Breaking news: I have an inappropriate crush on someone.

It’s mild, at this point.  I mean sure – I’ve done my research.  But I’m not like – Facebook stalking him or anything.  (Because he’s not on Facebook?)  It’s just entertainment, I think.  Crushes are fun, right?  It’s fun to have someone to think about.

It’s my thing – to like and eventually fall in love with people I’m not supposed to.  Mostly, it’s not something I’m doing on purpose.  It’s built in somewhere.  My heart can immediately tell that someone is fitting into a class that is not defined as societally perfect for me, and bang, I dig in, head over heels.  There are other things at play, of course – whatever mysterious characteristics add to that immediate chemistry with another person, but – if there is no defined edge, I am uninterested.

The first class I walked into freshmen year of college was Sociology – and the first thing we learned, leaning forward in our chairs, notebooks on desks, pens in hand, was who we would marry.

Sigh.

Our professor broke down the human population for us – and how, just by the very nature of our existence in our world and the parameters that are set down for us, who we would marry was really, actually – completely out of our control.  She began with outlining geographical location, class, then age, then race, gender, education level – eventually landing us, it would seem, to only having the ability to pair off and eventually marry people sitting next to us in the actual class we were in.  As long as, within the class walls, for me, there was specifically – a white male from New Hampshire.  If not, I’d have to sit on the quad long enough for him to appear.

I listened to her talk, and thought to myself –

Fuck.

That.

I would not get married.  And if I did – it would not be to a **white man within 5 years of my own age with at least some college education living in New Hampshire.**  I would fall in love with someone much older, or younger.  Or a person of color.  Or a woman.  Or someone that lived halfway across the United States, or better, in a different country!  Anyone but the same-age-white-man.  Or at least, I would make sure that I did not rule out any possibilities.  Explore it all.  Come to it on my own.

A friend once told me (a very young me, I might add) her sexual orientation was a choice for her – she’d always been with and was attracted to men, but she’d found it difficult to find a man that encompassed everything she wanted in a partner, so she made a choice to be with a woman.  And I thought oh no no no!  Don’t say that out loud!  You’ll RUIN the progress of the gay population!  

But then I thought – why do I CARE why she’s chosen who she’s chosen as a partner?  Why do I care who she loves or why she loves them or anything else about it at all?  I love her and she’s in love.

Because anyone I love, in love, is a good thing.

Because if everyone was in love it would be so nice, wouldn’t it?  Don’t you think people in love would be less likely to be cranky?  Or park in the handicap spot at Starbucks?  Or run you off the road because you accidentally cut them off while trying to press pause on the latest edition of Serial?  (I’m so sorry, red truck driver guy!  Are you in love?) Or hurt other people, on purpose, in general.

I feel like they would.

And really, maybe I am just trying to justify my case, or defend my last one.  To put an asterisk on my current inappropriate crush – so later, when it all falls apart, and I’m in a mess of tears, listening to a bad mix of 80’s love songs and watching High Fidelity for the 30th time, I’ll have prepped you all – you’ll know what happened.

Because even when it’s amazing, sometimes, most times, even – it all falls apart.  Whether it’s defined as inappropriate by the greater population or not.

In the meantime, though, I’ll hold on to the love I have, keep the door open to the possibility of new love, enjoy the crush, the happiness that comes with hope, and most of all – I’ll love who I want.

Because.

Fuck.

That.