I'm listening to my ipod on shuffle right now where Nat King Cole is crooning "Stardust"—one of my favorites from the Sleepless in Seattle soundtrack.
That movie wrecked me when I was a teenager.
The way it so expertly proposed the possibility that there is magical love out there just waiting for us to find it.
I remember lying on the roof of my parents' motorhome one night during a camping trip, staring at the stars, wishing with every fiber of my adolescent being that I would find real love. The kind that made me want to use words like "magic" and "incredible" and "unconditional." My yearning felt as big as the sky. My fear that I would never actually find that kind of love felt equally as big.
I carried that fear with me through my 20s like a heavy cloak that hid me from the light of a Sleepless in Seattle love affair.
Thinking I wouldn't find it perpetuated the lack of it in my life. Then I turned 30. And went to therapy. And got cheated on.
Suddenly I realized I didn't just deserve the very best kind of love, I was going to find it. I was like a detective who was two clues away from solving the case. I was so close.
It didn't arrive at the top of the Empire State building, but Love did arrive. And it was better than I had imagined that night on the roof. Better than Sleepless in Seattle. And the best part about it is that the script is still playing itself out.