Butterflies and Hurricanes

I got to thinking about the different roles I play in life. And I've narrowed it down from a long list into a few blurbs. These are the two roles I struggle with most, they will probably be the death of me.

Daughter

I am number three. Frightened of number one, and can’t win with number two. Black sheep to all.

My role as daughter is so hard to define that this is probably the hardest paragraph to write of all my roles. My brother, number one, is a stranger to me. He is accomplished and a total family man, and I spent my entire childhood looking up to him. So it eats away at me that I can never get his approval or support.

My relationship with my sister, number two, is a simulation of friendship, in that it is full of love and laughter, but there are oh so many conditions involved. I used to share a lot with her, now I keep a lot to myself. I just realized she's not interested anymore, and is sick of me to an extent. No offense if you're reading this, sis, you know I love you.

I grew up in a more diverse community than they did. I became more open to things. I learned music and had primarily foreign friends. They did not. I risked falling in love . They did not.

They both married young, so it is probably I who is a stranger to them, with my single life and quest for self-fulfillment. My parents wish I could be more like one and two and settle down, and I’d like to give them that more than anything. It just doesn’t happen so easily with me. I was a rebel turned compliant-child. I’ve been working on developing my role lately into “adult”, but they’re simply not having it. I’m always a child. Never mind that I’m the only one not to move back home after college and am paying my own rent and am pursuing my passions while putting aside some savings. No, I’m still a child. I am sure that even if I fulfilled their wishes, I’ll still be a child, so I’m not about to go down that path just yet.

Romantic

Such a stupid, stupid girl sometimes. I think a big part of my confidence and strength came from the emotional hurricane that slapped me out of my shell when I was younger. By emotional hurricane I mean the cheating, obsessive, possessive, mentally ill, passionate, self-involved, musician boyfriend I had for most of my college years. It must have been over five years ago when it ended, but the truth is it’s still very much under my skin. I exist in a different world now, thanks to him, and that old world of mine is a distant memory that I recognize in some other naïve women. It makes me angry when I see it, and I can’t be around them, for fear I will crush their spirit.

I’ve loved another and another since, and have become more cynical about romance and love, but there’s that little stupid, stupid girl that still frolics within me and wants to find romance. Her problem is not that she can’t find it – it’s that she finds it ALL THE TIME. I really think she should get over it already, but it’s just in this little stupid, stupid girl’s nature. I’m likely to still get butterflies well into my 70s, because, the butterflies, they never go away. Somehow they manage to survive hurricanes.