Having a crush...

Photo: Ashley

I wouldn't wish the feeling of having a crush on someone else to my worst enemy. There is nothing enjoyable about the constant nag of fire and angst in your soul keeping you up at night, making your blood pulse through your veins in a way you both adore and loathe.

It's an awful mix of emotion, others can give. A cocktail with enough potency to send you to the moon as fast as it subdues you in the blackness of the bottom of the ocean. Lately, all this feeling and existing in my everlasting state of having crushes has got me thinking about human nature and leagues, attraction and all that stuff that belongs in some sort of psychology or philosophy class.
Does "being in a league" exist? I believe it does, but of course what you deem your league is as subjective as what you deem attractive and unattractive. Which would mean, there is no universal league, just ones we create for ourselves.

The thought we put in our heads that we aren't good enough for another person.

I'm slowly learning that life comes with a lot of acceptance. Accepting that there are things that will happen to you, that regardless of how much control you have over their presence in your life, you've got to accept. I've been feeling a sense of anxiety, coupled with relief coming to terms with this. Not only in the sense of accepting that crushes are the worst, and that I've given myself a league but that how things work out between me and another person in my life is not something I can leave up to myself to pan out. As someone very happy with having control of her own life, it's quite unsettling while painstakingly liberating to accept there are things about my life, such as other people's feelings about me, that I can't control.

I cannot control if a person's personality works with mine, if I'm in their made up league or if all my many efforts for them will ever be enough. Things will work out as their meant to, and whether that means having a one bedroom in Manhattan with a dog, and a dream job or being married and mothering 12 children...well I guess I'm just as much here to watch that pan out as anyone else.

I cannot guarantee, nor can anyone else, that one day I'll be sat in a coffee shop and some brown eyed, tan skinned hunk, who loves to cook and clean and has vast amounts of experience in child care, and loves dogs will sweep me off my feet, and make my life the fairytale all girls are supposed to pray for every night. I also cannot guarantee I won't live a perfectly productive life on my own. But, I think the true bliss that can accompany undiluted happiness is being okay with either situation or anything that can come between. Being okay with not knowing, as much as you are with leading an amazing life with or without someone else.

Basically, I've found a way to romanticize and gather up some kind of epiphany from having another crush on another stupid boy. Cut me some slack, I'm a writer and a teenager at the same damn time. Things get shifty.

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Snip, Snip.

I won't lie and pretend as if I'm the most ballsy female on the planet who decided to make a decision with no contemplation into her psyche and other people's subsequent judgements. I cried, I put it off, I procrastinated. I argued with myself, and others who encouraged me to do it for so long.

When it all came down to it, sat in he chair at the salon, the sound of the scissors ripping through every inch of protein I'd grown and straightened the living daylights out of was therapeutic. Watching as it tumbled down my shoulders and onto the floor, made me wish I had the wherewithal to do it all sooner. The relief was unlike any sort of elation I can describe to you.
Not necessarily the relief that the actual, physical hair was no longer on my head the relief of one less thing to worry about. One less thing that's going to keep me up at night.

A decision I completely went through with and I'm so damn proud of myself for doing it. Something I've wanted to do, and finally just DID.

I wish I could come with you with the typical I found feminism then decided to chop all my hair off, and not shave story but that's not the case...sorry.

I'm writing this after going about a day without sleep, there's no real deep meaning or metaphor to it all. It's just something I wanted to record and talk about. My hair's cut short. For so many years there is absolutely nothing I could imagine hating more on myself than short hair, but I'm in love and just happy I've got supportive people around me who stop me from copping out of everything.
It's been a helluva week.

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