Having a blog is a little bit like writing an ongoing novel about myself. I write my life, that is true - but I am fully in control of what about my life I write. It is a great thing that I can be real and authentic and write truth... to the extent that I see fit on a given day. The truth is the truth, but I can spin it how I like. I get to choose. When it comes to my life on paper, I am the author, creator, editor, and mastermind. I can write something completely untrue if I want (I don't do that, for the record). I can write something and delete it if I don't like what I see. I'm in charge. I have control. And for your information, yes, the weather is lovely in delusionland.
In the life that I write, I try very hard not to write about the L bomb. Love.
I mean love... like, LOVE love. Romance love. The subject of every movie geared towards my demographic love. DOYOULIKEME check-yes-or-no love. It's not a subject I feel super comfortable positing my opinions on. On the one hand, to be a single girl in her mid-twenties writing about love feels stereotypical to me, and heaven forbid I be predictable. But admittedly, I also secretly fear becoming that girl - the one who talks about nothing but. It is possible, however, that my refusal to accept this topic has caused me to err on the side of never acknowledging it, which is a kind of predictability in itself. Foiled again.
Yes. Unicorns. Those mythically wondrous sparkly horse-like creatures with horns growing triumphantly from their majestic brows. Sunlight beaming from every inch of their lithe, irridescent bodies. Unicorns. The concept of the Unicorn is wonderful (don't argue, I won't listen) and magical but at the end of the day, we don't think they really exist. Which is why one day, when speaking of a friend's fiancé, another friend and I dubbed this particular man a Unicorn. He was so great that we weren't sure he was real. Then other good guys showed up. Again and again, we thought, "is this real?!" Years have passed since we first coined this phrase, and one by one, Unicorns have continued to strut into the picture of our lives. Fascinating.
I can no longer pretend that Unicorns (the man kind, anyway) do not exist. The evidence is there, albeit sporadic, and I can ignore their existence no longer. I'm going to resist the urge to go all Nicholas Sparks on you, to shower you with platitudes and cliches, because then I would have to hate me and I'm quite partial to liking me. And I will add as a caveat that while these love-type things are indeed possible, they rarely look like we think they will. The timing we have in our heads is never accurate. There is the potential for a lot of heartbreak on the way there. And while I don't believe in "but even after all that they found each other and they lived happily ever after and nothing bad ever happened ever again because they were both beautiful and in LOVE" Disney fairytale ish, I do believe in Unicorns. Which, if you know me, is a big deal for me to admit.
Since we, the ladies, first gazed longingly into the eyes of Jonathan Taylor Thomas on the shiny pages of Teen Beat and discovered True Love at the tender age of 11, we have hoped (some of us more quietly than others) that Unicorns were real. I just want you to know, girls, that I'm starting to think it might be possible. You need not settle for horses that will kick you right in the teeth if you let yourself get close enough. (To be fair, I've never really liked horses so they didn't stand a chance in this metaphor.) Quit hanging out with horses. Hold out for a Unicorn.