On Romance Retardant

It's recently occurred to me that I really am doing something wrong in this charade that the kids are calling romance. And all this time I was pointing the finger elsewhere.

It seems to me that as a measure of precaution in self-preservation, I have taken to the habit of wearing what I am now calling, "My Romance Retardant security blanket" (It gets a little chilly with a heart as icy as mine sometimes seems. Frost bite is a growing concern). It's big and comfy, warm and thick. And more importantly, it protects me from the world's one true evil: romance. Damn, that's a good blanket.

Hindsight truly is 20/20, and my romance's unfortunate past is becoming painfully clear. I'm taking a tally of how many times I've sabotaged myself, and we're reaching a number so high that it now seems it would've made much more sense to have started counting the times I DIDN'T sabotage myself (Oy). No, I'm not kidding. Or exaggerating.

I have only one relationship to reflect upon, but I do have a little less than two hand's worth of dating adventures and flirtations to analyze and the conclusion is clear. As crystal. I, Carolina Maria Escobedo-Garcia, am a self-sabotager in romance and love and at 25 years old, I have the romantic IQ of a 14 year old boy (Yeah, I still hit and tease the ones I like most). I hate to sound dramatic, but I'm pretty sure you've all had this thought already, or at least, would if I told you of my few, very non-romantic romantic encounters. Let's begin...

I was inlove. Totally, weirdly, wholly retardedly inlove (Some would argue that I still am, but that's another blog entirely). I spent a beautiful month in the presence of this person, nearly 24 hours a day and by the end of the trip, I still had huge mental hurdles about just reaching out and holding his hand, kissing him, just saying, "I love you." It's not that I didn't want to, in fact it was the polar opposite. I was so hyper focused on wanting to that it caused some ridiculous sort of paralysis and immaturity. And this is not to say that I somehow condone his wishy-washy behavior that then proceeded my romantic retardation, but I can definitely empathize with the boy. How many times do you have to feel not worth the tiny effort of a simple gesture like hand holding, before you throw up your hands in retreat? Before you start to question how the other feels, and then, how you feel? It's really not all that difficult to understand.

I had my first kiss at 24 not because I was a hideous ogre of a lady, but because everytime someone got close enough to want to, or maybe even try to, I put on my blanket, laughed at something probably not that funny, and went on about things as if I hadn't noticed a thing (And chances are that I didn't. Yeah, I am that dense) which left, what I can only assume is a pretty foul and confused taste in their mouth. How can you really blame a guy for saving face and backing off? I can't, especially since I live in such a way that lends itself not to risk and greatness, but to safe and medocrity.

And I'm not saying I am a horrible person, or even that I've done something so disgustingly wrong that I deserve all the romance that I don't get. I'm just recognizing the pattern, and realizing the full weight of the situation that I've created. One that I despise in the way that one despises accidentally hitting their nose: how it hurts instantly, and then seems to grow until it climaxes in a tear inducing pain yet you just shake it off and sort of laugh about it because, "That was stupid..."

So this begs the question, "How do you free yourself of a romance retardant blanket when 99% of the time you have no recollection of even having it around, let alone wielding it around at those evil doers that want - gasp, no! - romance?"

Do you simply jump in, feet first, eyes closed, arms ready to flail? Or do you just ease into it? Is it even possible for someone like me, someone so (let's face it) ignorant to the romantic world to baby step her way through it? Or do I require a more radical solution?

I've never been one to learn my own lessons easily.

I've never made things that simple on myself.

I mean, what else would I spend so much time thinking about instead of just doing?

FOR SALE: Blanket that saves world from the evils of romance. Consistent success for 25 years. Ice Queens and the Heartless will be especially impressed.

WANTED: Romance with a side of patience and understanding.

On the bright side.

Life. How does one explain it, let alone understand it? I couldn't even begin to tell you.

I guess you could begin by breathing. Which I am again, on my own accord. I am no longer gasping for breaths, nor am I frantically anticipating bursts of oxygen to surge into my lungs. I am steadily, deliberately, and joyfully inhaling life. It seems like a long time coming.

I couldn't really tell you what changed. When it changed. Or in what capacity it changed. But it did...something did. Perhaps my outlook? My state of mind? Whatever it was, I am grateful. And I am excited.

I'm excited about life again. About doing things. Everything. I've found that recently, the last 2 weeks most obviously, I've found a new stride to life. A different rhythm. More strength. Deeper motivation. I'm not really all that interested in where it came from, mostly I'm just happy that it's arrived. Simply.

Thinking has become clearer. Talking has become easier. Laughing has become something as necessary to my life as breathing. Something just as natural as oxygen. It's amazing. And even my dreams have changed. They're more vibrant and telling...more like good conversations than flashes of strangely arranged colors and feelings. And still, I couldn't tell you what, when or how it all changed.

I lack a better metaphor than that of a flower. Or even closer to my reality, a seedling that has just barely popped the surface of the earth. Things were tough. They were challenging, and there were moments that I truly felt might break me down. Times that filled me with the fear that I'd never see the sunshine, and that even if I did, I might already be wilted.

But as I see it now, it was a lesson. Extreme learning, if you will. I'll admit that it wasn't my favorite lesson, and that if given a chance I might still want to choose a different one, but rather than fight with life, I choose to accept it. And more importantly, allow it to make me better, and not bitter. Let it nourish me, not destroy me. A simple choice really. Though not to be mistaken with easy.

Easy wasn't a part of this lesson plan.

So I've broken the surface. Perhaps my toughest endeavor yet. But the fruit of my pain, my tears, and my struggles? Life. Or to further my already too cheesy "seedling" metaphor: sunshine. And lots of it. It gave me strength. It gave me knowledge. It gave me some strange, new found appreciation of life.

More importantly, however, it gave me, me. There is a trueness of oneself that is developed and found during such dark times in life.

And all this isn't to say that things are the picture of perfection, or even the picture of something somewhat resembling what I hope will be. There's still a lot of work to be done. Things to learn. Things to accept, others to change. Yet it doesn't mean that I'm not happy with where I am...because it is a definite sign of where I will go.

I am hopeful, and determined, and excited. And that is enough...

More than.

Here's to the Bright Side.