Ever since I can remember I’ve been the girl with a boyfriend. I began my serial monogamy cycle with the first boy I could force to talk to me in 7th grade and never really looked back. After each relationship ended, whether it was long, short or somewhere in between I would rebound into the next serious relationship before fully allowing myself to grieve. Rather than giving myself time to mourn over Ben&Jerry’s properly, I subconsciously set out “searching for butterflies” (not the literal insect but, you know, the giddy excited feeling you get at the start of a new romance).
I am incredibly self aware, almost to a flaw, which I think stems from journaling and overanalyzing my entire life. I quickly recognized the pattern I had fallen into, my quest for butterflies, to fill this “void” in my heart that I believed true love should fit. I resented myself for what I saw as weakness. I didn’t want to be the girl who needed a boyfriend to feel secure or fulfilled. I hated that I was so afraid of feeling lonely or under appreciated or unloved that I allowed myself to dive head first into the arms of whichever suitor stumbled my way first. It was a crazy reckless way to love, but it was the only way I knew how to.
Something within me has evolved, metamorphasized (not a word, shut up I know), grown up and I’ve found myself in a place in which I don’t feel any butterflies. Normally, I’d find myself newly single with an object of affection in mind. I would build up my “crush” to be everything I’d ever dreamed of and more. If my new crush was a butcher I would find my way into convincing myself I had always dreamed of dating a butcher despite the fact that I am a vegetarian. Rather than searching for a person who was a good fit for me, I would morph my desires around my preplanned specimen. When a love song comes on the radio as I’m driving to work in the morning I find my mind silent. For the first time in the history of forever I don’t find myself swooning thinking of that special someone (a boyfriend, a crush, a guy I’m stalking who doesn’t know I exist) and the lack of emotion (the lack of butterflies) feels…amazing.
It’s weird to know the “void” I’d always imagined within myself (the one where “true love” should fit) isn’t yearning to be filled, it’s even more strange to realize that maybe there was never a void there at all. Consequently I’ve become exponentially more picky. I don’t want to mold my desires to any random frog that hops into my life. And just because I kiss a frog doesn’t mean I need to justify and reason away every wart until he suddenly looks like my “prince charming”. I think every princess (or otherwise) needs to take some time to be selfish, to be picky. I want to refuse to go on a date with someone simply because I don’t like the way he texts (sorry but, it’s “you” not “u”). I want to spend a week in the Bahamas with my family, followed by a week on vacation with my best friend, followed by an entire summer doing who knows what without having to worry about missing someone, or texting to say goodnight, or calling just because I want to hear his voice. I want to stop chasing boys, but most of all, I want to stop chasing butterflies.