Did you know that 9 out of 10 Americans regularly suffer from a disease called: “I’m an idiot; I don’t know how to cut someone out?” The 1 remaining American has not yet been born.
Boy meets girl, girl meets boy, they fall in love and live happily ever after. No one ever talks about the story of boy meets girl, girl meets boy, and they almost fall in love, only to fall apart in the most casual way.
I still believe in the whole notion of passing each other on the streets, catching eye contact, and magically falling for each other over the course of quirky dates. Tinder was everything I despised.
You spend your entire life hearing about the dangers of getting attached and swearing that you’d be exception, only to find yourself five songs deep into Adele’s new album with one name on your mind. You know all the rules to the game: don’t date the bad boy, don’t be clingy, don’t backslide with an ex. You walk into the preverbal room with all of these cautions in the back of your mind, only to throw them away seconds later.
I’m not unhappy. I’m content within this familiar realm of intoxication, ridiculousness, and satisfaction. I’m even content just staying up late at the library with a small group of friends, alternating between finishing our coursework and laughing over something trivial. It’s everything that you would expect from a first semester in college.
This constant chase for the impossible, is killing us. There has to be a point when our hand touches the proverbial stovetop just one too many times and we pull away, the burn leaving its last mark. We have to stop reaching for the things that hurt us.
Your ex is a single page in hundreds of chapters. Sure, they might have a ton of impact and influence within that one page, but the story — your story — isn’t dependent on them.
Do not reread old messages before your date with the boy next door.
Kris Jenner Is The Thread Of The American Tapestry