I used to believe in true love. That there was one person out there that would compliment me perfectly and visa versa. I was in search of that person and sure I would find him. That was a myth of course. A myth that was taught to me as a young girl. Most likely culled from Disney's version of fairy tales.
My first glimpse that there may not be true love was in Brazil. It was there I realized that I could get along with a variety of very different men. I didn't mold myself to fit their views of a woman (I blew them away being American and heathervescent), and I felt a lightness in not trying to fit them into some kind of perfect vision. I tried out this view and it worked well. Then I came back the US. I continued this experiment, but eventually fell back into the "one true love" model. It was a sweet. It was bittersweet. It could be a reality with lots of work. (I keep hearing Mick's voice drawling, "And all my dreams would come true" from Far Away Eyes.) And really, a myth is like a stereotype on an archetypical level.
So now, where am I? I'm not looking for love. I'm exploring. I'm exploring this world and myself in the world. So I have a choice of what I want to believe, instead of just believing in what I taught.
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