I’m a hopeless romantic. A complete optimist hiding amongst cynical layering. I believe in fate – everything happening for a reason. Though sometimes fate clashes with romance. This triggered my brain heading home from London, on a packed tube nuzzled between couples and tired, coffee-needed eyes. Feeling sexy, romance and accepting fate.
Breaking bad habits
As a little girl, dreams kept me going. I always wished myself to one day grow up beautiful, fall in love and possess the charm honing Hepburn in every great love story she portrayed. Breakfast at Tiffany’s my favourite – the relatable aimless Holly expecting a man to rescue the pain inflicted within her lost heart. How I’ve ran to men hoping for peace.
I’ve decided to keep myself single until I have competence to fall for a guy with no “please save me strings” attached. Feeling sexy meant listening to a man compliment; gaze as though I’m the most beautiful woman. I enjoyed sending photos for my benefit; reading sweet comments I had no idea how to feel. Boyfriends acted as insecurity drips helping to mask my low self-esteem. Feeding me loving supplies my body didn’t store.
Sometimes I miss my ex and I’m not sure if it’s the attention, acceptance or true love I crave most. “If it’s meant to be, it will be” they say. Do you work at love in the same way you pursue your career, or do you swim round and just see what ducks find you? Are we living on one fate line; our actions always leading to the chosen outcome, or can we play and figure new paths?
Attempting to store extra self-love, I’ve pondered what defines sexy. My teenage-self presumed near nudity a sure answer. Then I grew older and listened to others throw about the word confidence. How many women are confident? To me it’s like rain – occasionally there depending on circumstance. Confident after toning up or making love or wearing a statement dress outside my ordinary price tag.
The older I get, the better I feel. Feeling sexy now means love. Not necessarily loving myself; it’s like an indescribable acceptance. Knowing I’ll be fine and not giving myself time to believe anything less. That and a power blazer, silky feminine tops and jet-black eyeliner. Date nights use to mean showcasing my legs and coating my face. On my last date, I wore a long skirt with a long-sleeved bodysuit. Showing skin isn’t a faux-pas however.
I think it’s about the reasons behind it. If you’re displaying your body because it feels comfortable and you feel great – that’s great. If nudity present itself due to craving something, I find issues arise. Attention, acceptance; love. Is seeking these elements through our bodies good? Feeling sexy has become complicated. The way you let that be known – will you look “desperate”, lose respect and empowerment?
Issues with hopeless romantics
Writer Steve Hibbins wrote an article for The Good Men Project describing the problems sourced from the “Art of Romance”. Hibbins ultimately suggests while romance remains important in relationships, it’s not everything. Marketers devour the term and sell chocolates, flowers and jewellery based on people’s desire to create passion.
I’m guilty of placing romance above simple requirements such as commitment. The word endures as my jail-free card. When all hope has gone, there’s chemistry, connection and we’re meant for one another notions. My cups of coffee sprinkle romantic writer ideals and my glasses of red wine emphasise romantic late-night evenings. I’m not sure if my dreams have possibility because my wishes seem child-like. Most kids watch fairy tales and chick flicks, then grow up and resume to life’s mundane routines.
I watch unrealistic movies and think; someone somewhere out there has to enjoy life somewhat close to this? I know they say it’s bad to expect too much. The higher you hope, the bigger your disappointment. And though I’m not a margin close to the envisions I foresee; I’ve experienced things only made conceivable due to believing in fantasy visions.
When life’s going well, accepting fate is easy. When I was in Barcelona last year, the world painted itself my oyster. I was in love; my career reached a new height with a new job and I revelled in the beauty witnessed on streets shaped by Gaudi. Months later and my fate changed. Gloomy clouds casted Britain, singledom greeted me and my career edited again.
For days I pictured myself travelling back. Mean reds dotted my train of thoughts. I felt sad and lost; I wanted to find a guy to cover me with tender words. No such man came about. I opened up my poetry book, created a poetry account (@laurajanepoetry) and formed expression through art. New work has come, new opportunities unravel and new life to explore. Feeling sexy, having romance and accepting fate doesn’t happen easy. But it’s worth finding it, however circumstances look.
How do you feel about fate, feeling sexy and romance? How important is romance in your life?