I was a bridesmaid this weekend at a very Southern wedding. Other than one 18-year-old cousin of the bride, all the other bridesmaids were actually bridesmatrons. I was the only one unwed. This, unsurprisingly, became a topic of conversation as I was introduced to one groomsman after another, thrown at the attractive bartender, and forced to dance with the bride’s single brother - age 22.
I think, to a degree, you become what people tell you you will become, similar to the way your name influences your career choice, like Dennises becoming dentists and Lauras becoming lawyers. When you spend your entire life hearing you’re going to be something specific, you begin to believe it. You start to embody those adjectives simply because that’s what you’ve come to think of yourself.
It strikes me as odd that when I was too young to marry, people kept saying I was going to be trouble, I was going to give men a run for their money, it’d take one hell of a man to tie me down, and it was a compliment… but as soon as I was of age, people’s tunes changed. All of a sudden it was, “how could someone like you be single?” Well, you just spent the last 20 years telling me no one would be able to handle me. You basically convinced me that my personality is impossible and only one man on Planet Earth would ever actually like it. So it’s not very surprising that I don’t trust people. I naturally assume most people do not have my best interests in mind - only their own. They don’t want me to lower my walls because they love me, they just want me to lower them so they can win. I realize this is twisted, but it’s also pretty common.
As I flew home with no one to fly home to, I couldn’t help but be accosted by a thought that hadn’t crossed my mind this completely in years: the love of my life is alive and he’s doing something right now. He exists. He has a life with friends, jobs, drinks, women, family. Is English his native tongue? Does he hate vodka shots? Does he indulge in the occasional cigarette? Was he popular in high school? Did he ever have a car? Did he name it? Did he total it? And what does he describe when he is essentially describing me? I want a strong-willed, impulsive harlot that only expresses emotion during Pixar films? One can only hope.
My grandmother assures me that when you meet the one you’re meant to be with, you just know. I assume this is true, mainly because only about a billion people in the history of time have claimed it is. That which you believe becomes your reality. That’s why so many people believe in astrology, or just indulge in reading their horoscopes. If you grow up hearing repeatedly that you will be stubborn, ambitious, and fiercely loyal, you, to an extent, begin to embody those qualities. Those Capricorn adjectives are also my adjectives. If you grow up hearing you’ll be “a lot to handle,” you probably will be. As the descriptions and describers pile on, I snowball into the woman they’ve elected me.
Society seems to warm to the precocious 14-year-old girl who is outspoken, focuses on good grades, and doesn’t have time for schoolyard antics. It’s not hard to imagine who this girl will be when she grows up. What is hard to understand is why society doesn’t like who she usually becomes: a woman who is outspoken, focuses on her career, and doesn’t have time to listen to the societal bullshit that pressures her to get married and have kids.
Somewhere out there my future husband has probably been hearing “it’ll take one hell of a woman to tie you down” his whole life. He’s probably been sowing his wild oats carefree and shamelessly for a decade now, which is why I’m doing exactly the same thing. Because, according to you, I am a spitfire, a wild card, a mouthy little thing, trouble, “12 going on 22”, whip-smart, going places, Most Likely to Succeed, and Most Likely to Have an Unconventional Night Job. My enthusiasm and melodramatic bursts are only enhanced by my tendency to embellish, exaggerate, and color the truth. Because that which you believe becomes your reality, and you’ve led me to believe I am something remarkable.
Thank you for your input. I’ll take it from here.
