Written by Bronwyn Hendry
Sometimes I trip on how happy we could be
I met my ex-boyfriend the old fashion way… at a bar of course. No tinder, no online dating, just some hardcore flirting and a very cheesy pick up line on his part. It was the start of a new year and I had sworn off dating. I knew I’d be graduating university in a few months and had no clue what I would be doing, or where I’d be living. The thought of jumping into a relationship when I was so uncertain about the future seemed like a total waste of time. But so the story goes, and that’s exactly what I did.
“Can I call you Miss B?” He asked, after we’d been talking for an hour so.
I laughed but didn’t object.
He continued- “You know even the real Queen B needs herself a Jay-Z?” I laughed even harder. Ah shit, that was pretty lame, but I loved it all the same.
He was the polar opposite of my “usual type” but something about him really drew me in. The following months were a total whirlwind and I’ve never fallen so hard or fast for anyone in my entire life. We clicked, simple as that. Drunk in love for sure. Three days before graduation he took me out for dinner and handed me an envelope. Inside were two tickets for Jay-Z and Beyoncé’s On the Run concert tour in Los Angeles. J & B became our little inside joke and I think those tickets were his way of guaranteeing I would stay in California for a few more months.
May was looming like this big scary doomsday, and for good reason. After sporting that cap and gown everything shifted. Every single fear I had going into that relationship came true. I felt pulled back to Canada, and no matter how great my relationship was, it just wasn’t enough to make me stay. I had opportunities here that were too good to pass up, and so you guessed it- we broke up.
I moved home in perfect timing for Stampede week; so inevitably hit the bars pretty hard. And just like that I two stepped my way back into the dating scene. It was there I met another cute boy, this one we’ll call blondie. We went on two dates, the second ending with an awkward kiss on the side of my ear thanks to my wicked dodging skills. I know, I know, I panicked! Sure he was great on paper- with a good job and a mortgage to boot- but I just wasn’t feeling it.
A few weeks after that fiasco, I reunited with a guy I had talked to pre-Jay Z. This one we’ll call Frenchie. Frenchie asked me to accompany him to a birthday party for one of his college buddies- or should I say “amis.” With no real reason to object, I agreed and showed up sporting a little black dress and an open mind. But despite my solid attempt, it just didn’t feel right.
I stood there sipping my beer and comparing every word, every gesture and every feeling to what I had before. It was the first time I really wondered if I had made a mistake.
And then it dawned on me what day it was. August 2nd. In a perfect world I should be seeing my girl B belt it out on the big stage, accompanied by my very own Jay-Z.
“You seeeeeem like your mind is-a-elsewhere,” commented Frenchie after I refreshed my instagram feed for the thousandth time. Even the Parisian accent wasn’t enough to keep me interested.
“Who me? Oh no, I’m just really tired” I played dumb. “I actually think I should go, I have to work really early in the morning.” Lies.
I crawled into my bed, phone in hand and proceeded to sob for the next 45 minutes with my ex-boyfriend holding steady on the line. Life lesson 101; don’t go near your phone when you’re even the slightest bit intoxicated.
“I’m sorry. I’m so so sorry I fucked everything up,” I kept repeating over and over again.
In the past it’s always been easy for me to move on. If something didn’t work out it was onto the next with no real worries. But the problem with this type of breakup is that everything was so cordial. There’s this twisted part of me that wishes one of us cheated or did something terrible so it would be easier to hate each other. But the only real thing we have to blame is timing. That bitch.
So now I ask myself, you ready B? Well, that’s a rather loaded question. Getting over somebody is no easy task. Google “how to move on from an ex” and you’ll find a plethora of tips, tricks and pop psychology articles all telling you what you should and shouldn’t do. But despite the good-natured advice from your friends, family or cosmo magazine, it’s really a place you need to arrive on your own. Sometimes your heart just needs a little more time to accept the things your mind already knows.
Sure I often find myself daydreaming and questioning the “what ifs,” but it’s not fair for either of us to get caught up in a fairy tale that will likely never come to fruition.
Early adulthood is this beautiful, fleeting time where we get to be unapologetically selfish. Go travel, kiss random strangers, bust your butt for your career, and figure out what you’re truly passionate about. I find so much comfort in knowing that each and every decision, victory, mistake and heartbreak are helping me learn and grow.
Cry a river, build a bridge, and get over it. That’s what I’m trying to do. The process isn’t flawless but not everyone can be Beyoncé.