Wising up

It's the little things. It's the little things you notice about yourself that make your step stronger when you're walking on the street, it's when you find yourself singing along your new favourite band while getting ready to go out, it's the time you take to put on the make-up in the morning and feel good about yourself, ready to start the day with confidence. It's the long hot bath you take in the evening after coming soaked up from work and actually be fine all by yourself.

It's the time I am talking to be all by myself and be comfortable all by myself. It's being me and loving it, not fearing that I should be somewhere else, with someone else, on another planet, in another era, in another life, in a relation-ship, in a different country, in a different body. I am perfectly fine where I am and I thank God for finally opening my eyes to really see that.

I used to carry around a Greek tragedy, absolutely convinced that a bad karma is following me, that life is supposed to be all about pain and suffering, wanting all that I couldn't have and punishing myself for not getting it. It must come from a generic soul that I share with my country fellowmen, living with an inferiority complex doubled up but an insatious desire of having it all.

I used to think that I am unlucky in love. I used to honestly believe that, just because I am an incredible, smart, cultured, funny, desirable woman, I would charm any man would cross my path and just because of bad karma I wouldn't get too far. Somehow these days I think that being great has absolutely nothing to do with it. Clearly it helps, but now I finally wised up to believe that men only want what they can't have and it's the same as with training a dog: apply some simple rules, work out a conditional reaction. I finally got the answers to all my love life melodramas: making yourself available is not a sign of honest reciprocal interest, but pure stupidity.

Somehow I am amazed by how simple life can actually be. Making it more sofisticated attracts complications. No wonder intelectual people are a romantic wreck - they think too much and instead of working out how to deal with basic instincts, they try and reason their way around and blisfully fail.

It's the little things. It's waking up in the morning, wearing a nice red dress and feeling fabulos knowing what I know about myself and that will suffice for now.