Apparently, surviving cancer does not mean you get a free boyfriend
I feel like surviving cancer means you should get a free boyfriend, with ease and little heartbreak involved, but according to my current experiences, this is not the case.
When your entire life falls apart, you begin to believe that eventually everything will come together at once. It’s the thing you tell yourself to get by as you watch beautiful Youtuber after beautiful Youtuber vlog their kinda boring yet glamorous life in LA. I thought I would come to back to Boston, get a great job, start classes, keep my room clean, spend plenty of time with my friends, never feel overwhelmed again, start working out, and redeem my coupon for a free boyfriend. Those are the rules right? Something insanely shitty happens to you but then everything falls into place just like a coming of age story. Except my life is less John Hughes and more Lena Dunham.
When I got back to Boston I matched with the hottest guy I’d ever seen on Tinder. I thought, “This is my big break!” in the same way up-and-coming actresses think about landing a McDonalds commercial. I kinda recognized him from around and I was like “Yes. Right on time. This is it.” I imagined the Instagrams, the Spotify playlists, and the Friday nights spent at Super 88. I built up a montage reel surrounding a stranger I had never actually talked to in real life. In those first few days of messaging, my stomach turned with every phone buzz.
Hello darkness my old friend.
I am notoriously obsessive when it comes to anything romantic. You can ask any of my exes, especially considering I’m only over like one of them. Romance, even potential romance, is the strongest drug I’ve ever encountered. It makes me feel like my brain is on fire and if I try hard enough, I can shoot glitter out of my fingertips. I became hyperaware of this after a particular nasty bout of trying to date someone who wasn’t very fond of me (but still kept me around?? for some reason?? I honestly couldn’t tell ya what men are ever doing??). I realized that, aside from having no self-esteem/backbone, it was in my nature to stay with someone astonishingly shitty because I preferred the high from potential romance than nothing at all. It’s very similar to that scene in He’s Just Not That Into You where Alex (Justin Long) Tells It Like It Is. I liked drama and thrill of it all. I also made endless excuses for someone instead of facing the reality of rejection. I swore this behavior off, just like Gigi (Ginnifer Goodwin) does in He’s Just Not That Into You where she starts paying her phone bill on time and goes on a date with a boring dude.
I’ve come to talk with you again
After a few days of carrying the Busch Garden’s Williamsburg Rollercoaster Apollo’s Chariot feeling around inside of me, I realized during a conversation with my roommates about this LITERAL STRANGER that I was projecting some absurd narrative onto, again, a LITERAL STRANGER. It was unfair and also unhealthy of me to think that this guy would be (one) my free boyfriend as a gift from god and (two) the solution to all my problems.
As you can guess, due to the title of this article, he was not my free boyfriend. If he was, this article would probably be called ‘I have it all. Suck it cancer!!!’ But it’s not. We messaged back and forth but it never really went anywhere. I couldn’t blame him no matter how much I wanted to. Shit happens. Shit doesn’t work out. You can’t project your hopes and dreams onto a tinder match. You don’t get a free boyfriend just because you had cancer.
Through this I realized I finally had reached some sort of rejection enlightenment. And I was pissed. Being emotionally mature enough to recognize your own faults and the nebulous nature of online dating is neither exciting nor fun. Old me would’ve started some sort of emotional trashcan fire deep inside myself where I would’ve been both destructive and high strung for two weeks. I would’ve written bad poetry, I would’ve pined after this LITERAL STRANGER (did I mention he was a literal stranger yet?) for an inappropriate amount of time; I would’ve tried to change everything about myself. Instead, I just kinda coped with it. Don’t get me wrong, I was definitely disappointed but also a little ashamed that I had so foolishly fallen back into the same trap I thought I had sworn off.
Ultimately, I moved on with my life. I awkwardly ran into him in person and tried to be as Chill about it as possible. I tried to organize all those other dreams I had. Cool job? Check. Taking classes? Check. Being a shithead with my friends? Check. Doing the best I can for both my physical and emotional health recognizing that everything cannot happen at once and even the most successful people don’t have it all? Check.
Except I still long for a free boyfriend, long for a romance that falls into my lap like Riley and Lucas on Girl Meets World (I consumed A LOT of romantic narratives during chemo… and during the rest of my life). I want the heavens to open up and deposit my dream man on my Allston stoop. I keep matching with these semi-acquaintances on Tinder and keep thinking this is my McDonald’s commercial and it’s not. It really is not. Obviously nothing makes me entitled to anyone’s time, attention, or love. No matter the hardship I have faced. But wouldn’t it be nice?
The good news is I recognize a lot quicker when I’m projecting. I still project because I’m a writer and a crazy person, but I try not to let it affect anywhere other than the quieter corners of my brain.
And just like Gigi in HJNTIY (we’re on acronym levels now), I’d rather do a lot of stupid shit and be closer to love than being someone who sees romantic partners as expendable. As embarrassing as the inner workings of my mind can be, it means I still care. It means I’m putting myself out there, opening my heart up to whatever the universe has in store for me.
Who knows, maybe I’ll get my happy ending? Or like last night, I’ll go out and meet a really cool, genuinely funny guy and spend the evening enjoying the thrill of getting to know someone, but not projecting, or trying not to project.
Maybe that’s the secret. It’s not one big happy ending; it’s a bunch of micro happy endings along the way in the form of a conversation with a cute boy or your favorite song playing on the dance floor while surrounded by your best friends or just the little voice inside your head that says “I wish I could bottle this moment.” No free boyfriend, but a life that is rich, vibrant, and filled with all the joy possible. Life filled with all the joy possible, that’s it.
Originally written as a Tinyletter. You can find the rest of my thoughts there.
