Join Our Mailing List!

I’M JADED

gila 2

JADED-SCHMADED

by Gritrude Belle.

I’m so jaded…that the other day when I read the tinder bio of a man who professed to “believe in true love” (they’re out there) I found myself thinking “well, I’m not for you, because I don’t, and you deserve someone who does – someone delusional!”

I’m so jaded that on the train today, I actually looked at little 5-year old boys from the Montessori school and heard my brain say “sure, you’re cute now, but how long until you start using that smug, entitled little smile to hurt girls who want nothing more than to love you. You privileged, narcissistic little brat.”

I’m jaded, but I’m not dumb. I know that hating on toddlers in anticipation of the horrible twenty-somethings they’ll become isn’t normal. I swear I do. Besides, all twenty-somethings are horrible, in some vaguely obnoxious way. It isn’t the toddler’s fault, nor Montessori’s for that matter. I’ve been through enough soul searching to understand that what I’m experiencing are voices from the past, old feelings of helplessness from the days in which I felt like a victim, at the mercy of men and fate and probability, and God-only-knows what else. I also know the truth of the matter. Probability increases for those who believe. Life smiles at those who fearlessly charge ahead despite their painful memories. Love is all around us. Groove is in the heart.

I’m so jaded that on the train today, I actually looked at little 5-year old boys from the Montessori school and heard my brain say “sure, you’re cute now, but how long until you start using that smug, entitled little smile to hurt girls who want nothing more than to love you. You privileged, narcissistic little brat.”

 It’s no wonder any attempts at love (life, work, art) during that period had been fruitless. They are rare now, but especially grumpy days cause my mind to associate all of those negative things with romance (because unlike work and art at least there’s some external party to blame, besides whining about love has always been socially acceptable). My subconscious starts telling me unenlightened and paranoid stories – that the second I fall in love, all of…that will happen again. That I will turn into the same insecure confused person. That I will invite mistreatment. That I will self-sabotage. Along with these thoughts comes the cynical belief that nobody’s truly in love, that they’re all lying and compromising more than they care to admit just to maintain some tenuous status quo.
I know now that I was neither victim nor hapless: I was foolish and naive, insecure and confused, unhappy and somewhat misguided.

But what if it’s only as tenuous as your own grip on reality. What if whom and what you attract into your life and the nature of your relationship depends solely on you. What if in living genuinely you invite goodness and discover that the only person you were ever looking for was you. And that everyone else you invite into your life is just that, a guest, someone you invited by conscious choice. Not by coup de foudre, not because you “fell” in love, in lust, in circumstance, but because you are awake enough to call forth from the universe what you need and say “no thanks” to what you don’t. And to do it swiftly, decisively, without anger, without remorse at letting go.

What if you decide that life is awesome, that it’s on your side, and that you get to be its author?
Would it change how you love?
Would it change how you live?
Сomments аrchive