Dec 042011
 

I believe in magic. I believe in a divine order, benevolent spirits, miracles,—and yes—I believe in “the one.”

I know better. Despite what I read in romance novels and see in the gaggle of “chick-flicks” I attend, I know there’s no such thing as “the one,” but still I go on believing.

In an attempt to align what I know with what I believe, I’ve given voice to my crazy thinking; I’ve even had fun with it.

I point to guy after guy asking friends if he could be “the one.” I explain how “he” will complete me and save me from my life. My friends laugh and have even joined in on the game. “Come on and go with us, Randy,” they might say. “You might meet ‘the one.’”

By exaggerating the absurdity of my thinking, I hope to gain freedom from my beliefs. I hope to laugh myself loose.

If laughter doesn’t work, then logical thinking might. I’ve examined why I hold onto this false belief. What is it that I’m afraid I’ll lose if I let it go?

Expectation can be exciting—even exhilarating. It can make the mundane magnificent. Every corner I turn could be the corner where I stumble into “the one.” “He” could be only a heartbeat away. Sometimes anticipation can be more thrilling than the actual outcome we’re hoping for.

But when I really think about it, I know that the true reason I hold onto the idea of “the one” is this: If I let “him” go, I may lose the magic, and a life without magic is more than I can bear.

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