I used to think it was immature and embarrassing to talk about feelings and stuff on a professional blog like this one, but I’ve decided that that is entirely untrue. I’ve been convinced by my contemporaries ie. Christina Rossetti, Matthew Arnold, Thomas Hardy, that it is ENTIRELY acceptable to be overdramatic and to talk about love and religion and temptation and eroticism. OK nix the last part.
I was at dinner today and I was talking to my friends about how my sister has enough boy drama to sate the entire family. And then we got to the topic of people of interest and how they are nonexistent. I came to the conclusion that if I had a fairy godmother who could set me up with anyone in the world, I would have no one to choose. Isn’t that something? It’s a little sad, but not totally depressing considering my place.
I haven’t spoken to someone like the way I’m speaking to this person in a really long time. Just genuinely getting to know each other. It’s a casual conversation, yet intimate. Just flipping through the casual conversation manual until we get to something more we want to share. It requires effort. Maybe he is lonely. I am. Once siblings and parents and childhood come up, the conversation changes direction, pace, flavor. And why do conversations like this always deflect to concerns/anticipation for the far future. Marriage, families, children. Things we realistically don’t even need to think about right now. Reflections upon the way we were raised and how things will be the same or different for our children. Our insecurities and values and principles and mottos and personal barriers that we cement in text.
I like talking to older people. They make me feel comfortable. People my age want to impress each other and we all get offended so easily. We need to say the right thing or do the right thing or else it’s rude or bitchy or off. I haven’t put my finger on what I like about older people. Maybe it’s the security. That the burden of responsibility is not on me.