Because a ginger has rants and is inspired by others:
Anyone not trying to get to know the real you is not doing it right. And if they do get to know you more and it turns them away – that’s the price of admission in this thing called love (not just situational/convenient relationships). It’s a part of life.
Accept nothing less.
We try to rush through the bad, the clashing of interests, difference of opinions, the getting to know you part, because we want the fantasy of love, but the dedication part requires we jump through all those hoops so we end up with the perfect person to your other half. It’s those boring “getting to know you” moments that matter all the most.
You have to be willing to get excited about the most boring details of that person, because when you’re both 50 and it’s just the two of you (if you’re both lucky enough in life) that’s what will help make it last.
I’m not trying to only know the Friday night version of you, I’m interested in knowing the complete you – you at your most fragile, vulnerable, and lonely. What gets you through the toughest Mondays, the arguments, the frustrations, the hurdles in your life? Because if I can’t assist you in those moments, I’m useless.
Anybody can have a good time and be friends when you’re all having fun, but it’s who gets you through your toughest times that deserves your sunshine – not the professional worker/acquaintance “white” voice version of yourself that you put on for the world, but the real you who takes off the face the world projects onto you in order to make it through life successful everyday when you come home and unwind from it all.
Your glass of wine, your favorite show, the smile inside, the fire that sparks your interest, the light that turns on for you when it’s just you and time and how you choose to spend it to keep yourself satisfied in life. Your truest self. Whatever that is. No judgments.
Let those moments, the most sincere and honest version of you smile through the nervous first dates of the “will she like me’s”, “what books does she read”, “what kind of parent would she make”, and after it all if they see all of you and they stick around, well THEN you have the beginnings of what COULD BE the makings of a bridge to build together on the linear road called life.
Word to the Brooklyn bridge. Go and build you one, homey.