Relationships Should Be As Easy As Riding A Roller Coaster
By Laura Schreffler
The moral of the story: love should be simple
I might be one of the only 30-year-women on the planet who has a passion for amusement parks. Chalk it up to having an active inner child or the thrill-seeker in me who casually cheats death time and time again by going on speed defying roller coasters. Whatever the reason, I’m into acting like a big kid and, after hitting up three amusement parks in the last two weeks, I think I’ve realized why: when we were young, love was simple.
We all put so much importance on the rules. Should you text him first? How long should you wait to sleep with him? If you slip up and say ‘I love you’ first, should you liken it to 2012 (a.k.a. the end of the world)? Sadly, although these things shouldn’t matter, they do.
Dating, especially in big cities, is a tough business. There’s always seemingly something bigger and better to move on to, always the niggling doubt that the one we choose may not be perfect. Additionally, there’s also our own fears of hurt and betrayal to hold us back. In fact, my good friend *Edward and I recently had a conversation about this very subject. He’s dating a much-younger woman these days, and swears up and down it isn’t because she’s impressionable and adores his older man experience. He says that it’s her innocence that attracts him, how she’s not yet jaded or bruised by the dating scene and therefore, much more open to love. On the other hand, who can blame us for being reserved after all the bullshit we’re forced to suffer through the course of a lifetime (cough, Arnold Schwarzenegger, cough)?
What I want is to reclaim that sense of wonder, adventure and trust I had when I was younger. Love, being a natural thing, shouldn’t be hard when it’s right. You shouldn’t be riddled with self-doubt if the guy in question is the one for you.
My last few sessions at Universal Studios and Six Flag’s Magic Mountain have left me hungry for more, which is why I’m planning a monster amusement park trip to Orlando for days upon days of Disneyworld frolicking. I’m ready to embrace my trust in the universe that things will work out as they should.
So what if it seems like I’m putting my trust in the mechanics of gravity? I’d rather fall hard and have the experience than never fall at all. When did a fear of falling ever result in true happiness?
