Love is an irresistible desire to be irresistibly desired. — Robert Frost
The feeling of romantic love is like being awarded a glimmering red and gold striped trophy, too tall and too heavy to lift, for first place in a competition you didn’t even know you entered. Your family and closest friends stand smiling beside you on stage, while the auditorium—filled to the aisle with fans who know your birthday and favorite color by heart—cheer wildly, clap vigorously as you grin uncontrollably hugging your award.
But love is also the moment when that rotund balding man comes on stage and whispers in your ear that they confused your name with someone else.
I, in a long time, have neither been presented that trophy nor had it plucked from my hands. But when you essentially live in your parent’s basement, not going to parties, not interacting with the diurnal world, it’s difficult to get your name entered in the raffle.
Of course, there’s the occasional parental or familial, “You know, this woman I work with, her daughter…” or “My friend’s niece just graduated college, too, and is…”
But usually my two-week, scraggly beard wards off those offers before they’re even presented.
However, there is an undeniable effort by society to encourage that we be in constant search for love. If we haven’t found it, then something must be wrong with us.
A strapping man like you with no girlfriend? A beautiful young lady like yourself single? What secret personality disorder do you possess? Is there a half-formed tail beneath your waistband?
But I (who has no genetic abnormality on his lower back and only suffers from a minor case of hypergraphia) don’t need love at the moment.
Sure, if a beautiful girl interested in unemployed college graduates who live at home and write unpublished stories all day moved into the neighborhood, I’d bring her some jell-o and say hello. But just because I’m not actively searching for love, doesn’t automatically mean I’m depressed.
Solace, aloneness, these are necessary for the human psyche to thrive and succeed. Yeah, it’s good to vary that up with social interaction (and that’s why my imaginary friends are great), but just because I don’t need justification for my existence in the physical passion of another, doesn’t mean there’s anything wrong with me.
As long as you’re getting a dose of love from somewhere or something—family, a pet, faith—you’re doing just fine. However, if you, reader, really do want to be struck by cupid’s arrow, I know you could go out and get it any time you want.
I mean, come on. You’re reading my blog. That already demonstrates your superior intellect, keen humor, and excessive free time.