Waking Dreams

When I was younger I used to lull myself to sleep not by counting sheep, but by creating elaborate stories within my head the cast me as the main character. The setting might change; sometimes I would be in a secluded forest cottage, sometimes a single room in a city boarding house, sometimes at the top of a castle turret; but the part I played was always the same.

I was a damsel in distress, my long golden locks twisting in the wind as I stared off into the distance. Searching the horizon for the same, one thing: A man, my own Prince Charming (occasionally I went far enough to have him ride up on a brilliantly white steed).

These bedtime fantasies always took place in the "days of yore" time period. I harkened back to the 1700s and 1800s in my waking hours play too. I could often be found strolling around in the afternoon in my long princess dresses, flipping bikes upside down to pretend they were spinning wheels. These eras just appealed to me, there implied feminine daintity and grace alongside such stark male strength. I just chose to omit the downsides of these untechnological days--my tresses where always clean, and I never envisioned houses fraught with fleas and the lack of indoor heating or plumming.

My favorite story-line surrounded the "peasant girl all alone in the woods with so many dangerous animals and potentially harmful passer-throughs." The details of the story where fun to develop and taper to my mood, but the only crucial element that had to be established before I slipped into sleep was that by the end of the story, I would be in the protective, strong arms of a man.

It just seemed so easy back when I was ten years old. It all just fell into place. I was there, he happened across, it was love. He saved me.

It has not been so easy in reality. Perhaps I pick the wrong men, the Not-Quite Prince Charmings. They seem to fall either on one end of the scale or the other of the committment scale; severly phobic or stiffingly addicted. Maybe my whole fantasy notion of the man of my dreams (literally) was all wrong to begin with. I don't ever recall my "one love" ever speaking or having any kind of intellectual conversation.

I just needed his presence.

I fear that sometimes I jump into relationships simply to satisfy that need. To feel "wanted," or "chosen." Do I date only to fill a void?

This quandry had me seriously examining my life and frankly, it's not too bad; even at my current man-less standing.

I am blessed with a loving a supportive family, including a mom who doubles as my best friend and confidante. I have a wonderful friend who meets me weekly for coffee and gossip. Who holds my hand when I am down, and makes me laugh so hard that my face tingles and the corners of my mouth ache. I have a job I truly enjoy (most of the time!), cats who purr and curl up together in the mid-morning sunshine. I am educated, soon to retire my winter coat for the season (fingers crossed), and have amazing memories that have the power to envoke an incredibly wide range of emotions. I have a promising future and a host of people pushing for me to succeed; hands that hold me up even when my legs begin to buckle-maybe especially then.

Yes, potentially, and hopefully, my future will involve a partner, but as of right now, I think I'll just take care of those dangerous animals and mischevious passer-throughs myself.