The first movie I watched was Bridesmaids. Kristen Wiig was so pathetic and I loved her because of that. I cried a little bit watching her humble relationship with her bride-to-be, best-girlfriend towards the end. And the second movie was Crazy, Stupid, Love. I clicked on it immediately because it had Steve Carell in it, of course. I was so impressed with this movie because even though it had an enormous cast of high profile actors, I didn't hate it. It was serious and conflicting and sad. And wonderful. But I probably am liking both of these so much because I'm such a sponge and am terribly emotional; I sop up every bit of chick flick I can get.
This crazy stupid love film got me so jealous of all the perfect looking people in all of the multiple relationship scenarios it followed. How could Emma Stone get a guy like Ryan Gosling? Not possible, in real life. They're both unbelievable, but way too different for reality. In what world would all of this happen? And why would I be jealous of anyone else's life?
And then it hit me. I'm not jealous at all. I just worry that my life's never okay because it's not perfect. I'm not unhappy with my life one bit! So who cares if the guy from the bar she falls in love with has washboard abs, years of practice womanizing, and a crazy tan? That girl with that guy will never have my happiness.
I get worried on a daily basis, mildly. Some days worse than others. But I always come back to thinking about perfection and battling with it, in my mind. I constantly feel like I have to hold my breath and sort of shut down in order to accept the fact that things can be imperfect. That immaturity and smudges and exaggerations in conversations are okay. Not getting along every once in a while is, in fact, human. I pride myself on having high standards, but now I think, I've been defaulting to expect perfection. And doing that, I will never be satisfied.
I have anxiety - whatever. I understand. All my years I've been obsessed with love, though. And I've never been satisfied with how I saw it in reality. I was never okay with how my parents fought and still cleaned the kitchen together after dinner. I got indignant watching cousins argue and shove and still kissing everybody goodnight before heading down to grandmon's house. I didn't think it was good enough, because it was so imperfect: too much negative mixed in with the positive.
When I got to high school, I had boyfriends. Every single boy I dated, though, I felt terrible with. As soon as I went into "contract" with them, telling each other we were "officially together," I felt trapped, suffocated, unhappy, and most of all, confused for all those other feelings. Because I wanted to love, but anything that could go wrong ended up driving me away.
Now, tonight, this year, and forever, I'm in love. I'm in it real deep. And honestly, sometimes when things are so very obviously imperfect, I choke up and feel scared and confused and think I should run away. Most often it's all the times when I screw up. Yeah, sometimes I'm a real, pathetic coward. Sometimes I feel like I'm the least important thing in the room. I think about my sister getting divorced at age 22 and wanna be angry and tell everybody that love's not worth it. Sometimes when I'm on the phone with Ben and he starts talking in a southern-new yorkan-british accent and tries to rap, I cringe a little inside, haha. But movies aren't real, and perfection's waiting for us only in heaven. And I can still cherish my moments of nirvana. I still get to cry happy tears and think happy thoughts about the countless sweet, happy kisses that were planted on my head today. Emma Stone may have been paid to look perfect side-by-side with Ryan Gosling, but I've got someone eons better than any movie. I get my very own someone, who I get to spend the eons with. And that is a happy thought.