“No way”, murmured my intuition as my date excused his self to go to the restroom.
“Ah, but don’t you see? Isn’t this the perfect start to a romantic story? Just imagine, two people who appear to be all wrong for each other falling in love despite”, said the Hopeless Romantic running loose inside my mind.
“Who let her out?” asks my sturdy guide, Intuition.
Will you two shut up! I command as I shake my head back and forth slightly trying to loosen their grip on my mind. I quickly look around the coffee shop to see if anyone notices me and my apparent multiple-personality disorder. No one seems to care that I am on a first date or if he is or isn’t “the one”. And thank God there don’t appear to be any mind-readers present to overhear the voices arguing in my head.
I find myself at home later that evening trying to sort out the voices in my head, after another failed attempt at finding love with a member of the male species. I think over the last month of my life and I keep finding myself arriving at the same point – confusion, disappointment, frustration and in a couple of cases---in tears. I seem to seesaw back and forth between my intuition and some hopeless romantic idea that goes something like this:
“It could be him” Hopeless Romantic says as she rides up and down on a beautiful carousel horse.
“Nope”, says Intuition as she sits looking un-impressed with hands around her crystal ball.
“But you should always expect the unexpected” says Hopeless Romantic as she gestures to a unicorn making its way across the sky.
“Wishful thinking, you romantic fool” Intuition says as a points to a picture in her crystal ball of a drunken Prince Charming falling off his white horse.
Suddenly, the conversation playing out in my mind is interrupted, “Drop the storyline”. The voice is male, aged and everything you would imagine a man of profound wisdom to sound like. I think to myself, Great, another personality to join the party. The thought echoes again and this time, I take a minute to ponder it. There does seem to be some off-the-wall soap opera storyline wreaking havoc on my seemingly rational, normal and composed self. Just what exactly is going on here?, I begin to wonder.
I dash into my back bedroom and riffle through the pile of books sitting next to the exercise bike. I know that one of these books planted this ‘storyline’ seed in my mind and now it has decided to sprout just in time to save my sanity. I locate a book of Buddhist wisdom for challenging times and quickly flip to the folded down page marking where I left off. I retrace the steps of wisdom until I locate the passage that apparently took root in my subconscious.
A quick review of the chapter tells me that the only way to get to the root of my suffering is meditation—something that I am very familiar with but have been lacking the discipline to properly practice lately.
I plop down in my living room; legs crossed and begin to focus on my breath. It takes a while to settle my mind but when I do, I feel myself dissolving into the earth. The sound of the birds and a heartbeat—mine or the earth’s?—are all I seem to be aware of for some time. But then out of the darkness comes a taste of truth:
Hopeless Romantic sits in a beautiful garden and continually works on a romantic storyline starring--who else--but yours truly. Her storyline includes our good pals, “wishful thinking’ and “happily ever after”. She crafts her stories to follow these themes. She uses her magic wand to tap each character with a little fairly dust and then carefully poses them, making sure that their good side is all that is seen. She looks familiar and very similar to me but with several enhancements. She is like the “supermodel” version of me.
I start to feel slightly disturbed by this vision but I locate my breath and feel my ribcage rising and falling and ease once again comes over me. I realize that I have officially been introduced to the person that is wreaking havoc on my life—me.
Wait, what?! But before I can really settle into that realization, out of the darkness comes more truth:
Intuition sits quietly in a darkened house atop a hill. She peeks from behind the curtain and waits for Hopeless Romantic to wonder off chasing a butterfly or unicorn so she can introduce her storyline that includes our practical friends: “doubt” and “human-nature”. She uses her keen human insight to blow away some of that fairy dust to expose the smallest bit of imperfection in our characters. She also has a nasty habit of saying “I knew it”—repeatedly. She seems to resemble me but the dark veil she wears makes it hard to see her clearly.
The vision continues:
Into my neighborhood comes a handsome man. He has an easy smile and a certain charm about him. Hopeless Romantic scribbles away, scripting a grand story that includes romantic walks in the park and long conversations over coffee. She smiles over at me, winking. I look at the handsome man and the fairy dust sparkles so stunningly in the sunlight--on our perfect day in the park--that it’s blinding me. I sigh to myself as I think, I love this story!
Suddenly the wind picks up and the water in the pond (complete with swans) ripples ever so slightly. Some of the fairy dust blows away and I see that our handsome man has a few scars---deep scars and festering wounds. I look over expectedly at Hopeless Romantic as she bangs her magic wand against a tree, wondering how it could have possibly failed her, failed us. Out of the corner of my eye I see the curtain drop back into place in the house atop the hill. And I think to myself, that wench has messed with my perfect story—again.
And that wench is also me. Wait, what?!
My meditation timer beeps and startles me out of my observations. I let my newfound knowledge sink in. I want so badly to believe in “happily ever after” and I want even more to believe that “happily ever after” can be mine so I reach for it. And that desire is all the fuel that Hopeless Romanic needs to begin weaving her story. I sit there surprised that I am the one allowing this storyline to be written. My little flame of hope is being overshadowed by a greedy desire to have a happily-ever-after and have it now. My intuition seems to show up in an effort to restore some balance and show me that hope is enough—I don’t need some fantastical love story.
My thoughts seem to wander to the next natural thing: How do I stop myself from writing a storyline? How do I keep myself from getting caught up in my own desire? The sudden caw of a crow pierces the silence and cuts into my thoughts like a knife through butter. I focus on the crow and wonder if he is capable of producing a storyline in his life? I watch as he shifts his wings slightly when the wind picks up. He lives in nature—a moment to moment manifestation of life and death. I feel pretty certain that there isn’t a “happily ever after” being sold to him.
Storylines are pre-written but I can’t possibly live in the future because it hasn’t happened yet. Therein lays the key—live in the now. There can’t possibly be a storyline because our lives unfold moment to moment—just like the crow’s.
I realize that I find comfort in the idea that I already know what is going to happen in my life and that I can be prepared for when the winds shift—again, composing a storyline. But when the wind shifts and it isn’t in the direction that I scripted, my story no longer makes sense—bring on the turmoil.
I realize that I find comfort in the idea that I already know what is going to happen in my life and that I can be prepared for when the winds shift—again, composing a storyline. But when the wind shifts and it isn’t in the direction that I scripted, my story no longer makes sense—bring on the turmoil.
Although, I think it would be nearly impossible to banish Hopeless Romantic from my life altogether, I make a promise to myself to learn to live in the groundlessness of now. If I can learn to participate in life as its unfolding, moment-to-moment, I just might be able to “Drop the storyline” and live happily ever after.
