Dear ______________________ ,
I don't know why late night runs often stir up
some of the most thought-provoking blogs possible. Maybe it's the grandeur of
God's desert creation surrounding me, or the rhythmic pounding of my legs
triggering some sort of soul-shaking thoughts. Or maybe I'm just in a trance
caused by my severe dehydration. Go ahead and thank St. George for having 98-degree
weather at one in the morning for that last one.
If you really want to have a dramatic effect
for this letter, and I’m talking about something that will surely put a tear in
your eye, go to Soundcloud and download the piano solo, “You’re All Alone” by
John Swihart, and play at a medium volume throughout the duration of this
letter. It's from season 8 of “How I Met Your Mother” and I think it fits the
background perfectly. Besides, I
had it on repeat as I wrote this letter.
I'm bored. I'm bored with the social life my
culture is shoving down my throat every Sunday morning. I'm bored with being
set up with 19-year old girls who are still stuck on their exes, and blab on
for hours like a mindless daytime talk show host. I'm bored with sitting in a
room full of single folks my age who are stocked with trepidation and think
downloading a spin the bottle app is the best way to get action from a member
of the opposite sex.
Dating isn't the same as it once used to be.
And I'm sure you already know this by now. There was a time when a successful
date between two people would be a homemade meal and an engaging conversation
into the late hours of the night about what they were both passionate about. Now it’s just a quick text message
exchange between two blockheads and an uninterrupted screening of “The
Avengers”. Times change. People turn lethargic. And the old days of formal courtship
have been lost. These are the
times where we let fools look like fools.
I’m sure you’ve dated quite the number of projects
over the years. The gymrat
meatheads, the Halo-obsessed Red Bull-aholics, the 29-year old hippie who
hasn’t been employed since the Bush Administration but can play a mean version
of “Banana Pancakes” on his guitar.
Maybe even the guy you’re currently with fits this stereotype. I will say I do envy the man for having
the chance to be with you right now. But I’m banking that his tucked in pink collared shirt and
obsession with “Duck Dynasty” will soon fade in your eyes.
Guys these days aren’t the same. Guys are weak.
They are inconsistent. They think
of themselves before they think of you.
They don’t have the confidence in their own persona to tell a woman she
looks beautiful, or to have a serious conversation about the meaning of life
with someone. They are shallow lugnuts that can’t fend for themselves, nor
respect who women are. The days of
being a true Gentleman are lost. And
I’m sorry for that.
The sad part is that I used to be one of those
guys. Not anymore, mind you. But for a long, long time in my life, I
played that role like a champ.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m not saying that I am
perfect by any means. I have flaws.
Plenty of them. I curse every now and then, mostly during Ohio State
games. I’ll judge a person’s
behavior too soon when I really don’t know about the circumstances that led
them to having such annoying people skills. I’ll lie just to embellish a great story to a crowd, when in
the long run that tall tale doesn’t really matter at all. But I want you to know that I’m working
on my faults. I'm trying to be
better. Better for you.
You see, there are people in my life who I
envy. Who I want to somewhat mimic. I see how they are as a pair and it
makes me a bit jealous. The
relationship they have as a married couple is something I want to have with
you. People like C.J. and Robin,
Brett and Meisha, Bryce and Sara, Derek and Kendra, you know, those front porch
people. I admire them. I am envious of them. And I want to have what they have with
you.
Anyway, I don’t know if letters like these are
some type of coping mechanism for me being single in the culture I live in, or
some semi-romantic way to tell you to not give up just yet. All I know is that I'm going to keep
looking. If it’s in the next five minutes, in the next year, or when the two of
us are both shriveled up and wrinkly, I still can't wait to meet you. And I’m
going to try and be a better person every single day of my life.
For you.
L-word,
Brock
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