It's Called A Breakup Because It's Broken...

Among the books on CD that I've listened to over the course of the last two weeks, this (the above linked title) was one. I have no actual need for the "smart girl's break-up guide" at this point in my life, but in the interest of diversifying my aural stimulii selections and diverting myself during long stretches of subdued work, I thought it would prove to be entertaining.

It's always a little interesting to read about heartache from an emotionally detached place. I guess it's nearly two years ago now that I was last truly decimated by anything or anyone, for "romantic" reasons (though there was nothing romantic about it. It was just so sad.), and according to these breakup gurus, I did everything right as I faced the dissolution of that friendship.

Essentially, once I realized the dye was truly cast, I did not telephone or try to establish contact unnecessarily. I got out of the house, got moving, and made myself my priority. I allowed myself to be as sad as I felt. Yay me. No overblown, pitiable gestures. I had my 20s and earlier heartbreaks for that.

In any case, I'm writing about this because it seems literally impossible to me that I could ever let myself be heartbroken again. I don't count the grief and sadness from losing a loved one in the category of "heartbreak." For the sake of this post, I am thinking only of these unrequited love jags I've gone off on in the past.

I'm so tragically pragmatic these days (with only minor dalliances with flights of fancy), and I have no expectations that another person could even remotely begin to make me happy (this is a very good thing). As much as I've wished for grand, passionate love affairs in the past, I think that never having had one has taught me something invaluable.

How to live without one.

The male half of the writing team, incidentally, wrote "He's Just Not That Into You." I wish someone had given me that book when I was 20. I might be a very different person now.