Brokenhearted in Antigua

I would much rather be in love in Kansas than brokenhearted in Antigua. I realized that last night eating pizza across from my boyfriend, talking about Des’s heart-rendering rejection in paradise. Just a few weeks before, she had said:

“If you want great love you have to take great risks.” Well, she did.

Once, I wrote a pitch about why I watch ‘The Bachelor’ for someone collecting essay ideas about life in our 20s. Here it is, because I think it might make a good blog post instead:

I was crushed when Brad Womack did not kneel down on one knee to ask Jenni, or DeAnna for that matter, to marry him. What?!? The carelessly handsome bachelor had rejected both women after months of seductively romantic courtships. It was the first time in The Bachelor’s history that this had happened.

I was crushed, but more than that, I loved it.

I loved it that both women had fallen madly in love with one man, that they both had been rejected, and that they were now in tearful anguish in the back of a limousine wondering “what went wrong.” I loved it because, at that moment, I felt the same way.

After ending a four-year relationship, I was also a crying heap on the floor. The Bachelor helped me – it helped me accept that I wasn’t alone.

When I admit that I watch The Bachelor friends will react with “That’s horrible!,” or some variance on the same phrase. I always respond with “I know!”

Because I do know – I know that it’s “horrible,” that it’s unrealistic, and that it’s dramatic crack for some women (like me). But while I don’t watch The Real Housewives or Gossip Girl, I am addicted to The Bachelor because the show embellishes underlying process of human attraction, romantic attachment, and intense communication. Watching the show every Monday night, I can always find a nugget of helpful empathy to bring to my own life and my own relationships

As a 20-something woman I love The Bachelor. The women are my age, they feel the devastating emotions I have felt, and they are on this continual journey (if you are a Bachelor fan, you must drink at that word) that I am also on. My journey, though, is not on TV – but I feel it all just the same.

Backseat Musings

I sat in the backseat, wearing pink OshKosh overalls and enjoying my own little world. My parents occasionally looked in the rearview mirror as I gazed through the frame of the windshield and the back of their heads, easily singing Baby Beluga with Raffi,* lost in my musings.

It’s a familiar view, even twenty years later, sitting in the backseat of a newer car with the same perspective, the same parents, the same connections (just no Raffi).

Road tripping with the family to Salt Lake City, a few months ago, I sat in the backseat of the car and felt safe, young, and free. On this trip I was knitting a baby blanket for my friend, The Ten Thousand Hour Mama, and her approaching baby. The blanket is a mix of extra yarns used for other projects: baby hats for other friends in Maui and Oregon; yarn purchased in Paris and Spain; extra threads from potholders my grandmother knitted for me that I now use in Kansas. It all weaves into one blanket, and one moment.

When I finish the blanket (any day now, right?), my friend’s beautiful baby may be wrapped up in it in the backseat of their car, feeling safe and young and free. She may feel connected to everyone and everything. She may even be singing to Raffi.


*I just learned Raffi is an Egyptian-born Canadian. That’s pretty cool.