We’re All Alike

In the midst of my whirlwind chatting experience last night I realized something. This may not be a good idea.

See, I LOVE to hear stories, particularly stories about love and dating and the promise of love. So I’ve got all these friends who call me and share what’s going on with them in that department. I’ve got this one friend who is not afraid to start over and take a chance at love, although it never works out- she tries and tries again. I have another friend who is always eager to brag about how every guy in the world loves her and she never loves them back. Yet another friend who is stuck in a relationship that she can’t/won’t get out of because she’s comfortable yet she knows it is not in her best interest.

So I have a million and one stories being jammed into my brain. And I take them all in because, shoot, I don’t have any stories of my own. And I began to internalize what they are saying. I began to feel like there’s something wrong with me because all the interaction I get from a man are the harsh words I get from my children’s father. And you wonder why I try to get lost in my friend’s love lives.

As I meet ppl online I realize that we all have one thing in common, our search for love. There is not ONE person, male or female, that I have met yet who has ever said they were not hoping for something serious. I don’t know if it’s our age group, 25+, or if it’s the nature of bloggers to be sensitive to emotions. One could argue that people who keep online journals would have similar characteristics.

I don’t know. I’m rambling, but I’m beginning to think we have more in common that we think. That all around the world, especially during the holidays, people are sitting back and sighing and wishing that someone would hold them. Well, except for my friend who could have any man she wants. The rest of us, well, we’re left to fight through the games and uncertainties, wondering if the person we are looking for will ever surface, and feeling guilty because we have this desire.

But I don’t think there’s anything wrong with wanting to be loved/held/caressed. But why do we feel so guilty when we admit it? As if admitting that we have a need is a sign of our weakness. Why is love such a vital part of the quality of life when the yearning for it will get you laughed at or seen as frail?

Not that I want to be loved or anything. Ya know, I’m just asking…for my friend.