Moving On

I have to move home soon. It's something I've unfortunately become familiar with over the past few years, just due to unlucky timing with owners reclaiming property. Why this relates to Brave is that every time I move to a new place, I imagine my life being different. Not crazy fantasy, life changing different - I just imagine, this is the house I will live in when I meet someone, and I imagine the first time he comes over to see the house; the relaxed cooking in the kitchen; the getting along with Sibling 3 who I live with; the snuggling on the couch, watching a DVD in very sappy coupley way; laying in bed on Sunday morning. It's terribly romantic comedy movie scenes but I still imagine them, and however cliche ridden it may be, I want that. Every house move is a bit of lemon juice in my wound, of how I haven't had a relationship in this house. It all sounds so awfully over the top but at the end of day, there's something about sharing this tiny, everyday stuff we do with someone. We search for partners because on some basic level we need that specific connection, God knows I do. Moving house at my age also means it's another lease I sign into singledom. I feel like I should have lived with someone by now, or at least had the possessions at my home problem. I want someone's shoes to be at my door, or their jeans on my floor. I want an extra toothbrush in the bathroom, a knowing knock at the door, and somebody to be there, to just fill in the space. How stupid does that sound?

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It's coming on a year now since I started attempting to be Brave and whilst I've tried a few things, and had some strange brushes with romance, the same hopefulness that I started with is struggling to muster inside me. It's not that I'm depressed about it all, but at this very moment, I've become so tired, so exhuasted about the whole thing. It's a giant mental, what's the point? I haven't had one heart start this year. Not one Man who's challenging me, who's sparked some curisosity and instead of being sad, with tears of desperation, I've moved past that to ambivalance. I really don't see the point in trying, I'm so tired of hearing 'it's coming soons', and telling myself to try new things. I don't want to, I want love to roll up on my door and knock loudly and say, I'm here, sorry it took so long, I got stuck in traffic! And it's bizarre because I'm surrounded by all stages of love that tell me it's worth it, this year especially, I've watched my friends consumed by it, from the early flourish to full blown love, to the frustrations of love with held, to the all consuming pain of knowing the end is near. I've seen all my friends be so brave, be honest and put their hearts out there and actually get love in return. And of course, for some, it hasn't worked out. They've ended the year in a place so different to where they'd hope to be but at the same, if you ask any one of them if they regret it or wished to erase that person from their lives, I can assure you, they'd say no. But it seems, not to be for me, it's seems quietness and soloness is my place. I'd honestly hoped this account of romance would, in some fated way, bring that person into my life. I'd imagined writing searing accounts of the first moments of my first experiences with love, of my crazy ramblings of his attributes, of my first glimpse at heartbreak if that were to happen. I'd hoped and prepared for it all, and to end up in such a similar place is really deflating. I hope the spirit of Brave stays with me, I'm sure in some capacity it will, and I will continue with my very sporadic updates - I've got not much else to do! - but I wonder how long the road is, how far the light, and how do I keep my chin up when apathy is so inviting.