For all sad words of tongue or pen
The saddest are these: “It might have been.”
Consider:
I’ve heard stories like this from people before. Guys that see a woman in the vegetable aisle at Shaw’s that steal their heart, women engaged in a chance passing in the hallway or on the street. Eyes meet and the soundtrack starts, but instead of Reese Witherspoon and (I am so not aware of pop culture these days, please insert name of heartthrob guy from the movies or TV here) falling madly in love and living happily ever after both people walk on and the chance to fall into the “perfect love” becomes a fleeting memory of what might have been.
I wonder why we never approach “that person.” On one hand I think it may have something to do with the “might have been” aspect of the whole scenario. The person you pass takes on an almost mystical quality of perfection. They were made to fit with you and your personality, every aspect of them hand picked to complement you. They never grow old, or wake up in the morning looking like crap, or have bad habits that annoy you, or are ridiculously stupid. They are whatever you want them to be. Perhaps they are better off that way. Better being imaginary, fantasy. On the other I think we are too scared of rejection. The fear that when you approach someone that you thought you made this cosmic connection with would look at you like you’re nuts is probably crippling.
I’m getting to the point where I avoid eye contact altogether, just to make sure I don’t find myself in one of these scenarios. (Axiom One: “The woman of my dreams does not exist, and if she did, what would she want with the likes of me?”)
Still, the fantasy factory grinds out these tales on a regular basis, and few of us are entirely immune to their pull. What’s more, they last so long:
[A]lmost 8 years later, I now have a memory that I had forgotten once upon a time. I have a 22 year old man (in my memory I’m 22 too, so it’s not weird that way) who lives in my memory as “that guy on the T”, the one that could have been, but it was just as well that he never was.
The last time I rode the T, I was twenty. Then as now, Boston could boast a bumper crop of beauties; even then I tried to look away, frustrated that I lacked the nerve to proceed, ashamed that I’d even thought of such a thing, forced to buy the silence of my conscience by arguing that well, it’s not like they were paying any attention to me.
Shortly thereafter, I was packed off to a NATO facility in the Middle East to join 497 other guys and two actual women. The odds, I reckoned, were just about the same.
Francis W. Porretto »
21 February 2008 · 3:50 pm
“The woman of my dreams does not exist, and if she did, what would she want with the likes of me?”
This is reminiscent of Groucho Marx’s “I would never join any club that would have me as a member.” Self-defeat in under two dozen words. Verbum sat sapienti.
Tatyana »
21 February 2008 · 8:14 pm
Oh, now I see why you are a Democrat.
CGHill »
21 February 2008 · 8:34 pm
Naw. You don’t see me demanding that the government issue me a girlfriend, do you?
Tatyana »
21 February 2008 · 8:41 pm
You made the first steps though.
The self-loathing, simultaneous with high opinion of oneself. A sure sign. Next is passive-aggressiveness.
Be warned.
Dan B »
22 February 2008 · 9:42 am
The ______ of your dreams does not exist, insert anything into the blank. That’s why they’re dreams.
Relationships are what you make of them. If you make nothing of them, you don’t have any.
Instead of cursing the ground for not producing soil, how about actually breaking the soil and planting a few seeds?
CGHill »
22 February 2008 · 11:20 am
I don’t curse the ground. I merely whine about the weather.
minessa »
22 February 2008 · 6:11 pm
I don’t make eye contact anymore either. Somehow when I was in my early 20s it was easier for me to make eye contact and smile coyly (is that even a word)…now, I duck my head and hide.
I wonder how many might have been’s I’ve missed because of that?
McGehee »
22 February 2008 · 9:01 pm
For a long time, before I met she-who-became-my-wife, I had about concluded if it weren’t for “might-have-beens” I’d have no “beens” at all.