Everyone Loves Me
I have been told I have a charming personality. I suspect it’s partly just the personality I was born with and partly from being a middle child in a large family. I’m basically a happy person. I get a kick out of life and find my fellow inmates on this planet fascinating. I have made friends easily through my adult life. I also tend to be very loyal so a lot of my closest friends I’ve known for over twenty years, some since childhood.
I remember sharing my angst over moving to New York City for a job a few years ago with my sister. “What am I doing? I don’t know a soul in New York? How will I meet people?” My sister laughed and said, “You’ll make friends everywhere you go the way you always have.”
And, of course, she was right. If I go to a new hairdresser, within a few visits we’re best of friends and meeting for drinks and dinner. When I change jobs my new staff is usually happy I’m there and I make friends among my colleagues without difficulty. In fact, at a recent job, my boss actually told me one of my fellow directors was jealous because staff liked me so well so quickly. I just seem to be able to sense the type of support that each person needs to flourish and am somehow able to bring out their best. I can prompt people to try and succeed at things they didn’t think they could do previously.
I put others at ease. I laugh at all the everyday occurrences that make some people angry and frustrated and I get others to laugh along with me. I’m the one that gets the party going. I coax those who wouldn’t normally dance out on to the dance floor. I laugh at myself. I use humor as an ice breaker and I’m often the one who helps others to relax and begin to enjoy each other’s company.
I’ve been told I’m adorable, fun, funny, charming, even enchanting. (Okay, that last one may have been my Mom!) Everybody loves me: my neighbors love me, the plumber loves me, babies love me, the cable guy loves me, my friends’ husbands and boyfriends love me, my friends’ kids love me, my nieces and nephews love me.
So what I don’t understand is this: How is it that if everyone I meet loves me I can’t find just one, single man who loves me too? I only need one man to find me enchanting — not an entire world. Just one, single, stable, honest man who thinks I’m as special as everyone else does. I only need one man to share my everyday life, my joys and sorrows, my laughter and tears.
Even at my ripe old age I’m still hopeful that this man exists somewhere and one day we’ll meet. We’ll connect and he’ll see in me all the good that others do and eventually he’ll look across the room at me the way my girlfriend’s husband still looks at her after 35 years of marriage and say, “I’m a damn lucky man.” And I’ll be across the room smiling back knowing I’m the one who’s truly lucky.