I think I’ve been haunted by When Harry Met Sally. It’s not the scary early 1990s fashion that has bothered me over the years, nor has it been the the famous orgasm scene. What has been underneath my skin since seeing that movie was the theory put forth by Billy Crystal stating that men and women couldn’t just be friends, because the sex thing was always there. I really didn’t want to believe that. But then wondered if it was true. And I still find myself questioning.
I was so ready to build a future, to move on and away from trauma, to be free and to be a grown-up that I allowed myself to ignore all kinds of warnings, and to consciously convince myself that this person would bring stability to my life. I threw all my eggs into that unstable basket.
I might suffer impostor syndrome in my career, but I have never doubted that I am the best person to be raising my children.
I had long ago bought into the idea that smart choices would lead to a happy, fulfilling life. Turns out it was all bullshit.
I thought somehow that rules were made by wise people who knew best, and didn’t realize until way late that most of them are just a form of mob rule.
