I wish I were 6 feet tall

aug 24 I wish I were 6 feet tallSaskatchewan is a small place, smaller still with social media. I’m jealous he’s moved on – and he isn’t referring to a specific person because it doesn’t matter: it could be any former flame – I am also jealous that he can go out, meet people, flirt, even kiss without being terrified, without worrying that the girl he’s with is going to get the wrong impression, go too far, or assault him when he’s drunk.

I wish I were six feet tall. I wish I could walk around like I owned the place – like I knew no one would hurt me.

I carry around this jealousy like dead weight and I’m scared to set it down. My biggest fear is I’m going to be 30 and bitter: 30 and single and bitter that I’m not married, or 30 and married and bitter that my husband doesn’t meet my expectations – or that I wish I was my husband and not me, not a woman.

But I don’t want to stop being jealous – and this is really fucked up – because I want to believe that everyone out there, ex’s and enemies included, will meet someone, fall in love, get married and live happily ever after because if everyone else is entitled to it, then by default I am too – and it is preferable to be bitter that they found love before I did than to accept the possibility that I might meet someone and be happy forever – or I might not.

It is easier to cling to the hope of a fairytale, than it is to believe in God.

I would rather believe that there is life in the meantime between now and marriage and I don’t want to accept that the meantime is my life. I am a lady-in-waiting – I just have to suffer through these interminable years until Prince Charming shows up.

This is my autonomy project, but truth be told, I really don’t want to be autonomous or independent – even though I’d love to shut out the voices that say I’m doing this all wrong: that I can find “the one” …if only I look harder, go out more often, be more assertive on Tinder.

But I don’t want to go out every weekend – sometimes I want to stay in and read a French novella, sip tea and do yoga in my underwear in my living room – alone. And I want to ignore the voices that say I’m potentially missing my chance to meet that special someone.

I want to drown out all the voices (preferably with peppermint tea, lots of peppermint tea) that say this religion is a waste of time. And yet, I still can’t seem to channel the faith I need that God does have a plan for me, so to speak, beyond being interminably jealous of everyone around me.

 

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