This one's for us quirky girls: Go ride a bike and then go fix yourself, hon
I’m not a huge fan of outdoor physical activity, to be
frank, or any kind of physical activity for that matter. The old me would’ve
gone something like, ‘Dear “let’s go bike riding this Saturday” dude, this
obviously isn’t gonna work out. Have a nice life.’ But the new me is much more
fun and outgoing, more – for lack of a better word – #YOLO. She can’t be tamed,
really.
The thunderstorm I’d been praying for didn’t happen, so Sean
rented a 2-seater surrey bike for us. I wasn’t crazy about it initially because
it looked ridiculous. But half a minute in, I realized that only he could
control the steering, and just one person (Ie: not me) really needed to do the
paddling, so it worked out being a fantastic idea.
With no chance to load up on liquid courage, I dug my hands
into my pockets to rummage for whatever scraps of charisma and confidence I
could use to see me through the coastal ride. He told me about how the surrey
bike reminded him of ChuckleVision, a comedy series he'd watched as a kid growing
up. In exchange, I divulged stories shedding light on how I’d gotten this great
personality of mine. “Did you go to some kind of boot camp where you had a
sense of humour drilled into you?” he’d asked me a few days back, which was his
clever way of stereotyping and insulting my culture, but at the same time
celebrating the fact that I’d somehow come out the other side.
After an hour or so of cycling up and down the coast, we decided
to grab some food. Our conversation continued to flow over truffle fries,
sliders, grilled salmon and milkshakes. Even though we were reasonably full, a
chocolate lava cake at the next table had caught my eye. I’ve never been one to
say no to dessert, reason being, I can’t.
This, along with my habit of washing my hair only twice
weekly, using olive oil to moisturize my skin, my staunch faith in astrology
and tarot cards, my defiance against my parents’ wishes for me to get a bachelor’s
degree (in my defense, I’m really working on the bachelor aspect), my distrust
of doctors and the healthcare industry, my obsession with growing my own
vegetables, my apprehension of microwaves – I could go on forever – I believe,
are quirks. And it’s quirks like these that bring to light the fact that I am,
however idiotic, an individual. We’re all crazy inside anyway, some of us are
just better than others at masquerading as sane people. #phonies
I used to think that if we wanted to find love and
happiness, all we had to do was stop caring about what other people think and
concentrate instead on staying true to ourselves and validating our real
emotions. Because if someone doesn’t appreciate you for being the incredibly
real and authentic person that you are, what’s the point?
Yet as we all know, revealing our true self to someone is
the first step to marriage, a cozy cottage along the River Thames, 5 kids, and
possibly a divorce. So that’s the point, I guess. Maybe, just maybe, we’ve
taken the “Love Me For Me” movement a bit too far this time. It’s understandable
to want someone who is willing and able to accept that we’re not perfect. But
if there’s something inherently off about our lives or person that needs fixing,
then a character overhaul may be beneficial to all parties involved.
After dinner, the sky looked threatening. It may
have just gotten a bit darker because the sun was about setting, since we’re
being completely honest with each other here. But Sean and I needed the excuse of a
looming storm to head back to his place for a DVD. Spoiler alert: we all know
how that story ends.
