I was watching TV on Saturday night, when one of my all-time favorite Sex and the City episodes came on. The very last line explains the whole half hour show, really: "Some people are settling down, some people are settling...and some people refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies."
I've always loved the episode because Carrie raves about the importance of zsa zsa zsu, that indescribable chemistry that makes sparks fly, stomachs flip, and relationships last. But, as I heard that line at the end of the episode for the bajillionth time, I suddenly was struck: what if you don't have butterflies?
I refuse to settle. (Ok, at least, I try not to settle.) I'm certainly not settling down. And, of course, I want a truly great love story.
But -- what am I supposed to do until those butterflies show up?
I spent the weekend wondering about my state of flux, my butterfly-less romance purgatory. I watched friends flounder in relationships; I noticed little old couples in Riverside Park and wondered if, as Carrie claimed, the memory of their zsa zsa zsu kept their love alive. I smiled and nodded as friends tried to fix me up, and laughed when my mother suggested putting on lipgloss and knocking on doors in my building until I found a Jewish boy with a cup of flour. It was exhausting.
You see, you can't hurry love (no, you just have to wait...). Sure, I could go on a date. I could go for coffee. I could march right over to the next cute Jewish boy I notice on the A train and exchange phone numbers. But I'm not in this for a booked calendar, or coffee, or a hefty little black book. I'm in this for butterflies, and those cannot be manufactured. Carrie forgot to mention that refusing to settle can mean settling in for the long haul.
So, enough already. I'm through with making jokes about being the third wheel, and I'm done with fending off those gut-wrenching looks of pity from happily coupled friends. I refuse to settle for anything less than butterflies, I do - but I also refuse to believe that I cannot be happy now. I refuse to wallow in singledom. I am determined to find my own glee.
Someday my prince will come. There'll be butterflies, and romance, and we'll ride off into the sunset and live happily ever after. But, no fairytale starts at its end. Here's to the first part of the story, the beginning of my fairytale, the part that Carrie Bradshaw skimmed over. Here's to chasing butterflies.
