I officially declare myself to be in a state of Rumspringa. This is my solution to dating mostly oddly immature boys. The other option is to get thee to a nunnery. I am hoping this works. I use the term loosely because A) I am not Amish B) I am applying it to a very specific facet of life.
The root and necessity of Rumspringa arises from my own nature which happens to be part crazy, part emotional basketcase. Unfortunately, it is not a nature that functions well within the world of modern casual dating. I am not good at casual surface level friendship. I hate small talk and yet here I am talking small on countless occassions to the opposite sex in the hope that it all just clicks and we ride away on white horses into the sunset of happily ever after. Yeah and then I found $10 dollars.....I wish. The oxymoron of the whole situation is that one must guard and protect their heart and reveal nothing of true importance but at the same time reveal enough of one's true nature in order to encourage the other person to reveal truths about themselves that can later be used to build a long lasting relationship. Seriously though, see how exhausting this is? I know I'm practically comatose just writing that.
Rumspringa is my way of hardening myself to a generation that largely thinks only for itself. Its like carrying around a 10 foot pole and prodding anyone unworthy who steps into your inner sanctum. On the surface nothing will change. I will be more than ever open to new experiences and people but I will have the wariness and the ability to prevent myself from getting sucked into emotional black holes. Rumspringa for me is going to be the art of living within a contradiction, of becoming a contradiction of one's self. This doesn't have to be a bad thing. It can be liberating even to live within a carefree space where you do not attach emotions to the unpredictable nature of human behavior. I know that it won't be easy to go against one's own nature. But I will try to recognize the warning signs and "shut it down" before I again find myself on the floor of the kitchen licking the remants from the inside of chip bag blubbering nonsense, entrenching myself in the belief of my own unworthiness.
My main fear is that Rumspringa will not come to an appropriate end, that I will run around in my mid 30’s oblivious to the pitiful looks 20 somethings dart my way as I try to “put myself out there.” That I will build up such a thick shell of protection that I will fail to recognize the humanity in others. But If I have learned anything thus far, it is that calculated risks are worth their wait in gold. So its either Rumspringa or pushing Emily Dickinson....the cat around for her evening stroll in her custom baby carriage while I mumble things under my breath to bystanders.
