“I loved it. There aren’t even words. That was excellent.”
One of my roommates sits in thoughtful reverie as the credits begin to scroll up the screen. Our other roommate finishes munching on her gluten-free, dairy-free margherita pizza before we wrap back up in our coats and scarves and leave Studio Movie Grill once more.
This has become something of an un-official ritual every two weeks: we go, we watch, we eat, we laugh, we conquer. That is, unless one of us miraculously has a date, and then the whole routine is thrown off.
Dating and friends, friends and dating. The two words sound pretty together, but I am finding that in my life they are fairly incompatible. In fact, I’d go as far as to say that as much as I long for marriage, I loathe the process of getting there. Because, at least in my experience, dating is kind of awful.
The Missing Piece
I have a good life. I have a job I love, family close by with a little niece on the way, friends who make me laugh, and regular interaction with a whole slew of people who educate me on politics and culture and religion and the Kardashians’ latest drama. All of my needs and many of my wants are met in abundance.
There is only a tiny little sliver of a piece that’s missing. This piece seems to grow and make its presence known whenever I read an article on foster parenting or when I am reminded of my deep desire to experience the intimacy of marriage. But on days when my cup runneth over and my life is grand and Netflix with the roommates fills my evenings, that sliver seems awfully small.