I didn't choose him, he chose me.
A few months ago, I was thinking for a while (as I am wont to do in the quiet of my place and the noisiness of my brain). I felt that sudden rush of realization that we’ve all felt at one time or another, either predicting something we’ve been subconsciously been suspecting all along, or maybe in a spot of self-discovery-this one was one of the latter. I suddenly pinpointed one of my major, greatest fears, which is this: I don’t want to be Miss Havisham.
She is one whose life passed by in a series of unfortunate circumstances, one soul-crushing blow after another, until she was too deep to be anything else but a conniving, convincing shrew of a villain. I don’t suspect that my life will ever take me down that specific path, but I do fear that I will have regretted opportunities that breezed on by just because I have let unfortunate circumstances get in the way. I don’t want to let years and years pass me by until I have held on to the trifles of youth for way too long and find myself malignant with social disorder, inflicting it on souls that have the similar unfortunate circumstance to pass me. I see this happening to people I know, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen to me. It was all because she was never loved properly; loved deeply in return.
But sometimes I wonder. What are the possible other disasters that serve as Havisham-scenario replacements? I certainly see those circumstances being just as tragic. Take for instance, one of my colleagues. She is a nice lady in her late 40’s, a little loony sometimes, but sweet. She has talked with me on several occasions, remarking on how brave she thinks young women are now. I think she both envies and fears for us.
She was talking about her boyfriend (she’s been married once before and had 2 kids, both of which are grown now), and how she wishes she loved him. She sighs. “He’s crazy about me,” she says, “And I couldn’t pick a nicer guy to be crazy about me. I just wish I loved him like he loves me.” What a situation, I thought. She settled. She settled because she wanted to be loved-and once she was loved by someone good, she thought that was it. Even though it wasn’t her kind of good.
“I didn’t choose him,” she said. “He chose me.” And then she repeated herself, like she was in a dream or something. Then it was a headshake and when the elevator announced itself with a ding, it was back to reality. Her life isn’t over, but I guess in her eyes, it's set in concrete. I don’t want to settle for a lifestyle like that, either. Here is a woman loved properly and deeply, but after years of questioning, she finds herself stuck in a similarly tragic way.
So what are you supposed to do?
She is one whose life passed by in a series of unfortunate circumstances, one soul-crushing blow after another, until she was too deep to be anything else but a conniving, convincing shrew of a villain. I don’t suspect that my life will ever take me down that specific path, but I do fear that I will have regretted opportunities that breezed on by just because I have let unfortunate circumstances get in the way. I don’t want to let years and years pass me by until I have held on to the trifles of youth for way too long and find myself malignant with social disorder, inflicting it on souls that have the similar unfortunate circumstance to pass me. I see this happening to people I know, and I’ll be damned if I let it happen to me. It was all because she was never loved properly; loved deeply in return.
But sometimes I wonder. What are the possible other disasters that serve as Havisham-scenario replacements? I certainly see those circumstances being just as tragic. Take for instance, one of my colleagues. She is a nice lady in her late 40’s, a little loony sometimes, but sweet. She has talked with me on several occasions, remarking on how brave she thinks young women are now. I think she both envies and fears for us.
She was talking about her boyfriend (she’s been married once before and had 2 kids, both of which are grown now), and how she wishes she loved him. She sighs. “He’s crazy about me,” she says, “And I couldn’t pick a nicer guy to be crazy about me. I just wish I loved him like he loves me.” What a situation, I thought. She settled. She settled because she wanted to be loved-and once she was loved by someone good, she thought that was it. Even though it wasn’t her kind of good.
“I didn’t choose him,” she said. “He chose me.” And then she repeated herself, like she was in a dream or something. Then it was a headshake and when the elevator announced itself with a ding, it was back to reality. Her life isn’t over, but I guess in her eyes, it's set in concrete. I don’t want to settle for a lifestyle like that, either. Here is a woman loved properly and deeply, but after years of questioning, she finds herself stuck in a similarly tragic way.
So what are you supposed to do?