You know that whole, Prince Charming riding in on a white horse thing? There comes a point in every little girl’s life when we’re supposed to stop believing in that kind of thing. Kind of like Santa Claus, we’re supposed to figure out that there’s no such thing as white knights and we need to stand on our own two feet instead of waiting to be swept off them. And we do. We stop looking for fairy tales and start looking for real happiness, realizing that it has to start from within and that when we are fulfilled and complete, only then can we find someone who balances and appreciates us. So we strive to be Ms. Independents instead of damsels in distress. We proclaim proudly that we don’t need a man. We buy our own drinks, open our own doors and call our own shots.
And then we go home, to our tiny little apartments and beds that often feel a bit empty and cold. We slip out of our power heels (or sidewalk-stomping Docs), survey our domain and feel that proud no-man-is-an-island-but-this-woman-is feeling melt away like snowflakes on a radiator. Okay, maybe I should stop saying “we” here. It’s quite possible that there are women roaming this city who are as self-assured and independent when no one’s looking as they are dominating the boardrooms, courtrooms, and lunch rooms. I am not one of them. I used to be. Going back through this blog, even as recently as a few months ago, I unapologetically declared that love is for losers (or something along those lines) and declared that my Prince Charming should take another turn around the block before showing up on my doorstep. But then I came home to my empty bed for the gajillionth time and it no longer felt like my inner sanctum into which no one should pass.