On Longing

As a child, I was never really sure what people meant by "being jealous." I had no siblings to contend with, truthfully, I was usually the only child around and my parents and their friends made sure I never wanted for anything. I didn't become acquainted with jealousy until I was about 13 years old and the boy I liked was dating someone else.

Jealousy is like that for me. I never crave things. I've lived in my apartment about four months and still have no drapes, no rugs, and no couch. Instead, I do my reading and writing in a little nook, complete with a faux fur-ish type blanket, lavender and tawny decorative pillows and one kneeling cushion that I sit on. Or, in bed, which, let me tell you, is the most comfortable bed I've ever laid in in my entire life. But no, I don't want your man, or her man, or his man. I just want, for just one moment, what people in functioning relationships have.

Even in my own relationship, which I tried so hard to make work, I was always striving for what I call fullness. Fullness is the feeling you get when you're around those you love, things you love, doing something you love, that makes you feel that at any moment, you could burst from said happiness. I've felt that way maybe twice in my life thus far, and ever since, I've been chasing it's elusive high. My mother says it's a curse I've inherited from her, this need to be loved and loving with everything I've got with very few slivers of reward.

But the thing is...I realize, often, that what I'm in want of is not necessarily a person. I'm in want of the feeling of fullness, of belonging to someone who belongs to me in the same way. So now it happens that I can look at a couple and feel genuinely happy that they've found each other...while at the same time wondering when I can find that for myself. I don't ever wish for another's relationship anymore, which is such a big step from my formative years, instead I wish them well, and wait, somewhat impatiently, for my own.

Longing, as I am coming to realize, is not a dirty word. We all long for something, whether it's to be a great parent, a world-renowned doctor, we all aspire for things that are typically just out of our grasp. I long for love, or rather, the right kind of love for me, which will take, I think the right kind of person.

So, moral of the story, I need to chill on the love shit for awhile. It'll happen when it's meant to happen, and in the meantime, maybe I can try loving myself again? Easier said than done, but it's a definite start, and a step I'm more than willing, more than ready, to take.