I was one of those misguided people who grew up with the idea that somehow the right way, or the good way or the proper way to do the “fairy tale” was to go to college, meet Mr. Prince Charming, upon graduation get married and then begin doing life. I was also under the misguided impression that if I wasn’t engaged by the time I graduated, my odds of ever getting married were rapidly declining and I was running the risk of dying an “old maid”. Now, I have no idea where I came up with these absolutely ludicrous ideas. I mean, my mother certainly didn’t instill those into me. In fact, she was the one who constantly admonished me to spend time figuring out who I was, what I wanted and what I was about before even entering into marriage. It was her voice that encouraged me to spend a few years after college being single and on my own so I could learn whatever I needed to learn to be able to stand on my own two feet. My father agreed with my mother on that score and did one better, he actually taught me to reason logically, value education and intelligence and to stand my ground in the face of adversity. Their relationship, at least from my perspective, didn’t look at all like the fairy tale I envisioned. They got married after being divorced twice in front of the justice of the peace, for crying out loud! No, white horse drawn glittery carriage for them. Though, I have to admit that my dad, who was an amatuer rockhound who cut and polished his own semi-precious stones as a hobby did all right where the ring came into play. He cut, polished and had set the most beautiful blue sapphire I have to this date ever seen. It was huge. It was sparkly. It was gorgeous and it had fairy tail written all over it. Come to think of it, it was probably as big as Cinderella’s carriage…but I digress.
My parents were practical, responsible, intelligent people. They’d lived long enough to have the fairy tale beaten out of them. Or maybe they had learned along the way that the fairy tale exists, it just doesn’t always look the way the storybooks and Disney portray it. Hmmm.
But…being young, headstrong and unwilling to consider (at least at that age) that my parents even had a clue about how to do life, much less that they actually made good choices in the romance department, I did not listen. Instead, I forged ahead, dreaming of the day when my own fairy tale would be realized.
Anyone who spoke to me of enjoying being single and seeking my own life independent of any man was recieved by me with the same response most folks would give Dracula. I didn’t exactly pay them any heed. In fact, I smiled nicely and avoided them like the plague.
Fast forward, two marriages, four children, and a quarter of a century later and I’m thinking my parents and all those well intentioned advisors may have had it right all along. No, not may have, they did have it right all along. Instead of seriously considering spending my 20’s discovering me and learning to be comfortable with me, which would have then later helped me to recognize Mr. Prince Charming and make a more informed marital decision, I jumped into marriage. I didn’t know him, I didn’t know me, I had no experience with which to make decisions and I was very miserable for many many years and it spiraled out of control less than 20 years in. My “fairy tale” self-destructed. But, no, I didn’t learn from my mistake, I tried to fix it by getting married a second time. Hmmm, that doesn’t usually work and, well, my experience went the way of most of the statistics.
So, my parents had it mostly right all along. And, now here I am, a lifetime later, taking their advice. I am, at 40+ doing what I should have done 25 years ago. I am a slow learner. In the education world we call that the student who needs more time. Well, guess what, that’s me. I needed more time…and now I’m taking it. But, to be honest, it’s a little worse at this stage of the game. You see, when I was twenty, I had better odds of having more time. At 46, it’s likely, I don’t have that kind of time left. There is the sense, in some ways, that time is running out, and, to be honest that worries me sometimes. But it only worries me sometimes, not all the time. I don’t dwell on it ever. In fact, I have reached the point where I don’t care. I am no longer afraid of being the “old maid”, because simply stated, the old maid doesn’t exist, and even if she does and even if I were her, I’ve known worse experiences than that.
Young people today are waiting longer to get married and that, in my mind is wise. Some, no many, are choosing never to marry, even though they could. People are living longer, women even older than me are far more active for far many years than in past generations. I look around and see many women who are single, divorced, widowed and I don’t see a single old maid among them. I see people choosing life, enjoying life and making choices that work for them, because they know themselves well enough to say yes to the options that they know they can live with and enjoy. They easily and without apology say no to the options or choices that would be unhealthy or damaging for them. They do this because they know who they are and what their limits are. This is a very good thing.
So, as the mother of three daughters and one son, I’ve worked hard to debunk the Old Maid myth and rewrite the fairy tale. I’ve worked hard to encourage my children to be themselves and get to know themselves. This requires some detachment at times as a parent. It also requires skill in listening, accepting and keeping lines of communication open. Critical, judgemental and harsh evaluations cannot be entertained.
Do I always enjoy hearing about my daughter’s latest agony with a guy she likes, a catty girlfriend who just betrayed her, or the college she is trying to choose? Hmmm, no, sometimes it’s just too much information, but I’d rather she discuss it with me than not. It also gives us the opportunity to practice taking a look at who she is, what she’s about, what her personal goals are and how all the noise around her fits into that. In the end, I can’t walk with her into her fairy tale, but I can give her the tools to write it herself. And, I can help free her from the Disney image of what that fairy tale must look like. And that is what I am doing with her and each of her siblings in turn.
As for me, well, Prince Charming doesn’t have to fight any dragons or wake me with a kiss from an endless, enchanted sleep. In fact, he doesn’t have to do anything. He just has to be honestly, to the core, himself. No apologies. I imagine when he finally rides onto the scene, I will be busy ruling my kingdom, he will be busy ruling his, and we will know ourselves well enough to recognize that what we have together has all the makings of a very fine fairy tail. It won’t look like Disney. At this point, it might not even look as good as my parents’ fairy tale, but, then, it might look a whole lot better too. It won’t matter, we’ll know the fairy tale when we see it. Until then, I’m defeating the scary dragons on my own, doing quite well at it and enjoying, well, almost every minute of it.
