Every once in a while in the middle of an ordinary life, love gives us a fairytale. – Unknown.
Girls were born to dream. We dream about our careers, our wedding, and babies – lots of babies. We have played “house” and dress up since we were old enough to talk and walk. It didn’t really help us that every night before bed we were fed fairy tales and left to dream about our prince charming that would rescue us and be our true love.
Who grows up living in a castle or a forest for that matter? Do we actually live happily ever after? Is there real magic that can break the spells of pain? Where is our prince charming anyway? It seems I am still hanging out in the tower awaiting my rescue.
I think we were doomed from the start. We were set up with high expectations that could never be met. On the first day of kindergarten, reality met us like a head on collision and we discovered that boys stink, they can be jerks, and they will break our hearts on many occasions.
Their actions taint our view on love and the thought of a fairy tale ending slowly begins to fade. We slam the book shut unwilling to open it again. By this, we settle. We choose mediocre and boring love. We flee from the dragons instead of slaying them for real passionate and all-consuming love.
Maybe we have misconceptions about love and what entails a true fairy tale. Maybe love cannot be spelled out in a short story book. Maybe it needs room to grow, and many chapters for the plot to unfold and the conclusion to be reached. Maybe it needs more characters, more villains to outlast. Maybe we need to kiss a few more frogs before he turns into a prince.
In the borrowed words of an unknown source, I’ve learned that…
My path to love does not necessarily follow a script, it is taking its own path. It’s presenting me with obstacles I have never had to face. It’s not easy either nor is it enchanting. The main character seems to be missing too. Maybe my prince has gotten lost and cannot find the shoe to fit my soul. Maybe he is not quite strong enough to climb the tower yet. Maybe he’s afraid to love because it might just magically disappear. Who knows?
What I do know is that magic has no use in my story, only hope. Hope allows me to keep turning the pages and to keep on reading. It makes me hang on and hunger for more. It makes me believe that at the stroke of midnight my prince charming and I will meet. The timing and the setting have to be just right. It makes me believe in fairy tales again, the real kind and not the make-believe versions either. Most importantly, it reassures me that I will live out my happily ever after.
The End 🙂