People give me grief for the behavior I exhibit. Specifically, referring to the overly-intense / obsessive / dive right in behavior that comes with new relationships (or hopes thereof). They’re perfectly justified in doing so, I suppose, just as I’m perfectly justified in giving them grief about wasting perfectly good oxygen with each breath they take.

The part of growing older that has been a real struggle for me is coming to terms with the fact that there are many ways of doing things, not just the common method. The interstate may be the fastest or safest or most stable way of getting from point A to point B, but taking the side roads or back streets will get you there, too. It all depends on what you want out of the journey — wanting the drive to be over as quickly as possible and arriving with no adventure is what most people want, and it’s how most people travel. But some people want to sight-see, and others crave adventure, and others are simply putting off their arrival as long as possible. Though not the majority opinion, these are no less valid ways to travel or goals to have while doing so.

And so, I struggle with the idea of dating. I see so many people that do things the “right” way — one date, dinner and a movie, maybe, followed by three days of silence (don’t want to appear too eager). Another phone call, another date, and slowly the cycle collapses on itself.

Why?

It’s a short and uncertain amount of time that we have here on this material plane. Why would you anyone give me grief about wanting to make the most of that time? If I meet someone that interests me, why shouldn’t I spend every spare moment I have with her, getting to know her better, enjoying her company, wasting time — whatever?

It’s one thing to push all of your friends and family and responsibility aside, sure. For if the new thing doesn’t work out, then you’ve gotten your priorities twisted around, and it’s probably going to come back to haunt you. But that’s not what I’m talking about.

I’m talking about immersion, about throwing yourself into anything that makes you happy, because you never know how long it will last. Maybe you get lucky, and you’re together forever — who’s going to question that? No one — at least no one in their right mind; they’ll call you lucky to have been able to do so. Maybe you only get a week together before you’re hit by a car, or a month before you have a breakdown and decide abruptly to move on, or six months before she discovers that you’re a weekend arsonist or a Bible-thumper and gives you the boot. And people will say your crazy then, maybe — look at all that time you’ve wasted, they’ll whisper.

But who’s wasted anything? You’ve been happy, right? You’ve been living, allowing yourself to get swallowed whole by the moment — and moments like that can be preciously fleeting and rare, as anyone in their right mind can attest.

Yeah, I’m prone to diving in headfirst. Perfectly capable of playing by another clock, if it’s provided for me; I am fully aware that not everyone is the same. People are more guarded, more cautious, more afraid. I can accept that - in fact, I’m perfectly okay with it.

But then, I’ve rarely chosen the road most travelled. Not out of spite for the majority, like many, but because this is how i know to do things. I’ve tried to be the normal guy who follows the normal rules, and it bores me. Not to mention that it makes no sense — to let moments of happiness pass because “that’s just the way it’s supposed to be done.”

I’ve loved a lot in my life, and will continue to do so, whether with my current crush or a hundred more. I’ve been loved a lot in return, and can never regret that. So if you’re concerned for my well-being because you’ve got inside information about someone I’ve expressed interest in, please, by all means, say so. But if you’re worried that I’m not playing by the rules, for whatever reason you might let that worry you:

Don’t.

Do I seem a little angry, or resentful? Maybe I am, sure. But that’s the bitch about hitting this age and having to finally deal with the clash of the things that you want — that make total sense, and always have, and have always served me well enough — and the things that everyone else does, that my parents would push for, that society expects.

Perhaps I am refusing to let go of childish things. But until you can prove to me that these pieces of me can’t capably co-exist with the rest of the world at large, then feel quite free to look the other way while I continue to cling.