Christmas is always a time where I reflect on the state of my life, a lot like Birthdays the thought of a brand new 12 months lying ahead of me waiting for a mark to be made. It’s like opening a fresh, untouched note pad it’s there waiting for your next idea or your big adventure, the prospect of that scares me.
I don’t do resolutions. I’ll never stick to them and the disappointment and disgust in your self is increase ten fold when you do attempt those resolutions you set yourself three days previous is far worse than the guilt and disgust your already living in before January 1st.
I am more likely to go with the flow, convince myself that the stuff that hasn’t happened yet will materialize eventually. The bottom line is I’m clueless. I have the voice in my head pipe up at this time of year.
‘You got some nice presents from friends Lu, make the most of it, they’ll get sick of you by this time next year and won’t bother’ is the general consensus of my brain late at night. Of course this isn’t true, but what if my mind is right.
I haven’t done half of the things my able bodied comtempories have done at my age, friends are getting engaged and travelling the world, have moved away from home and are settled. Don’t get me wrong, I am settled and things are looking far brighter than they did for me this time last year but, well there not quite there yet.
The things that I feel I need aren’t that massive, and are probably easy for someone who, unlike me doesn’t have to wrestle with self doubt, someone who like me at the age of 25 hasn’t got other considerations.
I am of course talking about love. Regular readers of my blog will know that I have hand many a disaster with this thing you call love. I have never really had a serious relationships, dalliances, yes near misses, plenty of them but I’ve never been loved by someone who loves me back as much as I love them. (Parents don’t count).
I know that love isn’t the be all and end all of life, I am surrounded by people who adore me, it’s just a different kind of admiration than I seek. The people who love me are companions, who I love equally as much as they do me.
I’m talking about the kind of love like my Nanna and Grandad have and the kind of love that my Mum and Dad have had for 30 odd years. The one were you know how I take my tea and just exactly what to do when I get sad. The one that encourages me to do the stuff I’m scared to do Someone to grow old with and to wake up with every morning and still think I’m relatively attractive and to understand me when that crippling doubt sets in.
Maybe I am asking too much. My friends say that when I do find the ‘The One,’ that’ll be it. Forever.
Good things come to those who wait. How much longer will I be left in the queue?
