For the last few months I have accepted the fact that I may very well be alone the rest of my life, and by alone I mean without being in a romantic relationship.
I have accepted that.
Now accepting something and being happy with that reality are two very, very different things.
Case in point: I can accept the fact that the Red Sox started off the season 0-6 and very well may not win the World Series. I can accept that. That doesn't mean that it makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Far from it.
I think there comes a point where after a failed marriage, failed dating, failed short-lived relationships, more failed dating, that well, maybe I should just take a hint.
And that is fine. Well, it isn't fucking fine, but it is life. And if that means I do not get to love someone and have her love me back, and feel it, and wake up next to her, and be a dad, and all that shit, then well ok.
I can accept that.
But that doesn't mean that I will necessarily live a happy life. Content probably. Happy, probably not.