I’m going to admit something here:

I got in a bit of a bad habit during the pandemic and began watching a lot of Christmas romance movies. I also started reading romance novels. It was a great distraction from the intense sadness around me, and since nothing romantic was happening in my life, it filled the days with a little bit of fantasy.

But I soon began to notice the thoughts that flitted in and out of my mind after watching or reading these things: I felt want. I felt hopelessly bereft of everything I thought I wanted: a cute apartment, a cute little snowy town, and a lovely community of neighbors who will come together to save the day because they care so damn much. And lest I forget, deep and enduring love that takes little to no work, and great, great, hair. For both of us.

And hidden in this aching want is an endless abyss you can whine over your whole life if you’d like to. There is no end to want. While acknowledging your desires is generally a good thing, if you have no intention of acting on them, or at least getting curious about them, are they really desires, or just want?

Eventually I had to quit the movies and books. The want felt like a snub of something that loomed a little lighter: the haves. I have a lot. I wouldn’t trade it in. I desired it, and I worked to get it. I’m grateful for it every day.

I spent much of my teen years in Maine wanting something I couldn’t explain. But I loved the melancholy and romance of it, whatever it was. With age and experience I was able to find more words to describe feelings. As the information age exploded around me, I found books, articles, podcasts, and tools to help me realize what I have.

These days I can flip the switch pretty easily when I find myself wallowing in the wants. Is this really desire? What will it bring me that I don’t already have? And then I begin listing my haves, and usually the spell is broken. Whatever is left over once I take stock of my haves, is a choice. Is this really important to me? Do I want to prioritize this and work to make it happen? Then I put goals toward it to make it happen. But no more of this romantic melancholy for me. That’s one of the joys of being a grown up, right? Realizing that your search for validation and love actually starts and ends with…you.