A quick examination of my diary would lead one to believe two things: whatever device I used to write my entries didn’t have spell check, and throughout my whole life I’ve been a little bit boy crazy. Entries are filled with a mixture of lamentation and excitement that surrounded these boys, each one of them with a distinct factor that would separate one from another, each seeming to cycle between unrequited love and unrequited hate.
I could list the names, or more specifically, the code names, of all the boys I’ve had crushes on. But to save my editor the time spent on fact-checking and back-stalking, I’m not going to do that. The list is longer than I’d like to admit, but for good reason — after every crush had crushed my spirit, I somehow knew there would be another one. The poet, the runner, the partier, the philosopher, the kind heart, the cold heart, the didn’t-happen, the shouldn’t-have-happened, the rower, the broker, the musician, the actor — the list goes on and on. This is not to say that these guys can be reduced to one word descriptions, nor are they interchangeable. Each came with a different set of personality traits and identities that varied from each other. But once one was gone out of my life, it seemed that after some consoling, a Disney movie marathon and a couple pints of ice cream, another one came into my life.
This Halloween weekend, in a fit of confidence and hidden exhaustion, I gave a boy dressed as Matthew McConaughey my number and asked if he’d ever want to get dinner sometime. I had an underlying feeling that he wouldn’t text me, but just the knowledge that I could approach someone I’d probably never see again and give him my number while withholding expectations kept me from disappointment. He was just another boy. I go to a school with thousands of undergraduate students. I live in a city filled with people with their own unique experiences and traits. I might run into the love of my life on Newbury Street. I might run into Matt Damon while he’s filming a rom-com that’s in desperate need of a young female lead. Until then, I’m not too worried about the boy that won’t text me back. On to the next one, I think.
It is so easy to develop tunnel vision for that one person you met at the party that one time, that cute senior who sits near you in your law class or the one person that you swear says “hi” to you when you pass them on your way to your 9 a.m. It’s equally as easy to become disappointed when that person doesn’t text you back, sit next to you or say “hi” to you. I believe that it is important to keep an open mind. In my middle school days, I used to fall hard and fast for the boys who paid me no attention. Now, I’m not disappointed if one guy doesn’t text me back, because I know he won’t be the last guy.
My advice is to try not to get bogged down about that one person that you like but never see due to his lack of communication skills or polite response time. If there is any Frank Sinatra-sung lyric that can relate to this, it’s that “life keeps runnin’ in cycles.” Although he may have been singing about something different than boy crushes, I do believe the words hold weight.
The people we let into our lives do seemingly run in cycles — as soon as one leaves, another enters. This is not an immediate process, and it takes time to heal and move on from one person to another. So it goes with both our friendships and our relationships. If I could, I would go back and tell my 15-year-old self to save the tears I cried for the boys who didn’t like me back. There would be many more boys to cry over in my future — I just hadn’t met them yet.
Meredith loves telling stories and pretending to be Carrie Bradshaw, minus the man and comfy NYC apartment. She, however, eats enough brunch to cover all six seasons. When she's not drowning in 16th-century literature, she can be found lamenting over the bad grammar and bad boys in her middle school diary.
Find her on twitter @merewilsh or email her mwilsher@bu.edu with all your love musings or questions.
