Breaking up with fantasy

I’m pretty sure I was born into a relationship with fantasy. In fact, I’d go so far to say that I inherited it from the culture I grew up in.

 

From an early age I was taught I was a princess, deserving of a prince, and one day he would sweep me off my feet and we would live happily ever after. The adults I looked up to, the Christian books I read, they all taught me that not only is that how it should be, but as a woman, this is supposed to be exactly what I want.

 

Um…er…awkward.

 

Because now that I’m on the verge of adulthood, less than a year away from jumping off the diving board and directly into the ocean of real life, the last thing I want is a fairytale. I want real life, my real life, in all it’s confusing and fantastic glory.

 

My life is messy, wonderfully messy. I yell and laugh and dream and cry, so much that my eyes sting and I wonder what the hell is God doing? I am fantastically and overwhelmingly deep, so much so that there are days when I scare myself with how little I understand about me. The last thing I want to be is a princess, boring as wallpaper.

 

I don’t want a castle; I’d much rather have a tiny little apartment that may not be so glamorous, but feels like a home. I don’t want a prince who will rescue me; I want a messy, wise man who is brave enough to rescue himself and delights in my depth, but doesn’t try to complete me. The truth is, he can’t. He wasn’t made to.

 

He was made to be a whole person, and I’m made to be a whole person, and we were made to celebrate each other but NOT be everything for each other. I can’t just live on him and God, I also need the other people that have made life possible. He can’t take on the responsibility of an entire community. You can’t race off into the sunset with only each other forever (contrary to popular opinion).

 

I don’t want a romance that looks pretty and perfect on the outside, but is empty on the inside. If there’s one thing God has taught me it’s that when we aren’t open to what God wants to do with our stories, the stories we create separately are hollow. I want meaning. I will gladly trade the princess-y pastels for the vibrant, messy hues of all the brightest colors of the rainbow.

 

Because this – this crazy, thrilling, terrifying epic – this is better than any fairytale. No one but God is creative enough to think of this.

 

So, to fantasy – it wasn’t me, it was you. I’m not sorry it has to be this way. You’re nothing compared to the real deal. Stop hating on the world and pretending it’s something that it’s not, and start embracing the fact that we live here, and it’s part of us.

 

Oh, and one more thing: we are never, ever getting back together.

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