What if Carrie Bradshaw had to deal with this millenial bs…
When I was six, I had a my-sized Barbie, bride version. If you don’t remember those, they were basically Barbie dolls that were about the size of a six year old, pretty self explanatory, pretty goddamn terrifying. My bride version was like, so Pnina chic, she had a white stretchy leotard, with a big puffy skirt and sleeves you could attach! And the best thing about my size Barbie was that since you were the same size, you could swap clothes! I was a six year old Miss Havisham. Except maybe more creepy.
Six year old Darcy had some serious expectations going on. And as I navigate my dating life today, I begin to wonder, what good are these great expectations?
Sometimes I’ll meet someone and we will really connect, and I’ll really feel it and my mind will start making up all these great big scenarios of what could be. We are suddenly vacationing in Italy together, naming our dog Mr. Fillmore, planting a garden in our first home. All of a sudden, I am in it. I want this dream or seizure or whatever I’m experiencing to work out. I set my sights on it. It’s natural. We all want to know how things are going to be. We all have ideas of how we’d like them to be. But sometimes we get so focused on that singular want, that we let other great chances just pass us by. And sometimes, maybe that’s with it, if you want to be a doctor, focus on that, let your dream of being a deep sea fisherman pass you by. Or be both. Whatever. Or just say fuck it and live life the way you want to experience it. I’m not Carrie Bradshaw. I ate a questionably old sausage mcmuffin today. I’m going to find a white leotard to wear around the house. You’ve got this.