Forcing the Fairy Tale

I grew up loving fairy tales. They were magical; they encouraged imagination and dreams.

I have a dream.

Actually I have several.
I dream about career success. I dream about being respected in my field. I dream about saving the world and doing work that matters.

I describe these dreams because I blog about silly, rather inconsequential subjects, and they are not the entire substance of my being. Disney needs a movie about a career-woman-princess because I have career dreams and I also have girly princess-like dreams.

I dream about the perfect first kiss. I dream about buying the perfect fixer-upper home with my husband and painting it together while I wear old cut-off jean shorts and soccer jerseys and listen to dance mix 95′. There would be a 2-person living-room-dance-train to “1,2,3 train with me”. I dream about my dad walking me down the aisle wearing a big, white, princess-y wedding dress with a train and looking deeply into somebody’s eyes while I swear to take care of him in sickness and in health. I dream about him swearing that to me with tears in our eyes. I dream about the moment somebody hands me our first child and I can turn to my partner and say “we made this tiny alien” to a man I love. I dream about traveling and road trips; I dream about laughing until we cry when we get horribly lost in a tiny hick town. I dream about holding each other and the quiet comfort of having my very own person.

I also dream about how I will meet him. I bump into him and drop a stack of my books (note to self: need to find a stack of books to carry around and an excuse to do so), which he helps me to pick up and re-stack. Our eyes meet across a crowded room. We reach for the same hold at the climbing gym. I forget my glass slipper at a ball. You get the idea.

Everybody wants to have that story; the one you tell your children and grandchildren about the magical way in which you met and your love blossomed. My parents, for instance were lab partners in chemistry. Seriously, how great is that?? Chemistry!

Despite my generally realist view of the world, I still find myself getting caught in the trap of, “you’ll just know”. If one more person tells me, “when you meet the right man, you’ll just know”, I’m going to rip my face off. But I want to believe it so badly. I want that magical meeting; I want love at first sight.

After my first date with Blue Eyes, I called my best friend and told her I was going to marry him. I realize in retrospect that it was mostly because I loved the idea of my maid of honour being able to get up and tell the story of how “SSM/Batman JUST KNEW after the first date”. There’s something reassuring in the idea of just knowing. But the world is so uncertain. Relationships overflow with shades of grey. The idea of love being concrete and easily identifiable is comforting, but absurd.

I have found myself trying very hard to craft story-worthy starts with each new man I date. It’s sort of exhausting. What if we meet on Tinder, or online dating, or through a friend’s introduction? What if it takes time to realize we love each other? What if there aren’t instant sparks? Do these things make for a lesser love?

Am I being dishonest if I gloss over not-so-nice details in favour of more romantic or story-worthy ones when describing someone to my friends and family? I sort of feel like I’m forcing the fairy tale.

I’m just not sure that pure infatuation which morphs to long-lasting love actually exists. For me, at least, as a person who generally thinks critically (read: is neurotic) about life, I don’t know if that unicorn-frolicking-in-the-meadow-type of innocent love is a real possibility.

With Stable PP, I told everyone “running into him twice when I haven’t seen him in years can’t be a coincidence”. But I don’t believe there’s a man sitting on a cloud orchestrating my life. So, in fact, it had to be exactly that – a coincidence. Even after Blue Eyes’ adorable courting effort and perfect first date, it took some time to figure out he wasn’t husband material. But I wanted so badly for those enchanting beginnings to lead to glorious love stories. If the bad ones look good, could the good ones look bad? Am I over thinking this?

I’m starting to feel that a FROZEN-like ending might be more appropriate for me…some sort of a modified fairy tale.

Though if a man on a white horse happens by, I can’t say I’d turn him away.