America turning 250, because yes, happy birthday, America. That is not a small birthday. And what this country means to me after all those years. That entry will come, I promise. But then I did something that derailed the whole plan.
I rewatched The Wedding Date.
Yes, I like chick flicks. I make no apologies. If you don't know this one, Debra Messing's character hires an escort, played by Dermot Mulroney, to fly with her to London for her sister's wedding. Her ex will be there. He's the one who broke it off, and she cannot bear to walk in alone, so she pays a stranger to pretend to be in love with her. And of course, because it's that kind of movie, the pretending stops being pretend.
But one line stopped me cold this time. She reads an article quoting him: "Every woman has the exact love life she wants." Naturally, she's furious. She wants to know whether he really believes she chose this, that she wants to be single and miserable, hung up on the man who shattered her heart. I sat on my couch in Los Angeles and thought, yes. He's right. I think I do have exactly the love life I want.
Here's my confession. I'm a single mom to Liam, who turns nine and a half this July. I've been single for ten years. Ten. Not because nobody asked, but because, if I'm honest with myself, I chose it. Ever since my heart was handed back to me in pieces, I've been doing the math. Do I want to date? Do I want to fall in love? Yes, sure. That would be lovely. But then I weigh the good parts against the heartache; the math never adds up. Because there's this little thing about me. I don't do halfway. I go all in, like a bull charging into the arena, head down, full speed, and most of the time I end up in the wall. I have never understood what people mean when they say pace yourself. And when it hurts, it hurts. Sometimes I do this with motherhood, too. I know Liam's wants and needs before he knows them himself. But that's a different blog.
When the alternative to being alone is giving everything and risking everything, being alone starts to look less like bad luck and more like self-preservation.
That's what the line means, I think. Not that we consciously order up loneliness like a dish from a menu. But the way we look at love shapes the love life we end up with, even when we never say it out loud. I never said mine. And yet here it is. I have exactly the love life I want, which is none, because the alternative is too painful.
Is that sad? Maybe. Is it honest? Absolutely.
So, I'll leave you with the question that's followed me all week: Do you have the love life you truly want, or the one you've quietly built to keep yourself safe?
Avez-vous vraiment la vie amoureuse que vous souhaitez ou celle que vous avez construite pour vous protéger?
Think about it. I'll be over here, rewinding the movie.
